Snitches Get Stitches (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 8)

I hated that she was getting anything that belonged to me anywhere near her, even if it was my blood and it wasn’t by conscious thought.

But before I could put much more thought into it, my front door slammed against the wall in my living room, and I heard the sound of running feet heading our way.

“Last door on the right,” I called out, just in case the police officers that were announcing themselves weren’t ones that’d been in my house ever before.

I shouldn’t have bothered. It was Wade, and he looked rough.

His hair was all a mess, and his eyes were half closed.

But he was brandishing a weapon and it was aimed at Tara’s face seeing as the majority of my body was covering hers.

He took one look at the situation, kicked the gun out of her hand without care that it would hurt, and gestured for me to get off of her.

“If I get off, she’s going to go crazy,” I admitted.

Wade shrugged, and I could see that we were on the same page.

“Just get the gun off the floor and stand up,” he ordered.

I reached for the gun and did as he asked, making sure not to put my back to the bitch and risk serious bodily harm.

She did exactly what we both thought she’d do. She went fuckin’ nuts.

For the third time Monster tried to intervene, and I called him off. Again.

He was so getting a steak dinner after this bullshit was through.

Wade didn’t even flinch when Tara decided to change her targets, and I found myself wishing he was dressed in uniform instead of looking like he just rolled out of bed. That way he would’ve had his bodycam and would’ve been able to record every single fucked up thing she did.

Like reach for the goddamn closest object—my steel-toed boots—and brandish it as a weapon as she went after Wade.

Wade let her get close, then stepped out of the way just as she sailed past him. Tara’s momentum carried her past and slammed her face first into the wall. She went down hard but rolled back to her feet only to have another go at him.

It was as this was happening that a patrol officer arrived, this one with a bodycam.

Wade re-holstered his weapon and tried to catch Tara on this pass, but Tara elbowed and punched her way out of his grip, moving so that her face was only inches away from his arm.

Realizing her intention, Wade wrapped his hand around her hair and pulled, stopping her from biting him only inches before she would’ve sunk those teeth home.

“Cas,” Wade barked. “Are you going to help, or are you going to fucking watch the whole time?”

Castiel came in at a sedate walk moments later, his eyes taking everything in at once.

“Well, I see I’m late to the party,” he surmised as he crossed his arms over his chest and watched Wade struggle.

Eventually, Wade became uncaring that he’d hurt her and used a pressure point on her wrist to cause her to let go of him. Then he moved fast and brought her down to the ground and had her face first in the carpet before anyone else could decide to help.

“Medics are outside,” Castiel said. “Head on out there.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for my phone, shoving it into the waistband of my underwear.

The next thing I got was my sweatpants that were hanging on the end of the bed, draped loosely over the right post that would be closest to my feet.

“Before y’all leave, will you do me a favor and grab me a change of clothes and my boots?” I asked as I headed out of the room.

It was Castiel who said, “Yep.”

I stopped and looked at my dog, giving him a good scratch on the head before I turned to Castiel.

“I’ll go drop the dog off with Turner,” Castiel said, understanding the unanswered question. “Then meet you at the hospital.”

I gave him a nod of thanks and headed outside to the medic so he could look at my arm.

It hurt like a motherfucker.

In fact, it hurt so badly that I was convinced that I’d done the stupid thing and allowed Tara to shoot me for no reason.

Walking up to the medic and wondering if I’d made the right decision in the heat of the moment, I nodded my head at him.

“Hey,” I said. “They sent me out here.”

The medic nodded for me to climb into the back of the ambulance and then said, “Have a seat. Mi casa is yours and all that fun jazz.”

I rolled my eyes and took a seat on the gurney, which he then followed suit but on the bench in front of me.

I cursed at the medic who had the nerve to poke my wound.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered darkly. “Careful there.”