Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“Who the fuck you think you are?” He took two steps toward me.

I backed us up.

“You think you can come into my life and take what belongs to me? Fill her head with ideas she has no business thinking about?”

“I suggest you calm down,” I said, ignoring his accusations. “Or there will be consequences.”

He laughed.

And it was a manic sort of laugh that chilled my blood.

“What are you going to do?” He eyed all five-feet-one-inches of me. Even in heels, I was no match for him. “You best be on your way. What’s between me and her isn’t about you.”

“It is,” I said, keeping my voice firm as Melissa soothed Liam. “She’s under my protection.”

That laugh again.

“You need to leave,” I said. “Now.”

“Okay,” he said, his jaw sticking out. “I’ll leave. With them.”

“No,” Melissa half-said-half-wailed. “It’s over. I don’t want anything from you. You’re free of any responsibility. Just leave us be.”

His eyes narrowed to slits at her words.

I felt the tension rise to the red-zone—years of attuning my senses to the silence before the eruption.

“He’s my son.” A lethal cold tone.

“No, he’s not!” she snapped.

Fuck a duck.

The spark in his eyes flared, and my body jolted, reacted purely on instinct.

Protect the baby, my blood screamed.

And in the span of a heartbeat, I’d stepped between Melissa, between Liam, and him.

Took the fist meant for her.

Stars burst behind my eyes, that familiar sting of split skin and a shaken brain.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard Melissa scream.

Heard the baby wail.

Saw the flash of red and blue lights.

Saw him sprint the opposite direction like a coward.

“Ms. Lansing!” Melissa was properly screaming now. “Ms. Lansing!” She had one hand on my shoulder as she crouched in front of me.

When had I sunk to my knees?

I fingered my cheek, warm blood coating my nails.

Damn.

I didn’t cry, but groaned at the throbbing.

Years.

It had been years since I’d had to control my reaction to getting hit. Had to hide the pain, swallow it until it forged an iron wall inside me.

“Easy street or hard street, Shea?”

His voice, like some damned ghost resurrected because of the physical pain, echoed in the throngs of my throbbing skull.

“Are you okay?” Melissa asked, her entire body shaking so much it made mine tremble.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say and glanced at Liam.

His eyes were wide as saucers as he took in the flashing lights of the police car.

I sighed, hating that he’d seen it.

Hating that it didn’t matter how young he was—tonight, this event, would shape a piece of him.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” I cut Melissa off and pushed to my feet to face the officer heading our way. “This is just more evidence for your case.”

I held up my hand, waving off more protests from her, and started answering the officer’s questions, being sure to give him every single detail. One day, they would catch this guy, and put him where he belonged.

Then Melissa would be safe.

Liam would be safe.

An hour later, I dropped them off at the home, watching as she walked toward the door, still clutching Liam like she might never let him go. I understood that all too well, and I couldn’t help but notice how damn young they both looked as they disappeared into the home.

With them safe behind the doors, I sank further into my seat and forced myself to drive.

The adrenaline still surged through my veins, and I knew when it left my system I would be a fucking mess.

But Elliott was waiting for me, and I needed my arms around her now more than ever.

Chapter 9

Hudson

Shea: Hey, I’m here.

The text came across my phone, and I put my book down before heading for the elevator. It dinged just as I reached the foyer.

“Glad to see you remembered the code for—what the fuck happened to you?” My voice rose with my temper as I took in the swollen, raw, busted-open side of her face.

“Shhh,” she begged. “I don’t want Elliott to hear you.”

I’d already crossed the foyer, cupping her uninjured cheek in my hand so I could inspect the abused one. “She won’t hear you,” I promised Shea, my thumb gently running along the edge of the mark. “Her room is on the other side of the house.”

“She has her own room?”

I shot her a who-the-fuck-cares-whose-room-it-is look. “Who. Hit. You?” Each word snapped out of me with whip-like annunciation. I was going to kill the asshole.

“It’s nothing,” she assured me, even though it obviously was.

“Have you seen it?” I hissed and turned her toward the mirror I constantly thought about removing. Whoever had lived here before me had been way too into themselves.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her fingers coming up to touch the swollen area. She flinched as the digits made contact. “Elliott can’t see me like this.”

“Well, it’s not going away in the next five minutes,” I growled. “But she passed out a half-hour ago. We practiced for hours while you were gone. Wore her out. Now,” I said. “What the fuck happened? Please don’t make me ask again. I’m going out of my mind here.”

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Shea.” It was all I could do to keep my voice level.

“It was a case. The father swung, and all I could think was that he was going to hit the baby. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You stepped in.” I didn’t even have to ask. Her look of guilt was confirmation enough—not that she had shit to feel guilty about.

She turned her head slightly in the light and hissed. “It didn’t look this bad before. Then again, the lighting isn’t exactly good in a cop car.”

I took her hand and gently led her to the kitchen.

“I’m glad the cops got involved.” I took her by the hips and lifted her to sit on the expanse of marble counters.

“Because now there’s a record of violence, right? It makes the case so much easier.”

“No, so I don’t have to kill him.” I turned away before I could see her reaction, reaching for the freezer door. I took out one of the gel packs I kept in there, and a soft, thin towel, so the cold wouldn’t burn her skin.

“You wouldn’t actually kill him...would you?” She tilted her head as I held the gel pack to her cheek.

“As long as you have the police involved, then it doesn't matter. I won’t have to.” She was already apprehensive of my propensity for aggression, the last thing I needed to tell her was that hell yes, I’d kill him. I’d smash his face in over and over until he understood what it was like to be hit by someone stronger and faster. Until he felt as helpless as the mother of his child had. “Hold this here,” I ordered, placing her hand on the pack.

She took the pack as I opened the cabinet just to her right and pulled out a clear, plastic box that I kept all of my first aid supplies in.

“You’re prepared. Really prepared. Is that a suture kit?” She peered into the box.

“Yeah, I got tired of hauling someone in every time I needed a few stitches. Saves me time to do it myself.”

“That’s...disturbing.”

I shrugged, opening the supplies I needed. “It’s efficient. That guy isn’t getting his kid back, right?”

“I can’t really talk about it. Confidentiality and all.” Her voice dropped off.

“Well, he shouldn’t.” I motioned to her hand, and she dropped the gel pack so I could get a better look at the cut. “If he threw a punch in front of you, he’s done a hell of a lot worse