Losers Weepers (Lost & Found 4)

“No!” I bellowed, my voice filling the room and echoing down the hall. I managed to sweep Josie behind me, and just as he was steps away from her, I angled myself into his path and threw my shoulder into his chest.

We tumbled to the ground in a heap. I landed on top. I didn’t know where the bottle had gone, but it definitely wasn’t still stuck between my legs. But I didn’t need it. I had the advantage of being on top of him, and I also had the advantage of having so much adrenaline and rage from him threatening Josie that I could feel it spilling out of my ears. Besides, I didn’t want to hit the son of a bitch with a bottle. I wanted to beat the shit out of him with my own fists. I wanted to break something, several somethings, so whenever he took a step on his sorry, sad way or moved his jaw or took a wheezy breath, he’d ache and remember what had happened when he’d threatened a woman.

I didn’t want to just hurt him though. No . . . as I swung at him over and over, feeling my knuckles connect with his flesh and bone, looking into those same eyes he’d defiled Josie with right in front of me, I wanted to do more. I didn’t want to stop punching him until the light had gone out in those filthy eyes. I didn’t want to stop until his body had gone

limp beneath mine.

I heard Josie’s shouts from behind me, but it was as if I were stuck in a dream. I could hear her, but I couldn’t make out her words or the message she was trying to get across. I was lost in the world of my own rage and destruction.

The eyes below me closed, but I didn’t stop. I just kept swinging at him, over and over, his head rocking one direction and then the other, like a pendulum moving inside a grandfather clock. He’d threatened her. He’d wanted to hurt her. Those were the reminders my mind switched between as I continued, knowing the life was almost beaten out of the worthless sack beneath me.

“Stop, Garth.” Josie’s voice cut through my haze when I felt her hand curl around my shoulder. “Come on, baby. Stop. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

Hearing her say it only made me keep swinging. Plenty of places on his face were split open—plenty of places on my knuckles were split too—but I couldn’t stop. Josie. He was going to hurt her. If I hadn’t gotten to him first, he would have.

I screamed again, followed by another punch that felt as though it broke a few bones in my hand.

“Enough!” Josie pulled on both of my shoulders, trying to pull me off the limp piece of shit. “You hit him anymore, and you’re heading to jail instead of him. I won’t let you push me away like that either.” Wrapping her arms around my chest, she gave a hard pull and managed to pry me far enough away that my fists couldn’t reach him. They didn’t stop punching the air for a few moments though. “Nice try though.”

Josie didn’t let me go, even after she’d dragged me all the way off him. It was only then, once a layer of adrenaline had fallen away, that I could acknowledge what was sticking out of my thigh. The blade was almost completely buried in my leg, and as adrenaline drained from my system, the pain from the stab started to burn down my leg.

“Son of a bitch.” I groaned, reaching for the knife to pull it out. Damn rusty pocket knives. That was the second time I’d been stabbed by one.

“Don’t pull it out!” Josie clamped her hand over mine before I could pluck the blade from my thigh. “You’re never supposed to pull a knife out of your body. You should know that.” She swatted my other hand when it came around.

“This isn’t a knife, Joze.” I stopped trying to pull it free and twisted around to inspect her. “Calling this a knife is an insult to an actual knife. A butter knife included.”

“Just stabbed by a man who broke into our place and still the sarcasm.” A smile moved into place on her face. “Is there anything you take seriously?”

My eyes did another inspection of her. On the outside, she seemed unhurt. “You. Your safety. Your wellbeing. That I take very seriously, and thank you, by the way, for respecting that and listening to me when I told you to run.”

Josie wound her hand through mine, turning it over and grimacing when she saw my knuckles. “I don’t run when things get scary, Garth. I thought you would have known that by now.”

I looked around the room. The unconscious man beside us, the tipped-over wheelchair behind us . . . she had proven that for as long as I’d known her. I’d just been unable or unwilling to accept that about her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “It would take a hell of a lot more than some junkie’s threats to hurt me.”

A wince spread across my face when another stab of pain shot up my leg. I could almost feel the rust crusting off inside the wound, just waiting to spread infection. “Joze, would you mind grabbing my phone from my wheelchair and calling 911? This guy’s going to require a hospital stay, and I’m going to need some antibiotics, and shit . . .” Another surge of pain, thanks to that pathetic little knife. “Some pain killers too.”

Josie was in the middle of shuffling through the side pockets of my wheelchair when she froze. Turning her head slowly, her eyes widened as they lowered to my legs. “Does that hurt?” She stared at the knife sticking out of my thigh.

“Like a son of a bitch,” I answered, tempted to rip the blade out again. I stifled the urge, knowing Josie would have been pissed. When she stayed silent, still frozen beside my wheelchair, I glanced up. She was smiling at me.

“You’re not getting it, are you?” she said.

“Not getting why you’re smiling ear-to-ear after everything that just happened? No, I’m not getting it.”

She crawled over, pausing at my feet before dropping her hands just above my ankles. Her smile stayed in place as she gently squeezed my legs.

“What are you doing, crazy person?” I tried to not return her smile, but it was impossible. I’d never been able to avoid smiling back when she grinned at me the way she did now. “You’re supposed to be calling 911. You’re supposed to be freaking out and making a mental note to call a shrink in the morning so you can talk about what you went through tonight.” Her hands slid higher up my legs, stopping just above my knees. “You’re not supposed to be grinning at me and crawling up my legs with that glint in your eyes.”

Her hands moved higher up my leg, that spark in her eyes growing. My brows pulled together as I tried to figure out what she was trying to tell me. Her fingers crept a little higher, stopping when they got close to the knife.

“How much farther am I going to have to go before it registers?” Her eyes dropped to her hands on my legs before her gaze moved higher. They didn’t stop until they locked with my eyes.

Only after she’d held my stare for a few moments, followed by an eyebrow slowly lifting, did I get it.