by Jess Bryant
“Mmm, that’s better.” He winked as she shoved at his chest. “You always taste good, babe.”
“I need to brush my teeth.”
“In a minute, hold on.” He traced a finger over the scar again and frowned, “How did this happen?”
“What? Oh…” Rachel reached up to touch the scar, as if she’d forgotten it was even there, “It’s nothing. Just an old scar from when I was a kid.”
“Rach.” He didn’t like the tone of her voice, “Tell me.”
“When I was about…” She paused and bit her lip, staring at the ceiling as if thinking really hard, “Seven, I guess? There were these kids in my class that started picking on me. They would make fun of my clothes, the fact that I lived in the trailer park, that Mom worked at the diner and Dad was… well, a criminal.”
“They hurt you?”
“Yeah they… at recess one day I was playing on the merry-go-round and this older girl named Stella, she wanted her friends to ride. She pushed me off and I fell into the edge of the slide. It cut me pretty bad and I had to go to the hospital for stitches.”
“Damn.” Remy rubbed his finger over the scar, “I kinda want to beat up a seven year old girl.”
“No need.” Rachel laughed and then her mood sobered, “Craig took care of it.”
“Your brother?” He asked, surprised she’d spoke his name so easily, almost warmly.
“Yeah.” She frowned now, “He was smoking with some of his friends in the parking lot that day. He was a senior then and he… well he saw the whole thing and he came rushing over. He got right in the faces of those kids and he told them if they ever laid another hand on me that they’d answer to him.” She snorted, “Those girls never even looked at me the wrong way again.”
“He saved you.”
“Yeah, I guess he kind of did.” Rachel was chewing her bottom lip again, her face serious, “That’s the thing about him. I never knew what I would get growing up. He was either the good big brother that saved me from evil threats or he was the evil threat. There was no middle ground.” She released her lip and her voice was soft when she sighed, “I guess there’s still not.”
“Rach…” He didn’t like the way pain had colored her pretty face but she shook him off.
“I’m going to brush my teeth.” She rolled over and pushed up out of the bed, wincing slightly.
His worry about her sudden serious mood turned to the physical, “You okay?”
“Just a little sore.” She shot him a small smile over her shoulder as her cheeks flushed pink and that look, combined with knowing he was responsible for both her ache and that blush, warmed him inside out.
“Brush your teeth and then run a warm bath. It’ll help with the soreness.” He followed her up out of the bed and groaned when she bent over to pick up a shirt, her round, perfect, naked ass right in front of him. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back, flush against him, “Jesus, Rach, don’t bend over naked in front of me right now.”
“Mmm,” She moaned and rubbed against him, “Remy…”
“No.” He released her quickly, before his body could talk his head out of what it already knew was the responsible decision, “You’re already sore. You don’t need me bending you over and pounding into you. Not right now.”
Rachel bit her lip and looked up at him shyly through her lashes, that flush stretching down her neck and over her chest now, “But… later?”
“Damn right, later.” Heat coursed through him and he growled, as he pushed her towards the door, “Take your bath. I’ll figure out something for breakfast.”
“Don’t burn the trailer down. I’ll make something when I get done in the…”
Rachel’s teasing tone was cut off by the sound of something loud banging against the side of the trailer. She jumped nearly a foot in the air and clutched the shirt she’d grabbed to her chest. She started to shrink before his very eyes, all of the confidence and strength he’d begun to see in her disappearing as fear washed over her beautiful features. He grabbed her, pulling her to him, and felt her shaking.
“Rach…” He started but the pounding came again.
It wasn’t something hitting the side of the old metal trailer. It was someone. Someone was banging on the door, or if not the door, just the wall in general. He strangled a curse as he held Rachel, hating whoever had interrupted their perfect morning, hating that something so small could still scare her so badly. He wanted her to understand that she was safe here, with him, always.
“It’s okay. It’s probably just one of my…”
It was his words that trailed off this time because the pounding became incessant and a voice accompanied the banging. A voice he knew. A voice he’d hated and feared in equal measure for a lot of his life. A voice he had prayed he would never hear here, not in this place, the place he’d decided to call home, that he wanted to build a home with Rachel.
“Remington! Remington! Remington you goddamned, son-of-a-bitch, piece-of-shit! You get your ass out here right now, boy! You hear me!”
His blood ran cold at the sound of his father’s voice. Decker was here. Beating on the trailer and screaming his name, calling him every curse in the book and slurring while he did it. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning and the bastard was drunk and spewing vile hatred out of his mouth.
He was here to fight, finally. The reprieve was over. He’d figured out Remy was home, figured out he was living less than a mile away, on Bomar land no less, and he’d come to confront him. He’d known it would happen eventually but the fact that his father was here, now, when he had Rachel with him and was scaring her, that was what flipped the switch and turned the fear into anger.
His entire body heated with it and he carefully guided a shaking Rachel into the bathroom, “Stay in here. Don’t come out until I tell you he’s gone.”
“But, Remy…” She tried to hold onto his hand.
“No. He’s my father. I have to deal with him. You don’t.”
“But…”
“Rach, I gotta go before he starts breaking things.”
The sweet, open, confident woman that had woken up in his arms looked up at him with fear and worry in her beautiful eyes now. Her dark brows furrowed and her lips thinned. He knew she wanted to say something but she only swallowed hard and then nodded slightly.
“Okay.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near you. He’s dangerous and it sounds like he’s already drunk, or still drunk. Whatever the case may be, I don’t trust him with you so stay here, run your bath and I’ll be back as soon as I get rid of him.”
Rachel nodded and then leaned up and brushed a kiss over his lips, “Be careful.”
“He can’t hurt me.”
Her eyes softened, “Yes, he can.”
Since her words of understanding made his chest feel heavy, he only clenched his jaw and then pushed her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. She understood him so well. Decker couldn’t hurt him, not physically, but he could and would still hurt him given half a chance. He would throw every vile, angry thing he could at him and it would still hurt even though he should know better by now
Decker had been a terrible father, but the bastard was still his dad.
Remy went back to his bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt as quickly as he could. The pounding was still coming, though it was getting weaker. The drunk bastard was losing steam. That was a good thing. He wondered momentarily if he could just wait it out, if Decker wouldn’t wander off and pass out somewhere, forget he’d ever been here. Then he remembered that he wasn’t a kid anymore, that he was a grown man and he’d sworn he was done running, done hiding, from his problems.
Even if he didn’t want to do this, he could and he would. For Rachel. Because if he didn’t face Decker down now, that bastard might show up again later. He might show up when there was no one here or when Rachel was alone. And he didn’t want his father anywhere near the woman he loved.
He shot the bath
room door one last look and as he walked past it he heard Rachel on the other side. She wasn’t running a bath like he’d told her. She was pacing. He wanted to break down the door and pull her into his arms. Instead, he paused long enough to put a hand on the rough surface.
“I love you, Rachel.”
A sharp intake of breath, “I love you too.”
“Stay in there and turn on the water. I don’t want you to hear this.”
He turned before he could hear her answer and headed for the door. After another deep breath for courage, he pushed it open. Decker had been standing near enough to it that he stumbled back, out of the way, and nearly landed on his ass. His arms spun in comically wide circles, trying to regain his balance, but Remy didn’t laugh as he stepped down out of the trailer so that he was on solid ground to face off with his father.
Decker looked almost exactly like he remembered. Big and muscular, a mountain of a man. Despite the alcoholism and the fighting, years of abusing himself and others, he’d somehow managed to age well. If it wasn’t for the gray that had begun to pepper his dark hair around the temples and the extra pounds that turned his chest and stomach into a barrel, it would have been like looking in a mirror.
All this time, all the years away, Remy had somehow managed to convince himself that everyone was wrong. That he didn’t look as much like this violent bastard as they said. But here and now, face to face with him, it was impossible to deny that he hadn’t inherited every bit of his DNA from this man.
Same dark hair. Same dark blue eyes. Same dimpled chin and square jawline. He had the same broad shoulders and muscular build. He was a Bomar through and through, every muscle and bone.
He swallowed hard when the older man narrowed his eyes at him, “What are you doing here, Decker?”
“Oh, look at that. The little prince remembers me after all. What’s with that Decker shit? You call me Dad and you tell me right fuckin’ now what the hell you’re doin here.”
“I live here.”
“Bullshit.”
“I do. I live here. This is my home and I don’t appreciate you just showing up here.”
Those dark eyes narrowed and Decker swayed slightly as he glanced around, “You livin’ on my land and you didn’t feel the need to maybe ask me if that was okay?”
“It’s not your land. This parcel is Uncle Duke’s and since he’s still behind bars, Abel gave me the okay.”
“Abel gave you the okay.” There was a sneer when Decker spoke his nephew’s name and Remy wondered momentarily what his cousin had done to earn the ire, “I take it everybody knew you’s back but me, huh?”
Remy shrugged.
“You come home after being gone eight… nine years and you cain’t be bothered to let me know?”
He kept phrasing his words as questions but his slur was becoming more pronounced and so was the anger in his voice. He wasn’t really asking because his feelings were hurt that his son had come home and he hadn’t been told. He didn’t even know how long Remy had been gone. He was only upset that the rest of the family had known something he didn’t. That’s what this was about.
“You too good for your Dad now? That what this is?” Decker stumbled slightly, moving forward, most likely to shove him but Remy stepped out of the way and Decker nearly fell when he spun on him, “You’re too good to come see your mama too huh?”
His throat felt tight at the mere mention of his mother but he shook it off, “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“You’re a piece of shit just like those bastard twins. You been with those little shits haven’t you? They know you’re here? Been sucking up to ya, turning ya against your own family? Those bastards don’t know a thing about family!”
A flash of red hot anger made Remy’s fists curl, “If you mean my brothers, yes they know I’m here. I came home for them, not you.”
“Those two pussies ain’t your brothers and you damn well know it.”
“What I know is that if you ever say anything like that to me ever again, I’ll lay you out old man.” Remy growled, “Cash and Colt are my brothers. They’re my family. My only family. So no, I didn’t call you when I came home because I didn’t want to see you. I don’t want anything to do with you so you can leave. Now.”
If he expected Decker to throw a punch, he would’ve been disappointed. His father didn’t clench his fists and come at him. He didn’t wave a white flag and back away either. He only narrowed his eyes, looking Remy over from top to bottom, and then he burst out laughing.
It was a deep laugh, raw and mean and everything about this man that he hated, “See there, you got a backbone. More than them two pussies got for all that they may be Bomars or not. They ain’t mine but you sure are.”
“I said, don’t talk about my brothers. You don’t have any right. The twins are good men despite the hell you rained down on them so you can stay away from them and stay away from me or I’ll return the lesson you taught us all that you don’t pick on people bigger than you.”
“Is that a threat?” Decker’s laughter faded and he bowed up, “You ain’t gonna talk to me like that, Remington. I’m still your father.”
“You’re not anything to me. Not anymore.”
“Your mama would…”
“Don’t talk to me about her!” He screamed and then fought to get his breathing under control and lower his voice, “She’s a worthless druggie. You broke her the day she had the twins and you ruined all of our lives because of it. Everything that’s happened since, every hurtful word and bad decision, that’s on you. You can talk about family all you want but you don’t know a damn thing about family!”
Something he said must have hit below the fog of the alcohol because pure rage covered Decker’s face and his fists clenched. Remy knew what was coming before it happened. He knew that the fight he’d expected for years was finally here and he welcomed it with open arms.
He needed it. Needed to finally work through his anger and his despair and his hatred in the only way his family had taught him how. With his fists.
So when Decker rushed him, he let his father get in one solid punch. He took it on the chin and felt it reverberate through every bone in his body. Damn, the old man still had hands of steel. His eyesight went foggy for a second, just long enough for Decker to knock him off his feet. All of his breath whooshed out of him when they hit the ground and a cloud of dust haloed around them.
His training kicked in and his arms came up, covering his face to fend off the brutal fists being thrown at him. He’d underestimated the bastard. Even drunk and disoriented, the anger was always sitting right there at the surface with Decker and he’d unleashed it without so much as a second thought on the one son he actually claimed to have loved.
As he lay there in the dirt, battling his own father, Remy’s anger peaked higher than it ever had before. Not for himself. Not because his father was trying to beat the hell out of him. Not because any and all hopes he’d had of avoiding this were gone. Not because he was, in essence, breaking every tie with his parents by doing this. But for the twins.
They’d been on the receiving end of this all their lives. They’d had to deal with this when they were far too young and far too small to defend themselves. They’d been children. They had been fragile, breakable children when Decker had hit them, abused them, burned them with cigarettes and tried to not just break them but destroy them.
And Remy had left them behind. He’d run away. He hadn’t protected them. He had failed them. But he wouldn’t fail them again. He wouldn’t fail Rachel. He wouldn’t fail himself. Because he might be a Bomar but he wasn’t tied to their curse. Not anymore. He could be a good man. Just like Cash and just like Colt. He could protect his family. He would. Always.
He stopped simply defending against the blows and took control with one twist of his body. He flipped Decker off of him and pinned him before he could jump back up. He used his height and weight to keep the other man underneath him when he bucked and then threw his own firs
t punch.
The sound of bone crunching against his knuckles was music to his ears. Decker cursed and bucked harder, throwing elbows and knees. Remy got into a rhythm and the rest of the world faded away. Punch, block, block, punch. The bastard got a few lucky throws in, nearly dislodged him once, but the awful hate pouring from his mouth never stopped.
He cursed and spit blood and cursed some more. He called Remy names. He disowned him. And Remy wanted to scream that he’d disowned himself ten years ago but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was too caught up in destroying this man that had tried so hard to destroy everyone Remy loved.
He was so deep in the darkness, in the pain and anger and hate, that he didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until big arms were wrapping around his chest and hauling him up to his feet. He fought the tight hold. Her jerked and spun, trying to get away. He threw an elbow and heard a curse, his name breaking through the fog of the adrenaline that had come with the fight.
“Cool it, Remington. Cool off.”
His throat felt bruised right along with the rest of him, “Link?”
“Stop fighting. He’s done. Stop fighting or you’ll kill him.”
Remy let his cousin pull him away as his vision began to clear. He sucked in great, heaving gulps of air and slowly, reality seeped back in. His eyes immediately went to the bloody figure on the ground and his stomach turned.
Decker’s face was a bruised and broken mess. He wasn’t unconscious but he was mumbling and smacking at Bentley’s hands as his nephew tried to help him up. Remy pushed out of Lincoln’s hold and stepped further away, taking huge breaths and trying to regain his sanity.
He’d lost it for just a minute there. Totally and completely lost control. He hadn’t done that since his first years in the Army. Back then, he’d had no way of controlling his temper. He’d reacted to every threat, every harsh word, with his fists. But he wasn’t that same scared and angry kid and the fact that he’d let Decker reduce him back to that embarrassed him.
Lincoln and Bentley were here. They had seen it. He glanced at the slick muscle car sitting next to his own and wondered how he’d missed the sound of that engine driving up. He’d been lost in the bloodlust and he hadn’t heard them arrive, had no idea how long they’d been there or how much they’d seen.