Every Wound We Mend

by J. E. Parker

  And because of my failure, one of many I’d always carry when it came to both Chiquita and Little One, I was beaten to a bloody pulp.

  First by Voodoo, then by El Diablo.

  As for Jade, Dominic, the sick cabrón, had sent her to Clyde as punishment for my transgressions and to stop me from attacking one of his puppets again in the future.

  That night was one of many I regretted.

  But it was also one I was about to rectify.

  My hearing dulled, and the sound of my pounding pulse filled my ears as the surrounding air changed, becoming electrified with my mounting rage and grief.

  Tearing my gaze from Voodoo, who’d begun to vomit, the acidic smell a mixture of whatever he’d eaten, along with the unmistakable stench of cheap tequila, I visually searched the room for a bigger weapon than the small taser and nearly empty can of pepper spray I held.

  Like magic, or maybe it was a gift from God himself, I spotted a rusted crowbar leaned against the hole-filled wall to my right.

  I immediately grabbed it.

  Unblinking stare landing back on a still puking Voodoo, I neither twisted my neck nor looked over my shoulder as I extended my left arm backward, handing Maddie’s keys to Shelby.

  “Get Anna out of here, bebé,” I ordered, my tone leaving little room for argument. “Put her in the car and drive back to the shelter. She’ll need first aid and—”

  “Oh hell no, sugar, I am not leaving you,” she interrupted, causing my cheek to tick. “Not with him and not when—”

  “Leave!” I turned my head, looking at her from my peripheral as Voodoo cursed in between heaves and panting breaths, the pepper spray working to cripple him more than I’d expected. “Get her out of here and to the shelter where she’ll be safe!”

  I gripped the metal bar tighter.

  In the distance, police sirens wailed.

  Anthony is coming. I don’t have much longer...

  “You have lost your damn mind,” she started once again, trying her best to keep afloat an argument she had no chance of winning. “I am not—”

  “I’ll be fine,” I interjected, close to shoving her argumentative culo right out the door. “Now go.” Feeling my need for vengeance rising, I stepped a foot closer to Voodoo, my trembling body looming over his shaking one. “Neither she nor you need to see what comes next.”

  “Mama C...”

  Any self-control I still possessed snapped like a taut wire. “Shelby, mija, I love you, but if you don’t get your culo out that door right this minuto, then I’m going to throw you out it.”

  Crazed eyes wide, I looked back at her, knowing full well she wouldn’t give in that easily. She was her father’s daughter, after all.

  “In addition to Anna, this hijo de perra once hurt Jade too, bebé,” I continued, nodding toward Voodoo, who was so busy drowning in his own misery that he wasn’t paying us a bit of attention. “She was fifteen when he beat and almost choked her to death...” I paused, fighting to swallow down the bile that crept up the length of my convulsing esophagus over the words I was about to say. “Then raped her.”

  Tears trailed down my face, burning my skin as Shelby’s face paled, and she clutched Anna tighter, her arms banding around her petite body like vines. “I tried to stop him, but all I did was make things worse.”

  Back then, it had been an ongoing theme.

  But not anymore.

  “And this is my chance...”

  Understanding dawned in her fire-filled eyes. As a survivor herself, as well as someone who’d helped pull many women from the same situation we were now standing in, I didn’t need to say the words, didn’t need to tell her that this was my opportunity to pay Voodoo back for some of what he’d done.

  She dipped her chin once. “Don’t take too long.”

  Those four words were all she said before turning and leaving, taking a still panicked, crying Anna with her. Once they were out of sight and headed down the stairs to the empty first floor, their steps hurried as they descended the groaning staircase, I turned to face Voodoo, who, unlike before, was now glaring at me, his scathing eyes filled with murderous intent.

  Chin wobbling, I gripped the crowbar with both hands. “You hurt her.” Chest tightening with each breath I took, I allowed my chin to wobble, letting the agony that rioted inside me feed me the strength I needed.

  “You hurt Little One, and you helped El Diablo hurt her. You aided him in hurting both her and Chiquita.” My muscles flooded with adrenaline as I recalled the many tears I’d wiped from my chica’s beautiful faces. Tears they’d cried thanks to psychotic men like the one kneeling before me. With my teeth gritted, I raised the bar high. “Now it’s my turn to hurt you!”

  The cabrón laughed, throwing me off guard.

  He. Laughed. At. Me.

  “You won’t do shit, you—”

  A battle cry tore from deep in my chest as I swung down, slamming the iron onto Voodoo’s shoulder with all my might. The sound of flesh giving way and bone cracking filled the surrounding space, followed by his scream as he failed to evade the hit.

  Though I could feel my insides tearing thanks to the trauma I’d had inked on my soul, some of it tattooed by his hands, I smiled as he howled in pain, the anguished notes a beautiful symphony to my ears.

  He deserved nothing less than torment, and he’d been wrong to think that I wouldn’t be the one to hand-deliver it.

  Only, one hit wasn’t nearly enough.

  Channeling my inner Babe Ruth, I lifted my weapon to my side and swung it in a horizontal line, slamming the metal into Voodoo’s upper ribs, causing him to scream in pain once more.

  Foamy spittle marred the corners of his mouth like a rabid dog, and drool dripped down his chin as he looked up at me, his right eye filling with tiny dots of blood thanks to a burst vessel.

  Chest heaving, I expected him to curse or threaten me as he panted and clutched his maimed shoulder with his soon-to-be broken hand.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t.

  Instead, he roared, then lunged for me.

  Not surprised by the move, a second war cry that was identical to the one I’d let out seconds before escaped me as I jumped back and raised the bar a third time, prepared to crack his skull open like a pinata, spilling what meager brains he possessed before he got his filthy paws on me.

  But I never got the chance.

  His hideous face was a blur as he flew toward me, and I braced for impact, knowing that I was about to have a major fight, one I was determined to win, on my hands. But then, just as quickly as he’d begun rocketing into my space, his fingers twitching with the need to choke the life from me, Voodoo stopped midair.

  And it was all because of a hand.

  A hand that had been wrapped around the front of his throat, its fingers digging into the sides of his neck, restricting his oxygen and erasing his ability to speak.

  “Wrong,” a deep baritone I’d recognize anywhere said before pausing for three beats of my hammering heart, “move.”

  My grip on the crowbar slackened as chills raised down my spine. Gaze snapping up, my eyes found James, who I’d neither heard bound up the stairs nor storm into the room, looking more irate than I’d ever seen him.

  “Guapo—”

  “You hurt my daughter,” he ground out, his voice laced with venom, completely ignoring me and somehow already knowing what Voodoo had done to Jade. “And you were about to hurt my woman.” His grip tightened. “The second is the last mistake you’re ever going to make.”

  My heart dropped to my feet.

  Though I wanted to send Voodoo straight to Hell by stalling the beat of his ugly and emotionless heart forever, I’d had no intention of killing him when I started this. Not when I had too much to lose by being sent to prison.

  But as I gazed up at James, taking in the visible pounding of his left temple, along with the unmistakable fury tinting his cheeks and the ticking of his clenched jaw, I knew he didn’t share the same reservations as me. />
  Therefore, I feared Voodoo was about to meet his maker.

  28

  James

  I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life.

  First as a volatile teen who did nothing but fight and party, then as a drunken, piece of shit father, who spent what were supposed to be the best years of my son’s life breaking the one person I was meant to hold most precious, I’d caused more pain than most could imagine.

  Or stomach, for that matter.

  But after running into Shelby downstairs, where I’d taken one look at the beaten teenaged girl hanging onto her for dear life, before being told what the asshole writhing in my grasp had done to my daughter years before, my resolve to keep violence in the past had flown right out the window.

  Running in and seeing him a second away from hurting the other half of my heart, in a place she had no goddamn business being, had only hardened my resolve to rip his throat out.

  Barely able to breathe through the fiery rage consuming me, my stare remained glued to the piece of shit I still held in my grip, his hands clawing at my white knuckles as he fought to free himself from my unrelenting hold.

  With his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, his lips too, it looked like my Pixie, maybe even Shelby, had done a number on him with what I assumed was Mace.

  The burning of my palm, where my skin touched his, only further cemented that assumption. Seems one of my girls got him good.

  Close to losing whatever minute restraint I possessed and needing to get Carmen out of this shithole, and away from the hell I was seconds from unleashing, I pushed back the blackness swirling in my chest long enough to speak.

  “Baby,” I said, voice low and guttural, sounding foreign to my own ears. “Go outside with Shelby and wait for Anthony. Hendrix is with her. Help them keep the girl calm until help gets here.”

  The girl you saved.

  “Anthony will be here any second,” I added, temples throbbing as my blood pressure continued to climb and a million different scenarios, all surrounding how this would end, raced through my head.

  As a good cop and an even better man, there was only so much my son-in-law would overlook when he walked onto the scene or would allow to happen when he was present, which meant time was running out.

  I had to act. Now.

  A sound of disapproval filled the room, and from my rage-stained peripheral, I saw Carmen lift the piece of corroded-looking metal she held—is that a crowbar?—high above her head.

  “I am not leaving.” She moved to the side of the monster I intended to eliminate, stepping into my direct line of sight. With her eyes wild, tawny hair in disarray and delicate features tensed, she looked ready for war. “Because I’m not done yet.” She inhaled shakily. “After everything he’s done, two hits aren’t enough.”

  My gaze narrowed when she leveled a ‘don’t argue with me’ look my way. Now wasn’t the time for her hardheaded ass to fight my every word like she always tended to do.

  “Carmen,” I snarled, my limit for dealing with her shit when I had more pressing things to handle, having been reached. “I’ll handle it. For fucking once, do as you’re told”—I’ll pay for that comment later—“and go outside before—”

  “This is not your fight, Guapo!”

  The hell it wasn’t!

  She was mine to protect, mine to care for.

  Every one of her battles belonged to me.

  “It’s mine,” she continued, her decision to finish what she’d begun resolute. “Now, if you don’t mind”—she nodded to the dickhead whose lips were close to turning purple before I let up the smallest amount, not wanting him to die so quickly—"I’d like to finish what I started before it’s too late."

  Running on nothing less than pure panic and adrenaline, the fucker fought harder as his lungs screamed for more air than my eased grip had allowed by attempting to throw a punch to my chest, then to my face. Both failed to connect since my reach was a good four inches longer than his.

  No matter how hard he tried, any attempt he made to take me on, or escape, would be fruitless. I had six inches in height and a hundred pounds in weight, most of which consisted of muscle, on him.

  I wasn’t a defenseless teenage girl. I was a man more than capable of defending myself. And of ending him. Bottom line, he was fucked.

  As soon as she leaves, I’m going to—

  A fresh wave of tears, ones I knew were constructed of sadness, fear, and desperation, slid down my Pixie’s face, reclaiming my attention from my murderous thoughts. The sight of them broke my heart and further stoked the vengeance-starved fire that roared inside me.

  “He hurt Little One, James,” she continued as I stood there unmoving and silent, mimicking a statue. “And because I tried to help her, I was hurt too.”

  My chest expanded as I sucked in a harsh breath, hand twitching with the growing desire to pop the son of a bitch’s head right off, where we could then watch it roll across the filthy floor.

  “I know violence isn’t the answer, but for what this hijo de perra did to Jade and me, which is only the tip of the iceberg, he deserves to feel pain too.” She shook her head. “Evil can’t always win!”

  Maybe it makes me sick and twisted, psychotic even, same as my woman may have sounded at the moment, but her words hit my scarred soul hard, and right or wrong, I couldn’t help but agree with her.

  Even if I wished I didn’t.

  In my head, her handling him, one of the many monsters that still haunted her dreams and waking thoughts alike, however she saw fit—as long as it didn’t end with her in cuffs—was something she needed.

  Not only for her to reclaim her power, making her feel less like a victim, but to also nullify a fraction of the heart-stopping fear that had seized her hours before while standing in front of the shelter.

  Yeah, I had to let her do this.

  If I didn’t, parts of her would remain broken.

  And I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Pushing aside the near-crippling desire to crush the bastard’s skull between my palms until his rotting brain oozed from his ears and nose, I made the morally debatable decision to step aside and let my woman have her moment.

  “No, beautiful, evil can’t always win,” I replied, back teeth grinding together before releasing the prick and letting him fall to the floor with a thud in a heap of worthless skin and bones. “Do what you need to. I’ll make sure you stay safe.”

  Her lower lip trembled.

  Then, without hesitating, she moved.

  Knowing that he wouldn’t harm a hair on her pretty head with me standing so close, guarding her like a sentry, she allowed her rage to take over and slammed the metal rod—yup, it’s a crowbar—across his upper back, sending him tumbling forward as he fought to regain the much-needed breath she’d just knocked out of him.

  I smiled, eyes crinkling at the sight.

  My woman wanted her pound of flesh, which she damn well deserved after everything she’d been through, and she was going to take it.

  One well-aimed strike at a time.

  “Tell me, Voodoo!” she screamed, those gorgeous cinnamon-colored irises of hers that I loved so much, burning with pure fire. “How does it feel to be the prey instead of the predator?” The iron bar slammed across his kidneys before he could even try to formulate an answer, pulling a flinch from me. “The victim instead of the abuser?” With a scream that sent chills racing down my spine, she landed another strike, this one to the back of his knees. “Answer me!”

  Nostrils flaring, he yelled something inaudible at her questions and weakly lunged to the side, arm swinging out to sweep her feet out from beneath her.

  The predictable move was in vain.

  Before he touched her, my booted foot slammed down on his back, exactly where she’d hit him seconds before, pancaking him to the floor.

  My woman winked. “Por favor, Guapo.”

  I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest. “I told you that no one would ever hurt you again wh
ile I’m still breathing. Meant it, baby.”

  She raised the iron again, ready to strike him once more, but stopped when Anthony burst through the door, gun drawn. “Carmen,” he said, moving his aim to the moaning scumbag on the floor after assessing the situation. “Sweetheart, put it down. I know what you’re doing, and I get it. Trust me, I do, but this isn’t the answer.”

  “Man, shoot her!”

  I pressed down harder on the scumbag’s back at his nearly incoherent, pain-laced command. Eyes remaining fixed on my son-in-law, I watched his every move.

  He wouldn’t dare shoot Carmen.

  But mark my words, if he lost his mind and tried to do just that, the bullet would have to get through me first. No one, and I mean no one, would hurt her.

  Never again.

  She’d suffered enough for a hundred people.

  And that period of her life was over.

  Anthony’s right eye twitched, his barely contained anger close to making an appearance. “Shut the fuck up, Voodoo,” he spat, his disgust for the piece of shit clear. “If there’s an officer-involved shooting today, it’ll be you that takes the bullet.”

  “Carmen,” he started again. “Just drop—”

  “I’m not finished!” she snapped, hands shaking. “You don’t understand what he did, Anthony! How much damage he helped cause, whether directly or indirectly! If you knew—”

  “I do know,” Anthony interjected, moving a step closer as unmistakable pain flashed in his grey eyes. Jaw clenching, then releasing, he glared down at the beaten dog on the floor before meeting my Pixie’s eyes once more. “And he’s going to pay for all of it. For what he did to Jade, for what he did to the other girls, my principessa included, and for what he did to you.” His brows rose when fuckface groaned again. “More so than you’ve already made him, anyway.”

  Dropping my arms to my sides, I fisted my hands. “Might want to elaborate on the whole him paying part, son. If you don’t and my woman decides to take that crowbar to this piece of shit again, I won’t stop her.” I pressed down on Voodoo once more, grinning when his back cracked and he howled in pain. How he’d stayed conscious, I didn’t know. “And neither will you.”