20
“Get him conscious,” I growl, wiping the blood from my hands on a rag I keep out here. Valentine’s man sags in the chair, face a bloodied pulp but I’m far from done.
He’s keeping his mouth closed for now but I can sense the crack coming, he’ll break sooner rather than later.
“Where are you going?” Ryker asks, filling a bucket with cold water.
“To check on Wren.”
Ryker laughs.
“What asshole?”
He shakes his head, “Nothing boss. You go check your girl.”
I narrow my eyes but ultimately say nothing as I push out the doors of the barn and head the short distance to the house. My eyes travel upwards finding the light in the attic bedroom is on but the curtains are drawn. She could very well be asleep but a half hour ago I saw her peering out the window, staring at the barn. My men were keeping her in the house to stop her from getting too close to what we were doing but she had to know what was going on.
Inside, I wash my hands and then head up the stairs. Her bedroom door is ajar, golden light spilling out into the darkened hallway and a soft whimpering fills my ears.
She’s crying.
Pausing, I listen for a moment. Hearing the deep shaky breaths she inhales and then blows out. A sniffle. Clearing her throat. Eventually I push in, finding her sat on her bed, legs drawn up to her chest. She’s still in the dress she wore to the club and dried blood clings to her skin. She hasn’t even cleaned herself up. Shards of glass are still embedded into her skin, they glint in the light above.
“You haven’t sorted yourself out,” I growl.
“Go away.”
She turns her face away from me, hiding her tears.
With a grumble I head back out and down to the medical cabinet, fishing out my first aid kit before going back to her room. I don’t have time for this shit but clearly she isn’t going to do it herself and like fuck will I let another person touch her.
“I said go away!” She yells when I re-enter.
“I heard you,” I snap back, crossing the room.
I grab her ankle and force her leg flat so I can get a better look at her knees. The glass is just on the surface, a few shards here and there and other than a few grazes it’s nothing to worry about. Fishing out the tweezers, I start plucking out the small fragments and put them into a cotton pad. I do her other knee and then her hands and arms until her skin is clean and the wounds have been flushed.
I meet her eyes, red rimmed and slightly swollen. The tip of her nose is pink and her cheeks are flushed and she looks…broken.
“You killed him,” her voice shakes.
“I did what I had to do.” I affirm, “you need to shower and sleep.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I never claimed to be anything else, little bird.”
She scoffs and turns her face away, “I hate you.”
“I know.”
I did what was right. Benjamin Lawson would have killed her had he had the chance. If I had left him alive, I had no doubt he would have attempted it again. I just needed to figure out why.
You don’t live with and raise a child without growing an attachment regardless of whether they are biological or not. Wren was looked after, cared for, given everything she could ever need by the same man who pointed a gun at her tonight.
“You killed him,” she repeats, sniffing.
I understood. I did. Regardless of the situation he was the only man she called father and I took that away, leaving her with nothing. The familial bond overshadows his betrayal. The fact that he failed means she’s looking through rose-tinted glasses, unable to fully comprehend what he attempted tonight.