“Senna, baby, calm down.”
“I’m not your fucking baby.”
He clicks his tongue, mockingly disappointed, and then he shakes his head.
His hands grip his hips, his chin flicking toward the ground.
“Are you here because of him?” he asks, pointing at Jaden, not sparing me his disdain for him.
I stay silent.
“Is he the man you fuck?” he throws at me again. “If he is, you have no idea how much trouble you’re in. No dick is worth that kind of headache,” he says.
I quietly laugh.
A crazy, cold chuckle.
“No need to worry, dickhead. I got myself in big trouble a long time ago. This shit means nothing to me. I’ve seen dicks like you all my life. Do you think you have balls because you’re cruising around with these jerks in tow, harassing women, or fucking up outnumbered men? That’s manhood to you? You’re nothing but a piece of shit. Let him go.”
He doesn’t move.
“Let him fucking go!!” I snarl, the echo of my voice vibrating in the air.
“You’ll regret this,” he tosses at me, no longer smiling or in a mood to fuck with me.
“I regret my whole damn life, jerk, and there’s nothing I can do about it, is it? Now take your fucking men and leave.”
He turns around and motions to the injured man, who’s still groaning with his hand between his knees. The man limps to the car and crawls in while the big mouth picks up the third man from the ground. He shoves him into the car before climbing in. I wait until they close the doors and pull away, my gun aimed at their SUV.
A few minutes pass before the lights and noise fade away.
I spin around, take a few steps, kneel and bend over Jaden.
A big stain of blood soaks the flank of his T-shirt.
“Jaden?”
He groans, barely moving his head.
I curl my fingers around the hemline of his T-shirt, tear it open, and inspect his body. It looks like a knife wound. The blade must’ve glided over the ribs, missing his vital organs.
His arm is covered in blood.
“Can you walk?” I ask, sliding my arm under his shoulder.
He nods softly, rolling onto his side and trying to push up as I pull him.
I manage to bring him to a standing position.
“Lean on me,” I say as he struggles to maintain his balance.
He barely walks, groaning with each step.
Somehow, we make it to the car, and he climbs in. He leans back in his seat as I brush his hair away from his face, blood and dirt sticking to my fingers.
I pull my phone out.
“No hospital...” he mutters, his bloodied hand sliding over mine. “Please,” he groans.