So he’d had to leave, before she broke down. Because if she did, if he saw the strongest person he knew—including the men who considered themselves above everything—broke down, then he’d have no fucking faith left.
It was cowardice, pure and simple. Leaving her there when he’d known that she’d had to face the Devil himself. But he’d had no fucking choice when the Devil was family.
Six Years Earlier
Delivering news of the death of a loved one to the surviving family was hands down the worst part of the job. Death was fucking hard too, but the person, the corpse he observed after the fact, was no longer a person. No longer in pain or suffering. They were at whatever passed for peace. Whether it be some kind of afterlife or total fucking darkness—which was what Luke suspected was the case—they didn’t have to worry about the ills of the world, but the world sure as shit worried about them.
The people left behind had the death to cope with, to fight with. Not the one it happened to.
Luke couldn’t decide if watching strangers suffer was worse than those he knew. Not that he delivered news to many strangers, not in a town this small. Being strangers with someone was a luxury small-town cops were rarely afforded.
He found himself wishing he was telling strangers that their only child was brutally tortured, raped, and murdered instead of the two people who’d raised a beautiful, polite and kind daughter. They’d raised her that way because they were polite, kind, and all-around good people. Peter, her father, had come to Luke informally after Bull and Laurie had gotten together.
Not for Luke to arrest Bull for taking up with his barely legal daughter.
No, to tell Luke that it was okay.
“Now I know you have a certain opinion on those Templar boys,” Peter had said after Luke had invited him in for a beer. Peter had visited him at home because he was that kind of guy. He was good friends with Luke’s own father and would always rather greet both Luke and his father as the pals he considered them to be rather than the law enforcement officers they were.
“Men, sir,” he’d cut in quietly and respectfully. “They’re not teenagers playing rough and harmlessly with bikes. They’re men who get into trouble. Plenty of harmful trouble.” He didn’t want to sound like he was lecturing the man who’d ruffled his head at ten years old after he’d hit a home run at the baseball game his father hadn’t been at because of trouble with the Sons.
Peter took a swig of his beer, regarding the bottle thoughtfully as he did so. “This is a good brew. Light, sweet,” he said instead of answering Luke immediately.
Luke was impatient in the silence that followed but forced himself to wait until Peter said what he was going to say, to show him that respect.
His eyes met Luke’s. “I know your opinion of these boys.” He paused. “These men. And I’m not here to challenge that or say it isn’t founded. I have many concerns of my own, don’t you worry about that. A father’s natural state is concern, especially when they have a daughter. Especially when they have one like Laurie. We’ve always known since the start that she was different. Special in a way, like she got one less layer of skin than everyone else, the one that protected people from the world but that also obscures them from seeing the true beauty of that world. Now, instead of trying to force her to grow that cynical skin, educate her on the ugliness of this place, my Christine and I have tried to preserve that view. Make sure nothing happens to obscure it. And it just so happens that Laurie seems to attract people who want the same for her.”
Peter gave him a pointed look. “Know you’re one of those people, my friend. So I know it’ll be hard to hear this, and even harder to listen to what I ask, but I know you’ll respect me and Laurie enough to listen. Your first instinct is to go to that man, give him threats, ultimatums, anything to reconsider his gaze on my daughter. I will say that thought did cross my mind too. But then I focused on his gaze, the way he looked at her. Then I recognized it. He’s another one of those people. Maybe not like you—”
“Nothing like me,” Luke interrupted, unable to help himself.
Instead of looking angry at Luke’s words, Peter just nodded. “We don’t have to all be alike to see something that needs protecting and go about our job at protecting it. Way I see it, this is a different kind of protection than me or even you could offer. This is from the man who’s not only seen the true ugliness of the world but is willing to brave it to protect my daughter from it. You say and think what you will, but you know those men protect their kin, their women especially, with their lives. And as a father, knowing your daughter’s in the hands of someone who would do that, well it helps with the concern.” He drained his beer. “Never anything or anyone who’s gonna take it away, but it quells it some.”