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Broken but Breathing(Jinx Tattoos Book 2)(3)

By:Shyla Colt


"Son of a bitch," he barked.

"We told you to get your nigga and half breed out of our town. Now we're  going to make sure you get the message," one of them snarled.

He wanted to step aside and show them he wasn't afraid, but that would  leave his girls unprotected. His hands clenched around the smooth  aluminum, and he gritted his teeth.

"You got nothing to say, boy?" one of them drawled.

When his father died and passed on the family store to him in Dawson  Springs, he'd seen it as a chance for a new start. They'd been barely  scraping by back home in Northern Kentucky, so he'd quickly packed up  his small family and moved them deeper into the state. The resistance  they received had been something he expected to blow over. Small towns  rarely liked change, and he knew some of the older people might be  prejudiced against Janelle. Still, they'd made a pact to stick it out,  and see if they could make things work before they looked into selling  the store. We should've left this shit hole in the rearview mirror.         

     



 

"Well if he doesn't want to come out, we'll just give him a little motivation."

Xavier watched, stunned, as they set the bushes in front of the house on  fire. Making a decision, he pivoted and ran for the bedroom.

"J, get Joce, and get the hell out of here."

He could hear the crunch of glass, and the sound of boots behind him.  Turning, he swung. Bat met flesh with a loud thud. The impact made its  way up the bat into his arms. The man cried out. The door opened behind  him, and he blocked the path as his wife ran from the room to their  daughter's.

"Get that bitch," a cruel voice cried.

The man in front of him tackled him to the ground, knocking the wind out  of him. They grappled, and he used his legs to kick out at the bastard.  His wife screamed, and he saw red. He rolled over, beating the man  beneath him into submission. Pushing to his feet, he ran toward the  screams. The sight of Jade on her knees in front of a robed man, and a  sobbing Joce in another's arms stole his ability to reason. He fisted  the handle of the bat and charged toward the group of men. The crunch of  bone and cries of pain spurred him on until he was overpowered. On the  ground, he balled up to avoid the blows rained down on his body.  Coughing blood-with his left eye swollen shut, and his breathing  labored-he was forced onto his knees. A hand yanked his head into  position.

"This is going to be the last thing you see before you die, boy," one of them snarled.

He watched as they wrapped a noose around Jade's neck and the truck  drove off. Screams erupted from his throat; a loud bang echoed in his  ears. Pressure exploded in his brain, and the world went dark.

§

Present

The fuckers burned down his home, killed his wife, and nearly ended him.  The bullet had entered the back of his head, and exited the front,  missing the main areas and vessels. He'd been fucked up for months, but  the hate that had planted roots in his heart kept him moving forward.  The sheriff swore up and down they'd done everything possible to find  out who had committed the hate crimes, but everything was destroyed in  the fire. Not that he believed the prick.

He left the state with a chip on his shoulder, anger, and insurance  money from the house. He hit the road with nothing more than a bike and  the thought of revenge to keep him moving. When he hooked up with Big  Mike one night when he was jumped at a bar, and Xavier stepped in to  help, it'd been the perfect fit. He became a hang around, and not long  after, a prospect. Mike had promised him when the time was right, he  would get his revenge.

He hadn't forgotten, but he knew he only had one chance to get it right.  The past couple of years had been about cementing his place among the  club, protecting his new family, searching for answers, and controlling  his anger. People thought losing your loved ones was the worst thing  that could happen. The fact was not knowing what happened or where their  bones lie was worse.

"You going to be offline for the day?" Mike asked, drawing him from his thoughts at the bar.

"Yeah, unless it's an emergency."

"Do what you need to, brother. I'll hold the boys down," Mike said.

"Appreciate it." Snake pushed away from the bar. He didn't go to the  grief group weekly anymore, but right now he needed it. He'd damn near  ruined himself falling into a bottle and trying to fight the entire  world until he got right. Mike helped with that. He owed his President  loyalty because he saved his life in a million different ways.

The ride to the meeting helped clear his mind. Nothing gave him more  peace than the wind, the road beneath his tires, and the feeling of  freedom that came with riding. He pulled into the church parking lot and  killed the engine. St Mary's Church had been good to him. They opened  their doors to the support group and made each one feel welcome  regardless of if they shared their story or not. His relationship with  God took a heavy beating. He wasn't sure if the man upstairs really  existed anymore.

If he did, he'd be none too happy with the things Snake did. Still the  group kept him grounded. There was something about sharing your sorrow  with those who understood the intense pain that made it easier to bear.  Walking into the large building, made his way to the small room off of  the church where they held the meetings. There were the usual suspects  who called out a greeting.

"Evening, Snake," the facilitator, Bryan, said.

He nodded at the balding man with kind brown eyes, and a face worn by  the sun and smiles. He exchanged greetings with the others seated in the  fold-up chairs, and took his customary seat against the wall. It  offered him a view of the door, and no blind spots. Old habits died  hard. He'd lost his family and his dignity once because he wasn't  prepared. He'd be damned if that ever happened again. He narrowed his  eyes as Jason walked in. He'd figured out the man's game. The tanned,  muscular, pretty boy preyed on the women who came in at their lowest. It  turned his stomach, but it wasn't any of his business.         

     



 

"Okay, we'll be starting class in a few minutes. I'm happy to see some  familiar faces. Grief is a journey, and we all have our high points and  low points. This group is here to be there each step of the way."

The door pushed open, and his jaw dropped. A waif stood in the doorway  looking like a fairy. Dirty blonde curls framed a slender, oval-shaped  face. Bright blue eyes, which were prominent, added a fairytale  surrealness to her delicate features. She worried her bottom lip with  her teeth and shifted uncomfortably.

"Is this the grief group?" she asked.

Her voice was melodic, yet filled with sadness. Her pain was fresh. He  remembered the overwhelmed, desperate look that came with the start of  the healing process. After you'd accepted the hand you'd been dealt.

"Yes, it is," Jason purred. Fucking shark in the water. It was clear the suit wearing businessman saw an easy target.

Not this time. The woman seemed to shrink away from Jason. Interesting.

"It is, I have an empty seat you're welcome to," Snake said.

She blinked slowly. "T-thank you." She scurried over and sat beside him, placing her slender hands in her lap.

He liked his woman with a little meat on his bones. It was all he could  do not to offer her one of the cookies they had on the table against the  back wall. Her bones jutted out in sharp angles. He could tell she  hadn't been eating properly. Everyone dealt with grief in a different  way, so he wasn't judging, simply observing. He stared Jason down,  pleased when the punk turned away. This one's off limits. He studied her  again, and she shifted her weight in her seat.

Stop looking at her before you scare her. He forced his gaze back to Bryan.

"Welcome … " Bryan said.

"Estelle," she whispered.

"Estelle, we're glad to have you here tonight."

"I was- Dr. Nimoy recommended it to me," she said.

"Oh yes, Dr. Nimoy has helped many of us here. Since we have a new face,  why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves?" Bryan  suggested.

The meeting started up and he re-directed his attention to the others. He cleared his throat at his turn.

"They call me Snake. Most of you know me. I'm here because the  anniversary of my family's death is coming up quick. Always makes it  harder to deal with. Otherwise, I've been doing a lot better dealing  with things. I don't think I'll ever get closure. They were the victims  of a hate crime." He gritted his teeth, fighting against the desire to  remain silent. Holding it all in led to explosions. That wasn't safe. He  had to keep his head on straight for his club. "They never caught who  did it. The case is still open."

When Estelle inhaled sharply, he turned to face her. She'd covered her  mouth with her hand, and tears shone in her eyes. It touched him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He felt something inside him soften.

"We've all lost here," he said.