I reared back and pulled the dagger from my back pocket and jammed it into Phoenix’s hand as he leaned against his own knees.
He screamed in pain.
Pain? I almost laughed. He had no idea the pain I was going to rain down on him.
I pulled the knife out just as Frank walked up beside me. Licking his lips, Frank nodded twice then mumbled, “Get a place ready.”
The man who’d accompanied Frank ran out the door, phone pressed against his ear.
Phoenix slumped to the floor with a groan. I wiped the knife on my jeans and waited for Frank to assess the situation. After all, it wasn’t just my honor at stake. It was his. Trace wasn’t mine — as much as I wanted her to be. She was her grandfather’s, so in the end, it was as much his call as it was Trace’s.
“Your decision,” Frank said in a cold voice.
“Hammer.” I didn’t even blink.
Frank looked behind me, disappeared for a few seconds, then returned with a hammer.
“You should close your eyes.” I heard Chase whisper as Trace whimpered behind me.
Frank grabbed Phoenix’s hands and tied his wrists together with zip ties I’m assuming he had snagged from the cupboard where we kept… toys.
“You look at her without asking? You lose an eye. You touch her with your dirty hands?” His accent came through thick in that moment, as if he was reverting to his roots.
“You lose your hands,” I finished for him, noticing that Frank’s entire body was shaking. That’s why he’d said it was my call. Nobody carried out torture when they were that close to the situation. Which meant only one thing.
He still had no idea how deep my love was for Trace.
If there was anyone who shouldn’t be carrying out the punishment, it would be me. Because Phoenix had touched mine. He’d attacked a girl who held a piece of my freaking soul.
And for that? I wouldn’t offer forgiveness. I wouldn’t allow him to repent. I’d destroy him.
I slammed the hammer down onto his right hand then his left, shattering his knuckles on contact.
I only stopped when Frank pushed me away from Phoenix. He’d passed out from the pain. And Trace, the love of my life…
Had passed out in Chase’s arms.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Hammers are our friends.
Chase
“HELLO?” HER VOICE SOUNDED off.
“Trace?” I said her name slowly. “Are you okay? Nixon said you left class and— Are you crying?”
She hesitated. She never hesitated.
“No.”
“But you texted 911. Usually that means you’re either upset or someone called you a whore again…”
Her breathing was heavy.
“Trace?”
“Yeah?”
He was with her. He had to be.
“How hot is it in Arizona?” Arizona was our nickname for Phoenix.
“Scorching,” she answered quickly.
“Shit.” I hung up the phone and quickly traced her number. I’d put Find a Friend on both our phones so I could track her like the stalker bodyguard I was.
She was at the Batcave.
I sent the fastest text I could to Nixon and started to run.
My mind wouldn’t stop replaying images of her eyes. Would Phoenix actually hurt her? Would he try anything? Would he dare touch a girl under my protection? Under Nixon’s authority?
An eternity passed between the time Nixon and I met and when we tried to break down the door.
It had probably only been five minutes, but it felt like five years — five years of not knowing if she was breathing, if she had a gun pointed to her head, if she was afraid.
The door pushed open.
Phoenix was on her. His body pressed against hers in a way that made me want to cut off his balls, let him suffer for a day or two, and then shoot him in the foot, only to let him suffer longer, get a staph infection, and die.
Nixon yelled and charged toward him, but all I could see was Trace. I’d lusted after her for weeks, and now her shirt was ripped almost completely off, her skirt nearly gone. My stomach was sick. I could barely take a few steps toward her before I wanted to collapse onto the ground and sob against her chest.
No girl deserved that.
No girl asked for it.
And most girls never recovered.
I’d wanted to protect her from the ugly, but instead it seemed I was too late. I’d failed to protect her — I’d failed to do my duty. When it mattered the most. I. Had. Failed.
“Trace—” I whispered and pulled her into my arms, covering her with my jacket.
Her soft body trembled against me; her skin was freezing. I clutched her so tight my arms hurt. As Nixon beat the hell out of Phoenix, she sank harder and harder against me, like I was her everything.
Like I didn’t just fail her.
“Hammer.” Nixon’s eyes met mine.