Page 3

“Yeah.” She stops walking. “How did you—”

“Stay in the clubhouse. I don’t want you getting hurt. Talon, Reaper, back door. Nitro and Matrix, we’re going in the front.” I’m down the porch steps and running toward the bar with the others right behind me. They’ve got my back, and I’ve got theirs. We’re brothers. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that matters.

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch came here,” Nitro says, shaking his head.

“Rick’s got shit for brains,” I say as we split up.

“At least this time, his family’s not around,” Matrix says, flanking me.

“Good. They shouldn’t have to see what I’m about to do to him.”

I can’t wait to get my hands on the bastard. I saw his son Charlie’s medical file. His mom gave us access when we agreed to protect her and the kid. The boy’s only seven, but he’s seen enough shit to fuck him up for life. The last thing I’m going to do is let his asshole father escape justice again. This time he’s going to be the one with broken bones and bruises all over his body. He won’t get another chance to terrorize his son because after I’m done with him, he’ll be lucky to be alive.

Chapter 2: Julia

Iknow something’s terribly wrong the minute Max drags his feet into my office. As an elementary school nurse, I see all kinds of issues, from simple things like skinned knees to emergencies like ruptured appendixes. I can tell just by looking at this first-grader that he’s terrified. I’ve been able to see energy fields around people for as long as I can remember. A murky, crimson aura shimmers around Max’s body, and sparks of black flicker throughout it. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him like this.

“Max, come in, honey.” I gesture to the chair next to the exam table. He eyes it but doesn’t move toward it. Faint bruises encircle his wrists. They’ve faded to a mottled yellow and look much better than last week. I stamp down the sudden rush of anger. I need to stay calm, or he won’t talk to me.

When he finally sits in the chair, I squat down, so I’m at eye level with him. “Are you feeling sick?”

His small legs dangle over the edge of the chair, and he swings them back and forth while averting his eyes. We’ve done this before, so I wait. Eventually, he’ll open up to me.

I glance at the clock on the wall. School will be over in ten minutes. Summer break starts tomorrow. I can’t wait to spend two months in my cabin by the river. After the year I’ve had, I need two years off, but I can’t afford to lose this job.

Max stares at the clock.

“If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me. Remember what I said before? You can always tell me if something hurts.”Or if someone is hurting you,I silently add. Not that I was of much help the other times he came to see me. I did everything I was supposed to do as a mandated reporter. The system failed him. I feel like I failed him, too.

“Can I come live with you?” he asks in a tiny voice.

“Why would you want to come live with me?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I have to go to my dad’s for summer vacation.” Tears well in his eyes, and he trembles hard enough to scrape the chair against the wall.

“I know. And I’m so sorry the judge didn’t put him in jail.”

“He’s a bad man.” Max’s face drops.

My heart breaks for him. Earlier in the school year, Max came into the office with bruises all over his arms. I reported it, but Max’s father, Lyle Curtis, is the County Sheriff. Lyle and the judge went to the same prep school together. By the time Max’s case came before the judge, Lyle had scared Max into telling the judge he’d lied about being hurt by his father. Never mind the medical reports or any of the other physical evidence. The judge threw out the case, and life went on for everyone except for Max. He still lives in terror, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“I wish I could help,” I say.

“I want to come live with you instead.” His bottom lip trembles. “Dad’s going to hurt me bad if I go with him.”

He’s right. After five years of being a nurse, I’ve seen the pattern happen repeatedly. The abuse only gets worse until the abuser is finally thrown in prison, they kill their victim, or someone kills the abuser. Sometimes the darkest part of my soul wishes Max’s father would suffer the same fate, but I could never do anything like that. However, that doesn’t stop me from having evil fantasies about his father being shot by a criminal or driving over a cliff or getting struck by lightning. Sometimes I get more creative, and he gets eaten by a bear. If only I could somehow make that happen.

“You know I can’t take you home with me. It’s against the law,” I say.

“But you told me you’d keep me safe.”

“I tried. But your dad …” I struggle with how to phrase this in a way a seven-year-old will understand. “He has very powerful friends.”

It’s a terrible response, but I don’t have anything else to give him.

“We can try calling your mom,” I say.

“She’s gone.”