I stood in the doorway, helpless as the woman that I had devoted my life to lay lifelessly in the bed before me. Her nightmares were so frequent that I was afraid to even leave the room for fear she would wake and I wouldn’t be there. It had to be well past two in the morning, and my body was now running on adrenaline alone. Less than twenty-four hours ago my girl was being sexually assaulted by a man that I once called my friend. I felt my grip tighten around the coffee mug I held in my hand.

Breathe Luke.

Breathe.

The last thing I needed was to harm a part of myself in a way that would prevent me from holding her when she needed me. My hands no longer belonged to me. My eyes were only for her, and my heart was held in the tiny palms of the hands of Dallas Knox. I had no idea what they had done to her. Earlier, as I had washed her broken, dirty, battered body, I noticed the way she cringed when my hands fell to the places where she once enjoyed my touch. He had touched her. He had put his hands on something that was mine. I knew I sounded like some kind of barbarian getting territorial over my property, but that was not the reason I was so pissed. I was pissed because they had stole something from her that she would never be able to get back. Her pride, dignity and her right to say who could touch her had been taken. She was now a broken woman and I would spend my last days on Earth piecing her back together.

“Luke.” I heard her whisper in her sleep. I knew a nightmare was soon to follow. She often called out my name as if she was preparing me for what was to come, although I knew that was not possible. If Dallas could control the torturous dreams she would.

I sat down my now cold coffee on the night stand and climbed into bed behind her. I was no longer the man I once was. Many people who saw me every day in my cut, proudly sporting that Devil’s Renegades patch would not think that I had succumbed to a man who was willing to cradle his woman like a baby just to reassure her she was safe. Some would say I was losing my edge, or going soft, but that was not the case. Dallas might have my heart, but the blood that ran through my veins was cold. Frankie would die and it would be me who pulled the trigger to end his life, if he was lucky. I would much rather cover him in peanut butter and bury him alive in an ant hill somewhere, but I would probably be forced to take a more humane route. I felt Dallas’ small frame curl deep into the mattress and I was pulled from my thoughts of Frankie and back into the situation at hand.

“Please.” I heard Dallas cry as her body started to convulse into shudders that made my heart clench and my eyes fill with tears.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” I turned her to me and buried her face in my chest, rocking us back and forth as I whispered reassurances in her ear. I felt her body take a sudden deep breath and I squeezed my eyes shut at what I knew was to come.

   Screams.

Loud, blood curdling screams echoed off the walls of the bedroom. I pulled her closer, tilting her head back so I could look in her face as I shook her gently, waking her.

“Dallas. Wake up, baby. You are safe. No one can hurt you anymore.” I had said the words so many times, but each time hurt just as much as the first. When her beautiful green eyes opened up to me, I could see the sorrow that filled them. Her right eye was barely visible through her swollen lid that was so many shades of blue and purple that it looked almost unreal. Sobbing always came next, and this time was no different. It was like she was ashamed to look at me, and the thought made me a die a little on the inside. I rubbed her hair continuously until her breathing slowed and I was sure she knew she was safe. We had followed this same pattern every few hours for the last day. I knew she would request something to drink, and since I couldn’t leave her alone for even a moment, and she wouldn’t go by herself, I cradled her in my arms and carried her to the kitchen with me. I had become an expert at maneuvering around with her in my arms. With her legs wrapped around my waist, and her arms wrapped around my neck, I moved around the kitchen to service her every need.

Water.

Pain reliever.

More water.

Another round of tears, as her need for me sunk in.

Apologies from her.

Apologies from me.

Reassurances from her.

Reassurances from me.

Bathroom.

Back to bed.

As I carried her down the hall and to the bathroom, my anger flared, just as it always did. My strong, independent, talented, thoughtful, wonderful girl couldn’t even take a piss on her own without fearing for her life. Yes, Frankie the Cutter was going to die, and the pleasure was gonna be all mine.