Page 10 of Reckless
“Wait…” The man who had done this is struggling in the large man’s hands as Michael walks towards him. Fists clenched shoulders tense. He doesn’t pause as his fist smashes into the man’s face. I cover my own face at the ferocity of the impact.
I can’t look away as Michael continues to hit him, repeatedly. There’s so much blood.
“Michael.” My word is only a whisper and I swallow.
“Michael,” I say louder taking a shaky step towards him.
He doesn’t hear me.
“Michael, stop.” The man is limp in the large man’s hands but Michael isn’t stopping.
“Michael, please…” I’m moving faster. It’s not until I reach him and place a hand on his back. “Stop.” Glancing at me over his shoulder a vicious snarl twists his mouth.
It takes him a few seconds to lower his fists and step away from the man who I’m not sure is alive.
Chapter Eight
Michael O’Reagan
My hands don’t feel sore enough, anger still courses through me. I’ve lowered my hands but I’m not done. Not even close.
“Michael, please.” Margret’s soft words have me closing my eyes. They aren’t soothing me, I want to kill him. I take three steps away. I can’t let her see that. Her lip trembles as she stares at me. Her brown eyes glassy and unsure.
There is something in the way she stands that has me nodding at Johnny before approaching Margret.
“Let’s get you home.” She bites her lip and nods. Wrapping an arm carefully around her I walk her back to her house. We are at the bottom of the garden when her mother comes frantically out.
“You were gone for so long…” Her words trail off as her eyes roam Margret before coming to me. I don’t see the disgust I thought I would see.
“Thank you for bringing her home.” She quickly steps up to the other side of her daughter.
“What happened?”
I don’t want to hear what happened. I can already tell what that dirty fucker did to her. I release her as we step through the back door. The small kitchen smells like burnt toast.
“I’m okay, Mother.” Margret’s voice is stronger now.
Her hands try to cover her leg but she doesn’t touch them either.
“I need a bath.” She’s standing not looking at either of us as she vacates the room.
I take a step towards the door. “You stay here.” Her mother’s words are harsh so I remove my jacket as she tends to her daughter. Rolling up my sleeves I start to wash the blood from my hands. Red flecks have dotted my white shirt. It wasn’t enough. Johnny would keep him alive until I returned later. The soft cries have me turning off the tap and moving to the kitchen door.
“Shh baby girl. You’re safe.” Her mother’s soothing words have me leaning against the wall. I’m not sure how long I stay there listening to Margret tell her mother what happened while she cries. The back door opens and I’m face to face with her father. Using my foot I close the kitchen door not wanting the ladies to hear him, as I’m sure by the snarl on his face that he’s going to start.
His eyes widen when they land on the blood on my shirt.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Having a bath,” I answer and his nostrils flair. Setting a lunch bag on the table he removes a tatty old coat.
“Get out of my home.”
“No.” I roll down my sleeves allowing him to see all the blood.
His eyes widen again and he marches from the room. My instinct is to grab the old man and keep him away from Margret, but I remind myself that he’s her father. I’m standing at the door listening, ready to spring if I need to.
“She’s fine.” It’s Margret’s mother who speaks.