Like his father had that day.
For different reasons, perhaps.
But he got it now. Why his father did it.
And fuck if he wasn’t furious at himself for punishing his father too.
He’d driven around. Not to the station, though he fucking itched to walk in there, hand in his gun and badge and be done with it all. Those hours were a blur of running through the years, inspecting how majorly he’d fucked up while believing he was doing the right thing.
Believing that trying to end the Sons of Templar was somehow a noble cause.
And maybe it had been. At the start, when they were running guns, when there were dead bodies littering the battle lines of their war. When Laurie was murdered.
When he’d had to sit in front of two innocent people and tell them they’re even more innocent only fucking child had been brutalized and then murdered. Because of no other crime but loving the wrong person.
But even then, his cause, his noble fucking cause, had poisoned into a vendetta.
And when the club started going legit, when they started learning from their mistakes, when they started to try and live their version of a normal life, that’s when he should’ve stopped.
Should’ve shrugged off his hate, buried his hypocritical self-righteousness and inspected his own mistakes. Tried to learn from them.
But he didn’t.
Somehow along the way, he’d become worse than the men he’d considered criminals.
“Fuck!” he roared, slamming his hands on his steering wheel.
He’d been driving around like a coward for all these hours because he didn’t know where to go.
He still hadn’t learned from his fucking mistakes.
It was like that day when he was a kid all over again, his dad driving the cruiser away, abandoning the girl.
But this time he had control. This time he didn’t have to abandon the girl.
He couldn’t save her, because she didn’t need saved. But he could fight for her. And fucking save himself.
He hurried across town to her house, though he didn’t exactly know why. He’d waited thirty years for this; what was a few more minutes?
But when you’d waited thirty years, a few minutes was everything.
Life and death, as it turned out.
He folded out of his cruiser, not quickly, but not casual either. His gait was purposeful, bordering on impatient. He knew then that it would likely be one of the last times he climbed out of that cruiser.
His only regret was that he hadn’t done this sooner.
All thoughts of firsts and lasts went out the proverbial window when he was halfway up Rosie’s path.
When a gunshot filled the air.
A muted gunshot.
Coming from inside Rosie’s house.
He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, just reacted. His piece was off his hip in moments. He kicked Rosie’s door down, not thinking, not caring about the fact that he could get plugged with bullets crashing in.
He didn’t. Which meant it was coming from farther back in her house.
Her bedroom.
He hadn’t hesitated when he’d heard the shot, but he did freeze for a moment once he got into the doorway of Rosie’s bedroom.
When he glimpsed Rosie cuffed to the bed. Bruised. Battered. Almost naked.
Even his heart froze witnessing that.
Then it didn’t.
Then he found the justice that he’d been serving wrong his whole life.
He found justice in revenge. In murder.
It wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be. It wasn’t hard at all. In fact, breathing was a trifle fucking harder as he stomped over the dead body to the bed.
The bed where a broken Rosie lay.
She blinked at him—one eye only, the other swollen shut.
It took everything Luke had not to turn around and empty his clip into the half-headless body behind him. Rage, white hot, burned through his body, at a rate he had never before experienced.
“Luke?” a small voice croaked.
It was that small, quiet voice coming from the loudest and bravest women he knew that had him check that fury running through his veins.
It had him mask his flinch at seeing her ripped panties halfway down her thighs.
He tasted ash.
“Shhh, baby, you’re safe now,” he murmured, putting everything he had into gentling his voice.
In an action that was the hardest thing to do in his whole fucking life, he gently pulled up Rosie’s ripped panties, his body vibrating as he did so. He didn’t let himself think of that right now. He had more important things to worry about.
The most important thing.
Rosie.
First he shrugged off his jacket and covered her, cataloguing every inch of her bruises, feeling the blows in his own body.
Then he used his universal key to unlock her.
He caught her arms as they collapsed, rubbing her red and raw wrists as if he were rubbing the wings of a dove.
“He’s dead,” Rosie said, her voice disembodied. Empty.
Luke broke at that point, pulling Rosie into his arms, gathering her up.
“He’s dead,” he whispered.
And then she clutched his shirt and sobbed.
And Luke vowed to make sure for the rest of his life that she would never have a reason to sob like that again. That nothing would break her again. That he’d shield her from everything and anything.
Rosie
Luke got rid of the body.
Cleaned up the blood.
Cleaned up my mess.
Cleaned me up.
That was after he lost the battle taking me to a hospital.
But he won another one.
A big one.
The fight that my broken and Fucked-Up soul tried to wage in the wake of the shooting. After he’d killed for me, came to my bedside, demanded I be taken to a hospital.
After that, he’d sighed, glared, swore, but respected my wishes.
He stroked my hair, so soft and tender that it somehow hurt more than any of the hate-filled blows.
“I’ll fix you up,” he lied, like such a thing was possible. “Your first aid kit in the bathroom?”
Most people weren’t prepared enough to have comprehensive first aid kits. That was only in the movies. But then again, most people weren’t me.
So that meant I had implements to treat everything up to a bullet wound in my bathroom.
I nodded.
He leaned forward and kissed my head. I closed my eyes to hide the tears that welled up at the gesture.
Then I watched him stand, eye me for the longest moment, turn, step over the dead body beside my bed and walk toward my bathroom.
The way he did that, stepped over that body without a glance, while wearing his uniform, something about that hit me. Sent me plummeting back to reality.
“You should go,” I blurted, awkwardly and painfully getting up.
Luke didn’t hesitate in turning and glaring at me. “No. You’re not doin’ this shit,” he growled.
I frowned. “What shit, Luke? I’m doing you a favor. I’m not going to make you do this, break more laws for me tonight. I can’t.” I choked out the last two words. “I’ve got people, family more accustomed to dumping dead bodies where people like the law can’t find them. That’s their life, for better or for worse. They’re used to bloodstains. I’m not letting you become used to them too. Not for me.”
He stepped forward purposefully, stopping at the edge of the pool of blood originating from Kevin’s head. “Clue in, Rosie. I’m plannin’ on doing everything for you. Anything,” he declared. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. A lot of mistakes to make up for.”