Set Me Free

Marked

Braxton

I slip Girly off my shoulder soon as my boots hit the grass. She huffs, teeterin' back, but my hand is quick to catch her arm and pull her close once more. With cheeks red as cherries, she glares up at me, that pretty mouth always twisted down in a spiteful frown. I wanna smirk at 'er, show her she don't fool me or frighten me, but now's not the time.

My eyes flit behind her. Logan stands in front of us both, shoulders bunched up to his ears in his hot anger. He hates it when anyone messes with his old man. I slide one hand down her thin arm, capturin' her little wrist as I step forward and clap him on one of those shoulders, calmin' him. Two Guards step out, all fancy in their fuckin' stupid uniforms. Really, if you wanna intimidate someone, ya gonna wear all-white jumpers with shiny black boots that go up to your knees?

"Boys," I say, gatherin' a wad of spit to send right to the stretch of grass in front of the four boots that ain't never seen any type of action before. Two sets of dark eyes narrow at my face in disdain. One of 'em holds a clipboard, like he's all prepared to write me up for some minor infraction. These cunts hate me, and I hate them, and if we can leave it at that, life'd be that much easier.

"Braxton Stone, always a pleasure," the older of the two says, more good natured than his young counterpart. I smirk now; the old deputy and I go way back. He ain't too bad, but this new kid...

"You're in violation of about fifty housing codes, not to mention your slave isn't chained—"

I push Girly into Logan's grasp, steppin' up, between 'em as a shield. All it takes for him to simmer down is the cross of my arms, bulging in thanks to the weights I heft almost daily. I narrow my eyes for good measure. He clamps his mouth shut, but I can see the challenge in his dark gaze.

"Pops was gifted this cabin. Can't write 'im up for somethin' he had no idea was his fault."

I feel my jaw tick. Logan likes to stick his nose where it don't belong, but he means well, especially now. I can feel Girly shift behind me, can feel the taut stretch of her nervous muscles. Proves to me she's choosin' us over them, though that shouldn't surprise me; she has a relationship with us, however shaky the foundation. Better the devil ya know...

"Now, now, kids," the older one—Johnston—says. His eyes flick to mine, creased around the edges, the lines around his mouth proof of his constant frowns. Poor fucker hates his job. Always been clear to me.

"Why're you here?" I grit out. He reaches for the clipboard in his counterpart's meaty grasp, and my eyes scan quickly over his name badge: Strater. Johnston dashes his tongue out to wet his thumb before he leafs through the pages.

"Here to check up on the status of your little conquest," he says, his eyes dragging lazily over my shoulder to where I know Girly is safe with my boy. I feel my jaw tick once more. Johnston won't be an ass, but this new kid...

"All's fine and dandy, boys. Sweet, meek little thing that won't cause no problems."

Strater's eyes narrow as he lets a derisive scoff past his thin, pink lips.

"Bullshit, Stone. I had a hand in her capture. You think that fucking cunt came quietly?"

I take a step forward. Not a large step by any means, but a step that holds significance all the same. A step that is wrapped up tight in a promise this fucker ain't ready to face. I revel in the flicker of fear in his muddy, watery eyes.

Johnston pats his palm to Strater's front deltoid, pushin' him back, holdin' him in line. Sure, Girly's a real bitch when she wants to be, but I'll be damned if the man who aided in takin' her against her will feels he has that right to call her by any name other than her own. I feel Logan bristle at my back, an alpha and his beta, standin' united against a common enemy and protectin' fierce what's ours.