Fight For Her (Devil's Right Hand MC #2)

Chapter 3

Brenna's POV

I try not to watch the clock as the minute hand ticks by, but I can't help it. It is 8:49 pm, 49 minutes past Hazel's bedtime. A bedtime Brody promised he would be home by, but he's not, and now he's not answering his phone.

At 8:05, I was pissed. Hazel took forever to go down because she wanted to wait up for him, but now, I'm worried as hell. He would've called. If something came up, he would've called. But now it's been 49 minutes and he could be anywhere and I can't go and look for him because I have a 3-year-old asleep in the next room.

He could've been in a car accident.

He could've been mugged.

He could've had a seizure.

I have no idea what happened, but I know something did. Call it twin-intuition, but I know something is wrong.

As I pace the floor with my mind spiraling, the front door flies open, and in walks, the man I was convinced was dead 5 seconds ago.

"Where the fuck were you?!" I yell at him. Hazel is asleep in the next room, but I can't help the emotion that bubbles inside of me.

"Calm down," he says as he walks into the living room.

"Don't tell me to calm down. You were an hour late and you weren't answering your phone," I defend as I lower my voice. The last thing I need is Hazel waking up right now.

"I'm not hurt," he mumbles, but I can tell there's something he's not saying.

"But?"

"I got a speeding ticket," he mumbles, and my heart rate skyrockets. Fucking great.

"You goddamn idiot!" I whisper-yell at him as I smack his arm.

"I know, I was just trying to make it home before Hazel's bedtime," he defends.

"Well, you're gonna miss a whole lot of bedtimes if your probation officer throws your ass in jail," I shoot back. He knows better than to push his luck. He only has 18 months left on probation, he can't fuck it up now.

"I know, that's why I'm late. They did a field sobriety test and everything once they ran my name. They let me off with a fifteen hundred dollar ticket and a call to my probation officer," he mumbles.

"Fiffteen-hundred dollars?!" I question. That's one hell of a speeding ticket.

"Yeah, the cop was a real asshole."

"Well, after my fight next week we should be able to cover it."

"Don't do that, don't use me as an excuse to keep doing that shit," he says in a slightly raised voice.

"Then stop doing expensive shit. We just got your damn lawyer bill paid off, now this," I argue.

"Let's not forget why I was arrested in the first place. If you had better taste in men, none of this would've happened!" He yells and all of the blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Woooooowwwww," I respond, elongating the word.

"Bren, I'm sorry," he tries to backtrack.

"No-no it's alright. Tell me how you really feel, brother."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Well let's clear one thing up real fucking fast. I called you that night for help. YOU are the one that decided to beat the shit out of him," I growl. One of my biggest regrets is being too weak to handle my own business that night.

"Bren-" he begins but I don't let him finish. I turn on my heels and head into my bedroom.

I shouldn't let his words hurt me. I fight men twice my size for a living. I take punches, kicks, and body slams like they are nothing more than harmless tickles. I am tough. But those words, that night, it's a soft spot.