Page 24 of Under Kid’s Protection

Struggling to speak through the sobs, she called the emergency number her counselor had given her. Thank all that was holy Kid was there and had the wherewithal to get her phone. She hadn’t had a panic attack this severe in months.

As the person picked up the line, she heard her the door to her apartment close.

“Crisis line. This is Marisol… breathe. Is this an emergency?” the woman asked on the other end of the phone.

No, but Carrie couldn’t get words to leave her brain. Every attempt came out as another wail or sob.

“I can send our mobile crisis unit if you can give me your address,” the helpful woman offered.

The sound of a Harley-Davidson roaring to life outside silenced Carrie. She dropped the phone and darted toward the window.

No.

“Hello?” the voice on the phone called. “Are you there? Hello? I have someone coming to your address. They should be there in ten minutes.”

Where was he going? At this hour, Kid rarely left her alone. At least, not that she was aware of. He was always there when she went to sleep and when she woke up. She assumed he stayed on her couch.

She needed him. Where had he gone?

“Colt?” she murmured softly as he placed her hand against the glass of her window. “Don’t leave me.”

“Ma’am?”

A fresh round of sobs exploded from her. Snot and tears stained her face. She fell to the floor and curled up into a ball.

Carrie had fucked up. After everything, all the work she’d done, she’d screwed it up. Her attempt to thrust herself forward had resulted in throwing her back to step one. She’d fallen apart, and her behavior was too much for Kid.

Of course it was. She was no one to him. Why would he go through that hell again?

He’d more than repaid whatever debt he owed her brother.

How was she supposed to survive without his support? He’d been her lifeline. How could she take advantage of that? This stupid experiment of hers had been a step too far.

She’d fucked up and lost the only light she had amid her darkest hour.

15

Kid

The miles of asphalt Kid’s bike ate did nothing to quell the flurry of emotions swirling within him. Squeezing the grips, he clenched his teeth as his anger surged through him. Normally, if anything bothered him, he went for a ride, and whatever had pissed him off would eventually fade away.

Not this time.

He’d been out on the road for over an hour, and he was just as enraged now as he was when he left Carrie’s apartment. He couldn’t go back there. She needed space from him. While not his intention, he’d done exactly what the Bloody Scorpions had—he’d touched her without permission.

The wind ate his roar as he twisted the throttle. His 2022 Harley-Davidson Softail Low Rider ST shot forward, and he lowered his chest closer to the gas tank. The image of Carrie sobbing while wrapped in her blankets flashed in his mind as he frantically attempted to outrun the memory.

He wasn’t supposed to be causing that reaction in her. He’d promised to protect her—to help her. Why had he been so fucking stupid?

He’d let his own desires cloud his judgment. Carrie was beautiful—a perfect modern-day Nefertiti with her dark-brown hair, large dark eyes, and full heart-shaped lips that had begged him for a kiss.

She wasn’t ready. He’d pushed her too far.

A traffic light switched from yellow to red just as he crossed the intersection. Glancing around, he thanked the Lord there wasn’t a cop. Drawing the attention of the local law enforcement would be the cherry on top of his shitty night.

As the sign for the Knucklehead came into view, his body relaxed. Considering he was essentially homeless, this place was the closest thing he had to one. Not that he could sleep there, but maybe a shot or two would calm him down.

What time was it anyway?