Locke

  When I see her name across the screen, my heart skips a beat. She could be telling me not to bother or calling to tell me to come back. Either way, I'm nervous--a feeling I have no idea what to do with.

  "Em," I greet, my lips tipping up in a smile.

  I don't hear anything for a few beats...until a voice that I know damn well doesn't belong on this call comes through the line.

  My heart stops. Right now, the blood just stops moving through my body and a rage I've never known consumes me.

  While I race to the elevator, knowing that my leg will never hold up if I storm down twenty-seven flights of stairs, I try to calm my mind and go into fight mode. As hard as it's going to be, I need to think about this as objectively as I can in order to get her out of there. Treat her like a hostage who has the clock against her--which is exactly what I'm dealing with.

  It's almost impossible to put my feelings for Emmy aside and focus on how to save her, but it's my only chance. I keep the phone trained to my ear, listening to the muffed hell she is living. I use the sounds to fuel my rage and determination. If I stop for just a second and let the helplessness of the situation sink in, I know I'll be no good to her. I need that rage, the years of hate and injustice, to be my weapon.

  This is my chance to let every one of the demons--the monsters in my soul--free and let the wrath consume my body.

  I reach the garage level in minutes. Minutes that, in reality, felt like hours, but less than a second after the doors open, I'm sprinting as fast as I can towards my Charger. My phone is still glued to my ear as I listen to the muffled fight.

  Then I'm rushing through the streets as fast as I can push my car, my eyes focused like tunnel vision on one thing.

  Obliterating the motherfucker who dared to put his hands on my sweet angel.

  It takes me five minutes and twenty-six seconds to get to the hotel. I jump out of the car before I even have a chance to throw it in park, not even giving a fuck that it's rolling towards the brick pillar holding up the covered carport. I jump and fucking run.

  "Give me the keycard for room four seventeen," I demand, my eyes wild as I take in the terrified night clerk. She doesn't move. "Fucking hell! NOW!"

  "I ca-can't give you access, sir," she stutters.

  "There's a sadistic, abusive, FUCKING RAPIST up there right now with my woman, so let me tell you again--give me the goddamn keycard!" My voice booms through the lobby.

  Her eyes go wide as she fumbles with the stack of cards next to her computer. "We got a call down not even ten minutes ago. I thought it was a joke, so I hung up."

  I'm sorry--what? I'm having a hard time following her, keeping my attention to the noises coming through my cell, and seeing through my adrenaline-filled, raging mind.

  "Give me the card and you better fucking pray I'm not too late," I threaten.

  She fucking hung up. She had enough time to make two calls and only one came.

  "NOW!" I bellow when it takes her a second longer.

  With a shaking hand, she hands the card over. I keep my eyes trained on her and show her just how dangerous I am.

  "Stairs?" I bark. She points and I take off. "And fucking call the police!"

  Knowing that she is just four flights of stairs away and I'm just seconds away from her gives me the added push that I need to stretch the limits of my body. I don't have the right prosthetic for running on --every heavy step I take pinches the skin around my stump, but all that pain does is help power my determination.

  It drives me, my demons, and the fear I have for her to the brink of dominance over my body. I'm in control here, and that motherfucker better watch out.

  I move swiftly down the short hallway until I'm standing outside her door. Not knowing if he is armed has me at a disadvantage, but I'm trained for this--trained to kill--and there isn't anything that can stop me now. I drop my phone in the hallway and ready myself for whatever I might find inside her room.

  Leaning my ear against the door as I slowly and silently push the card into the slot gives me a clue that he's going to be at least away from the door. The deep vibrations of his voice are muffled enough that I guess he's a good ten feet from the doorway.

  Thank fuck the lock is almost silent when I slowly pull the handle down and push the door open. Entering the small hallway, I see one of her legs hanging off the bed at an odd angle. Her arm is lying next to her body, unmoving. When I see the amount of blood and bile around the floor in front of the bed, I flip the switch and let the monsters take control.

  When I set them free, I throw years of pain, hurt, and suffering into my actions. I channel every second I've every felt unworthy of anything to save my angel.

  Taking him by surprise is a huge advantage. He's balancing on his hand, with the other stroking his pathetic dick as he sucks on my angel's exposed and bruised breast. Her panties are still on--even if they're hanging by a ripped thread--and I feel instant relief that I might have gotten here quickly enough to make sure this doesn't get any worse.

  "You. Motherfucker," I grind out, my saliva frothing at the corners of my lips when I take a good look at Emmy. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

  He has the nerve to laugh, standing from the bed with his dick still bobbing in front of him. He charges, but his movements aren't coordinated and he stumbles the second his pants get around his knees. That gives me the opening I need.

  Grabbing his head between my palms, I slam his head down on my knee. He cries out, falling to the floor before jumping back up. He gets a swift uppercut to the temple, making him falter on his feet before shaking it off. Each punch he throws in my direction I dodge and then return with two of mine. I pound into him with a lethal brutality--but he never drops. Each punch to his face earns me more of a twisted grin. Each jab to his center has him laughing.

  "You get off on putting your hands on helpless women? Touching my goddamn woman? Sticking your dick where it doesn't fucking belong?" I pant, slamming my fist into his body again.

  He gets a few good licks after that, my mind torn between finishing him and getting to Emmy. Each second I don't see her move from the corner of my eye is too long.

  "She fucking liked it," he goads.

  Judging by the look on his face and the fact that his exposed dick is still bobbing around, he is getting off on this fight.

  Reaching forward, I grip his dick in my hand and pull hard with a vicious twist--giving it every ounce of strength I have in me. I hear a satisfying pop followed quickly by his howl of agony before he drops to the floor and vomits profusely.

  "This is for Emmy, you sick fuck," I howl, bringing my leg back and kicking him with all my strength in the jaw.

  His eyes roll back and he's out cold. Hell, he could be dead for all I know.

  I get to Emmy's side and take inventory of her injuries. Her throat has two very angry handprints that are already bruising. Careful not to harm her further, I check her pulse--slow but steady. Her face, chest, and arms have various cuts and bruising. There's a gash on her temple that is bleeding, but it looks to be slowing.

  Not wanting to move from her, I wrap the sheet she's lying on around her body and carefully scoop her into my arms. My leg protests against the added weight, but I push through the pain.

  There isn't anything that can stop me from saving my angel.

  By the time I reach the lobby, the lights of the police cars are starting to bounce off the window. Running in with guns drawn and shouts to freeze is the only thing that keeps me from powering through them.

  "Set the woman down and step away," one of them demands.

  I shake my head and drop to my knees.

  "Put her on the floor, sir, and step away now."

  I still don't put her down. I can't. How can they expect me to just drop her on this cold, unforgiving floor?

  "I'm not going to tell you again."

  I can hear the promise in his tone, but fuck me. They're going to have to have to drag me away.

  "Officer! That's not the
one. He's the one who told me to call you!" The clerk from earlier yells.

  I don't take my eyes off the officer I assume is in control. Not blinking or giving, but showing him that I'm not the one he needs to be worried about. Emmy is.

  "She needs a medic badly. She has deep neck lacerations, a possible concussion, and two visibly broken limbs. Pulse was weak but holding steady approximately two minutes ago."

  He nods and waves the paramedic through, and only when they place their board down do I release my hold on her.

  Not willing to go far, I stand and move out of the way so that they can work on her. Then I look over at the police officer and breathe in deep. I can't be there for Emmy until I make sure that motherfucker can't ever get near her again.

  "Sir? The assailant is in room four seventeen. When I left him, I believe he was breathing, pants around his ankles, and I'm pretty sure I broke his dick. My name is Maddox Locke. I'm the technical specialist and head of all surveillance and recon at Corps Security. I'm going to reach into my pants and grab my wallet so I can give you my card. Also, if you would like to call your chief, he can vouch for me. But I'm going to tell you this right now. When they load her up, I'll be in that ambulance. When you need my statement, you can call my cell and I will tell you when I can give it to you. But I will not be leaving my woman's side."

  His eyes are wide when I finish talking. The other two officers who had come in with him left the second I gave the room number.

  "I've heard about you guys. I'll give him a call, and if he gives me the green light, I'll let you go, but we will need your statement ASAP."

  "I hear you."

  My eyes are still on Emmy as I reach in my jeans and pull one of my cards out of my wallet. I can hear him talking on the phone and I know from his tone that he's getting chewed out by his chief. The plus side to having people owe you favors. You catch the police chief's wife in bed with another man and you have an instant ally.

  "Yes, sir," he says before addressing me. "When we finish here, I'll be in touch. You're free to go when the ambulance is ready."

  I nod my head, still not removing my eyes from Emmy. Silently praying that she is going to be okay.

  When the adrenaline starts to drop, I feel the severity of the situation fall heavily on me. My eyes prickle, and as I stand there helplessly watching her fight, I cry for the first time since I lost my leg eleven years ago.

  Chapter 22--Maddox

  During the twenty-minute drive to the hospital, I don't move my eyes from her face. She still hasn't woken, and even though I'm being told that she is stable, there won't be anything that can soothe my soul until I see those honey-wheat eyes. I need to see that she is going to be okay. They can tell me until they're blue in the face--until my angel comes back to me, I'm not leaving her side.

  They stabilize her arm and leg, get her IV set up, and monitor her heart rate on the ride. The whole time, my eyes never leave her face. I can feel the paramedics moving around, checking her vitals, and communicating with the hospital about her condition.

  I sit there like a worthless blob and wait.

  "Sir, do you require any medical attention?" one of them asks.

  I shake my head, not willing to move from my vigil.

  "Are you--"

  "I'm fine," I stress.

  The rest of the trip is a blur. The doors open when we arrive and the nurses work together with the EMT duo to move her into the hospital. When we reach the double doors, I'm stopped with a small hand against my chest. I almost plow right through her on my quest to stay by Emmy's side.

  "Sir, you can't go any farther. If you will follow me, I'll take you to the waiting room."

  She has to be fucking insane to think I'm going to just let them take Emmy.

  "No."

  "I'm sorry, but you have no choice. It's hospital policy. I understand you're worried, but your wife is in good hands."

  My heart seizes when she calls Emmy my wife, and right when I see the doors close, the severity of the situation crashes into me and I crumble to the floor.

  She doesn't move. I can see her stupid, yellow Crocs and I focus on them like a lifeline.

  "Is there someone I can call for you, sir?" she whispers, crouching down to give me her kind eyes.

  "I need my... I need Emmy," I whimper, the sound so foreign to my ears. My throat is on fire and I have to work double time to stifle the sobs that want to bubble up.

  Man the fuck up, Maddox. Emmy needs you to stay strong.

  She gives me the time I need to get my shit together and then offers her hand to help me stand. I wave her off and stand--or attempt to--before my leg protests my weight and I fall to my knees.

  "Fuck!" I exclaim, my outburst echoing through the halls.

  A few other staff members look over at me with concern. One steps forward to offer Little Miss Yellow Crocs some help, but she waves him off.

  "Are you injured?" Her voice is low, controlled, and clinical. Her worry for my mental stability is clearly being trumped now that physically I'm falling to fucking pieces.

  "Old injury that I aggravated," I hedge and go to stand again. I cringe when I try to give my leg some weight. I need to get off of it, get the prosthetic off so whatever damage I did tonight doesn't get worse.

  "May I check?"

  I shake my head and pull my pant leg up, showing her without words what she needs to know.

  She gives me a small smile and a nod. "Come with me. Let's get you off your feet somewhere comfortable until the doctor finishes up with your wife and comes to find you, okay?"

  She leads me to a small breakroom of sorts with a couch in the center of the room, some tables and vending machines off to the far corner, and a scattering of lockers on the other.

  "I'll let the doctors know where you are so that they can come and fill you in. No one will bother you here, and if you need to make some calls to family, just use the phone on the end table next to the couch. I'll go get some ice and lotion for your stump. No sense in having some macho-man issues when you need to make sure to avoid exasperating your skin further. Do you feel like you need anything else?"

  I shake my head, waiting to hear some sort of disgust about my disability, but it never comes.

  "Be right back."

  I move towards the couch, drop down, and lean my head back. I should be calling everyone--getting them here--but I feel so hopelessly lost that I don't even know which way is up.

  I roll up my pants and go through the movements to get the pressure off my stump. When I get my leg off, the skin is slightly irritated and red, but luckily, there aren't any sores. A little ice and I should be good to go by the time Emmy needs me.

  The nurse comes back, gives me a cool gel pack, and hands me some lotion. I rub it liberally on my skin before throwing the cool pack down.

  "You seem to have it covered without my help," she laughs.

  "Been doing it long enough," I say in a monotone.

  "Right. I know you aren't going to listen to me, but you really should keep your weight off it--even if it's just for the night."

  "With all due respect--"

  "Tracey," she supplies.

  "Well, with all due respect, Tracey, I don't really give a flying fuck about my damn stump right now. As soon as I can get to Emmy, the better. She doesn't need to be alone."

  She gives me a soft smile, her blue eyes shining with compassion. "I understand. My husband lost his leg in Afghanistan, so I can respect your pride when it comes to your body, sir, but you can check it at the door. You military men are all the same," she laughs, and I narrow my eyes. "It's written all over you, so it wasn't too hard to guess. You know your body better than I do, but I can promise you this--I'm not judging you and no one else will. You should be proud of everything you've overcome and not look at it as such a burden. And before you ask, that's written all over you too."

  I don't speak. No need to. I let her words sink in and, for the first time, think of my injury as a badge of what I'v
e overcome. Could she be right?

  "I'll let that simmer while I go check on your wife." She pats my thigh and leaves the room.

  Some of the ice-cold fear holding me down weakens from just thinking about Emmy as my wife. When they said it earlier, I didn't do shit to correct them. The thought of her walking down the aisle towards me, her body covered in white lace, her eyes full of love, and that heart-stopping smile all for me does something to me.

  It takes that flame of hope--the one I've been feeling for months, afraid I would somehow extinguish the fire if I just allowed myself a second to believe--to flicker a few times before it starts to warm my body with its warm glow.

  We're going to get past this. She is going to get past this, and I vow to never let a day go by without joining the fight she's been warring on her own for us.

  I'll stand by her side until I'm no longer wanted--and then, if that day ever comes, I'll throw her over my shoulder and carry her the rest of the way.

  This is my second chance. The time that I man up and take a chance at everything being blessed with her love could bring me.

  Chapter 23--Maddox

  I make the only phone call I need to make to ensure that everyone else is notified. By the time I get my shit together long enough to make the call, the sun is starting to climb and I know it won't be long before the officers from last night start trying to find me.

  Axel promises to handle getting my cell number switched and a replacement phone to me as soon as possible, knowing that they'll need to get ahold of me and mine is still somewhere in that hotel's halls. I give him the only information I have--that she was stable when we arrived.

  I've just dropped the phone down onto the base when the door opens and Tracey walks back in. She gives me a smile, shutting the door softly.

  "Can I get some information on your wife? We can wait for the insurance stuff if you don't have it on you, but they need to know some general information."

  I nod but don't move my eyes up from their fixed position on the door, willing someone to come and tell me how she is.

  I go over the basic information on Emmy. Just talking about her so clinically is making my skin itch. I need to see her. I have to see her.

  "Do you know anything?" I question hopefully.