Page 90 of Broken Warrior

Font Size:

Page 90 of Broken Warrior

“Does it works?”

“Most of the time,” I say with a shrug. I don’t want to scare him by sayinghell no, this is thirty plus years of anxiety and panic disorder I’m trying to work through and not only does that shit rarely work for me, I have a bunch of other things wrong that have manifested since getting sober and I can barely manage those on top of it. James definitely does not need to know any of that, ever, but I want him to have what I didn’t at his age—a healthy way to communicate those feelings without being judged or made fun of. My dad was a good listener and never made me feel like shit for being anxiety riddled but my mom, she was the worst when it came to this kind of thing and needless to say, I eventually stopped talking to her about anything that went on in my life by the time I was a little older than James. I don’t want that for my little buddy. “But what has always worked best for me, when I was your age and now, was having someone to talk to about my feelings and why I have them.”

James looks at me skeptically, fiddling with the plastic bag in his hands in lieu of wringing them. “Really?”

I nod. “Really. Having someone to talk to when I feel nervous is the best way to help not be so nervous.”

My little buddy stares at me for a few beats, searching my face as he decides what he’s going to do. “Ok.” He nods, takes a deep breath then blows it out before ripping my heart right out of my chest. “I’m a littles scared of goings to preschool cause… I don’t want the boogeyman to gets me.”

For the second time today, I’m completely unprepared for this conversation, but not like before.

No, this time I’m battling the feeling of my heart cracking right down the middle and an unbridled level of rage I’ve yet to experience.

James calls Ginothe boogeyman.

He doesn’t know that’s his biological father, only that he was forced to call that son of a bitchPapawhen it was convenient. James only knows that the piece of garbage that he lived with for most of his four short years did nothing but yell and scream, hurt his mama repeatedly. James knows that the worthless shitstain that held them captive ignored him most of the time, scared him when he didn’t, then caused him physical pain before they were able to get away. Gino is what James’s nightmares are made of, is the reason my little buddy wakes up crying in the middle of the night, and inevitably why he’s been crawling into bed with Tate and I every night since I started staying here almost two weeks ago.

The last two weeks have been nothing short of perfect, aside from the nightmares.

So fucking perfect.

Every day has only confirmed that Tate and James are mine, my entire fucking world, and I would move heaven and earth, walk through hell, and lay down my life for both of them.

And after hearing that James refers to his bastard sperm donor asthe boogeymanreiterated that I would, in fact, kill for both of them without ever batting an eye.

“James,” I say softly even though I’m ready to explode. He doesn’t need to know how mad I am, just like he doesn’t need to know that I have every intention of murdering that asshole. “I promise that the boogeyman is not going to get you when you go to school.”

His blue eyes search mine. “Really?”

“Really. The boogeyman isn’t going to be anywhere near your school, or your home, or you and your mama ever again.”

James frowns just a bit. “Are yous sure?”

“One hundred percent, bud. I promise, cross my heart, that I will never ever let the boogeyman scare you again.”

And just like that, he’s smiling at me like I hung the goddamn moon. “Ok, Fin!” James lunges at me, wrapping his little arms around my neck and hugging tight. “I believes you. Yous kick the boogeyman’s butt! Yous keep me and Mama safe and never let him take us away again!”

“Never again, James.” I hug my little buddy tight, my throat just as tight as I make him a promise I’d die in order to keep. “I will never let him take either of you away from me.”

“Fin?” He squeezes me hard then lets go, but stays in my lap. “Can yous wish for anythings on birthday wishing candles?”

I nod.

“Awesome!” James hugs me again, right before he renders me speechless. “‘Cause I’m gonna wish for yous to be my daddy.”

And just like that, my heart and soul belong as much to this little boy as they do his mother.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

FIN

The Harvester of Bones comes to Colorado!

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, the Rolling Meadows PD answered the hysterical call of a one Lola Bridges, 22, as she reported a rather horrific scene. Matthew Bridges, 20, and Craig Wilkinson, 21, were found brutally murdered inside the known clubhouse of the Cobra Cons motorcycle gang. Bridges and Wilkinson were awaiting trial on the kidnapping and attempted murder charges of a Sabine Woods woman back in December. Both of the young men had been left in The Harvester of Bones signature style after succumbing to what one can only suspect to be sharp force trauma to the skull. The scene itself was wiped clean, another arrow pointing toward the Ghost, and there wasn’t a shred of physical evidence within a twenty mile radius of the abandoned factory. Upon further investigation it was discovered both men were reportedly involved in some seedy dealings for the Cobra Cons…

I scrollthrough the rest of the Rolling Gazette article from the beginning of the year, skimming for the words I need to see. The ones that match several other articles that span the surrounding states and go back almost seven years.

The Harvester of Bones is an obvious but not-as-specific-as-you’d-think search, The Ghost is too general as well, and I’m not an idiot.Sharp force traumais a big phrase. Just likeclean scene, no physical evidence,orremote location, but even then it’s not hitting the way I’ve wanted.