Friday Flash Fiction LIttle Lamb, Part 2

It’s that time again!!  Here is your Friday Flash Fiction.  As will ALL Flash fiction, this story is RAW and UNEDITED and told in 2000 words or less.  I hope you enjoy Part 2 of Little Lamb.

 

Sexy man on motorcycle

 

Little Lamb, Part 2

 

I couldn’t see out of my left eye. Alex had hit me so hard this time. I’m such and idiot. I knew he had a temper, and this time was bad. He’d been choking me on the side of that building. My throat was bruised, black and blue, from his forearm pushing on my throat. It hurt to swallow.

My sex ached from the painful intrusion of his hand. Shock set in again when I remembered the things he’d done to me this weekend. It was humiliating. It was wrong. I’d been hiding the abuse for months, refusing to come home during Spring Break a few weeks ago. I just hid in my apartment, not letting anyone know I was home. But he found me. I was barely able to cover the bruises when classes resumed the following week.

Now here I was alone in the biker’s apartment, the nomad. I’d seen him for a few months every day when I left class. I had a feeling that my father sent protection for me, since my excuses to return home for holidays began. Even with the abuse, Cannon’s daily presence made me feel somewhat protected. Now, he’s out in the night with three other men hunting down Alex Ferguson. Biker justice would be dealt out tonight. My father had been notified despite my tears, my pleading.

Ronan O’Rourke, the MC prez and my father, was not a man to cross. Especially when it came to his daughter. He was on his way here to Austin to deal with the man who’d placed his hands on me. I knew that Cannon would find him tonight. I also knew that Cannon would beat him to the point of death until my father arrived to deliver the final act to take this man’s life. If they let Alex live, it would be a miracle.

The sound of motorcycles off in the distance grew closer as the seconds ticked away. I’d been around them long enough to distinguish the sounds of bikes I knew. My father and brother were among the seven bikes that roared up to Cannon’s apartment. Cannon’s motorcycle with its throaty rumble was first to arrive.

I pulled the hoodie that Cannon left for me over my head, wincing with the sharp stab to my ribs. I had showered and pulled on a pair of his sweatpants and reused my tank top I’d been wearing earlier in the day. I had to roll the cuffs up and the waist down, so that they would fit me. I was a quarter of Cannon’s size.

My father was a big man, my mother not so much. My smallness was the reason Alex preyed upon me. I barely weighted a hundred pounds. My five foot three height made me look like I was still in junior high school. If it wasn’t for the makeup I wore, you’d have to ask for my identification to believe that I was in fact twenty-three years old.

“Katerina,” my father roared as he burst through the door.  His eyes fell upon me and it was like someone pulled the life from his eyes.  His hands shook as he walked toward me carefully.  When he fell to his knees next to the couch I was sitting at, I lost all sense of calm.  The tremors returned to my body and I jumped into his arms, crying for all I was worth.

“Daddy,” I whispered.  I winced from the pain in my ribs.  I’m sure one or two of them were broken from his kicking me while I was on the floor, already wishing for death after the beating Alex gave me the weekend before.

“Are your ribs broken,” he growled.  “Let me see.”  I didn’t have time to protest when he scooped me up softly into his arms.  Cannon pointed toward the bedroom and followed us inside, closing to door behind him.

“I think they are,” I whispered.  “It hurts to breathe deep.”

“Show me, pumpkin,” he softened, but his hands still shook with anger.  Cannon was there, beside him.  His face was brutal with his anger.  It helped that he was here.  I’d gotten used to him being around, even though I didn’t know him until today.  I thought about the rough biker as mine.  The way Cannon acted toward me, I think he thought of me as his own as well.

“Can you do it, little lamb?  Or do you need some help?”  Cannon moved forward, my father scowled, before recognition lit his features.  When I met his eyes, he nodded in approval.  It wasn’t much of a nod and if you didn’t know my father, you wouldn’t have recognized the gesture for what it was.  My dad was happy about Cannon’s protectiveness.

“Please,” I whispered.  Cannon had not seen my ribs yet.  He helped me onto his bed, “I’m going to roll you on your left side.  Let me know if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” I gasped from the pain.  “Just go slow.”

“Always, little lamb.  Always,” he whispered, looking into my eyes.  Closing mine, I relaxed my body and let Cannon help me over onto my side.

He pulled the hoodie and tank top up.  The material gathered at my bra line and didn’t go any further.  He was trying to give me some dignity.

That son of a bitch,” my father roared.  “Where is he?”

“In the mechanic’s shop, detained,” Cannon admitted.  “He’s been thoroughly worked over.  Now, it’s your call as to where we go from here.”

“Pumpkin,” my dad said, taking a seat on the edge of Cannon’s bed.  “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?  Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Just my pride, daddy,” I admitted.

“This is not your fault,” Cannon said, dropping to his knees and taking my hand with his own. 

“I…yeah, Cannon.  It really is.  I should’ve known better.  I should’ve called my dad.  I should’ve done a lot of things that I didn’t do.  I have to deal with this on my own and heal.” 

“No more,” my dad said, his face was that of a man on a deadly mission.  “Get her some pain medication, now.  You, young lady, are to stay with Cannon until you are healed.  You are not going back to that apartment alone.

“I have the weekend, then I need to get my car so I can drive to school on Monday.”  It was Thursday, and I had a three day weekend, so that gave me time to heal.  I had no doubts in Cannon’s ability to take care of me.  I also knew when to give up a fight about staying in bed when told too.

“Well get it for you,” he said. “I’ll send Walker to get it.”

I nodded and let Cannon ease me back into a more comfortable position.  He tucked some pillows behind my back so that I could rest on my side.  I could breathe better that way.

My father kissed my head and left the room with a promise to return later.  I heard motorcycles fire up shortly after that.  They’d left me to go take care of Alex.  I didn’t even protest what I knew they were going to do.  He deserved everything he got.

“Alright little lamb,” Cannon said from the door.  “I need you to take this.”

He stood there in the doorway taking up all of the space.  He really was huge.  His features were harsh, but also beautiful in that rough kind of way.  He kept his head shaved.  Those brilliant blue eyes were the key to his soul.  He was a nomad, caring to live on his own, but still wanting to be a part of the club.  I took the white pill and glass of water, downing the pain medicine quickly.

“I need to take off this hoodie,” I winced when I tried to pull it back over my head.  It was easier to put it on earlier. 

“Let me help,” he said, kneeling down next to the bed.  Even on his knees, Cannon was tall enough to tower over me.  “Lift your arms, slowly.  That’s my girl.  Pull your arm out slowly, one at a time.  Good girl, little lamb.  Let me ease you back down.  Oh, I know that hurt.  The meds will kick in shortly.”  He talked me through the entire process.  Even though he was a big bad ass biker, I was learning that Cannon had a soft side when it came to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re going to be okay, little lamb,” he whispered, stroking a hair back from my face.  I couldn’t help my reaction.  It felt normal, hell even right, to nuzzle my face into his big hand when he stroked my uninjured cheek.  His chest rumbled from a growl.  I looked up into his eyes and I thought, just for a moment, he was going to kiss me.

“I can’t do this to you,” he cursed, standing up from the bed.  “You don’t know me, little lamb.  I have no right to touch you.  You play with fire, you’re going to get burned.”  He turned for the door, slamming it shut as he left the room.  If the medicine hadn’t have taken that moment to kick in, I would’ve gone after him.

In my fog induced state, I knew that I wanted him.  I wanted his hands on me.  Cannon made me feel cherished.  Like I was to be held upon a cloud, never to be harmed.  My father obviously saw something in the way he cared for me.  I could see it in his eyes.

Cannon checked on me, about the time the sun went down.  He tried to get me to eat, and I refused.  Knowing my father was dealing with Alex and remembering the things he’d done to me over the past few weeks, I had no appetite at all. 

I woke up around nine because I needed to use the restroom.  When I opened my eyes, I found Cannon asleep in a chair next to my bed, his Glock rested on his lap.  He was protecting me.  His harsh features relaxed in his somber, the muscles on his arms flexed with whatever he was dreaming.  He’d removed his shirt and changed into a pair of basketball shorts.  His chest was covered in a mural of the setting sun, his arms were a forest of trees surrounding a lake.  I wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if his skin was smooth under my fingertips.  He’d been my savior, my protection.  If I’d known about him sooner, would I be asleep in his bed tonight?  If it wasn’t for Alex’s brutality to me, would I’d have ever met this man?  The fact that I realized I was glad Alex did those things to me, because that meant that I met Cannon, caused fear and anger to radiate through my body.  Tears pricked my eyes and I let them roll silently down my face, so that I didn’t wake him. 

But that didn’t stop him from knowing.  As the first tear hit the pillow, the sound could’ve been a gunshot in the room, because Cannon’s eyes shot open, his gaze zeroing in on me.  I had one shot to get him to come to me and I took a chance, holding out my hand.

“Please, Cannon.  Hold me.  I need you.”  He silently stood from his chair.  After a deep breath, he walked over and climbed in the bed.  Careful of my injuries, he held me while I cried myself to sleep.

 

To Be Continued……

 

About Author Theresa Hissong

International Best Selling Author of Erotic & Paranormal Romance. Lover of badass music and tattoos. I speak my mind and know how to shoot a gun. I write sexy books about fictional rockstars!
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