Brent
Brent stormed out of the jail, breathing hard as if he’d just sprinted through the building. He hopped on his bike and took off onto the road against the protests of the MC members who were waiting for him. He couldn’t waste any more time. He had to take care of his family, no matter the cost.
Brent was halfway down the highway before he realized where he was going. The lawyer had given him the address of where Larry, Kira’s ex, lived. He knew it wasn’t the smartest decision, rushing there without any witnesses, but he just couldn’t hold himself back anymore. It was all that asshole’s fault—Lucian’s bruises, his nightmares, Kira’s arrest, all of it. Brent couldn’t stand to live in a world without consequences. Even if he himself had to suffer alone for the rest of eternity, he couldn’t stand the idea of Kira suffering the same fate. She needed to have Lucian back, as soon as possible, and Brent was going to win him back for her, no matter the cost.
Why am I doing this? Brent wondered as he raced even faster down the road, speeding up as he took the final corner towards Larry’s house. She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t give a single fuck. Somehow, even when he repeated that thought to himself again and again, it didn’t seem to have the expected effect. He didn’t stop caring about Kira. It didn’t matter if she didn’t care about him, if she didn’t care if he lived or died. Brent cared about her, and that was all that mattered.
He finally skidded to a stop on the edge of Larry’s neighborhood, barely waiting for his engine to cut off before he hopped off his bike and broke into a run towards Larry’s house, his lungs burning with the exertion of his muscles as he pushed his legs as fast as they could go.
Brent slowed down when he saw the house number, careful not to press his feet down too hard on the fallen leaves as he approached Larry’s house, his heart thudding against his ribcage. What am I going to do? Brent thought to himself. His tongue was going as dry as sawdust as he weighed his options. He couldn’t exactly barge into the house, at least not without expecting to be shot straight away.
As he was debating his course of action, a sudden high-pitched scream tore Brent away from his thoughts. “Ahhh! Noooo!” a small voice shouted from the other side of Larry’s house. Brent broke into a run, dashing towards the origin of the sound. He crawled over the line of bushes to make it to the backyard.
Standing there in the center of the back lawn, dressed only in a pair of white undies, was Lucian, crying his eyes out. “Come here, you little shit!” an angry voice shouted from the other side of the yard. Brent turned around to see a grown man brandishing a knife.
“Whoa, what the fuck?” Brent said. He stepped in between the man and the little boy. “What’s going on here?”
Larry came to a stop, panting for breath and still holding out the knife, which gleamed in the sunlight. “Stand aside,” Larry said between clenched teeth.
“What the hell are you doing?” Brent asked. He spread his arms out as a shield to keep Larry away from his sobbing son.
“Get the fuck out of the way!” Larry shouted, waving his knife around in Brent’s face.
Brent’s heart picked up in his chest, beating like a drum, but he felt weirdly calm, everything slowing down around him as he spread his body out as far as it could go, creating a stronger barrier between Larry and Lucian. “You’re not touching this boy,” he said. He was strangely calmly despite the circumstances. “Not again. Not anymore.”
“He’s my fucking son,” Larry spat. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m his family,” Brent said, and he knew as soon as the words left his mouth that they were the truth. “I’m not going to let you hurt him. Back off now, while you still have a chance. I won’t run after you if you go right now.”
Larry scoffed and laughed a little. He turned his head to the side for a second before his whole body launched forward, driving into Brent’s body so forcefully that he was almost knocked entirely off his feet. Luckily, Brent was able to keep his balance and immediately buried his fist into Larry’s stomach, forcing him across the lawn, away from the little boy who was still whimpering and crying behind them.
“You’re. Not. Touching. This. Child,” Brent sad in between punches. He swept his leg out to kick Larry in the crotch, forcing him to fall to the ground. His knife clattered out of his hands. Brent didn’t waste any time. He reached down to grab the weapon and held it to his opponent’s face. “Stay put. Stay fucking put, you pervert!” he screamed as he slowly backed away from Lucian’s father. He reached into his pocket to grab his phone while still holding the knife firmly in his other hand.
“Mr. Barkley!” Lucian called out from behind him. He was still sobbing loudly, but a little less hysterically than he had minutes before.
“I’m coming, Lucian,” Brent promised, calling over his shoulder. Then he refocused his attention on the man in front of him. “Hello?” he said into the phone as soon as someone picked up on the other end. “Yes, please come to 112 Oakhurst Drive, as soon as you can. A man is hurting a young child. Get here as soon as you can.”
“Brent! Please!” Lucian called from behind him, sniffling in between the words.
Brent backed up, keeping his eyes on Larry, until he collided softly with Lucian, tucking the little boy under his arm, shielding him with his body. “Hey. Hey, it’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“How do you know?” Lucian asked. He reached down to grab Brent’s free hand.
He didn’t know what to say at first, so he just squeezed the little boy’s hand as reassuringly as he could. When the sound of police sirens appeared over their heads, he sighed in relief. “I’m going to protect you, Lucian,” Brent said softly.
“Why?” Lucian asked in a low voice, barely audible as the sirens closed in on their location.
“Love,” Brent said. “Because of love.”