Highway Butcher – Chapter Six

NOT EDITED

Chapter Six

Monday: June 15, 2020

12:20 AM; LOS ANGELES, BRIDGET DECKER’S HOUSE, MASTER BEDROOM

Bo helped shove what felt like the millionth bra into one of David’s duffle bags before zipping it up. Bridget did the same across the room. Socks, shirts, jeans, makeup. Anything. Everything. She wanted as much of it as she could. Bo had only gotten bits and pieces, but if he had heard her right, nothing Bridget owned was in her own name anymore. Not her car, not her phone, not her own damn bank account. The more things she left behind, the more things she had to replace, the more fucked she was.

And quite frankly, Bo wasn’t sure it could get much worse.

He had tried avoiding looking up at her as many times as he could, but even the one or three times he hadn’t been able to prevent it had been more than enough to give him a horrifically clear view of the double black eyes and likely broken nose she was sporting. Her left arm was in a sling. How long it had been like that, he didn’t know. What the bastard had done to her arm, he didn’t know.

But if he ever saw that bastard again, he’d kill him. That, Bo did know.

“What else do we need, Bridge?” Bo asked, eyes on the duffle bags.

“I think I have everything.”

“Let’s get you the hell out of here, then.” Bo grabbed all but one of the duffles from the bed, only because Bridget grabbed it first. She wrapped her free hand around his arm, just beneath his elbow, and followed him back through the house and to the front door.

“Oh, my God,” Bridget whispered as a truck swerved into the driveway.

“Get in the car.”

“You should just go. I-I’ll be okay.”

“Get in the car,” Bo repeated. Bridget froze long enough for Bo to drop one handful of duffle bags and yank open the door. He tossed the rest of them in and gently pushed Bridget toward the backseat. “Get in, Bridge.”

“You’re coming too, right?” Bridget asked as she slid into the car. She flinched as the truck door opened and slammed. “Bo?”

Bo leaned into the backseat to meet David’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Lock the doors.”

“Bo!”

Bo closed the door, watching the locks click down before he turned toward Bridget’s high-as-a-kite piece of shit boyfriend. “Roy.”

“Fuck you doin’ with my girl, bitch?”

“She’s not your ‘girl’, for starters. If I ever see you anywhere near her again, I will kill you. I don’t care if you accidentally walk into the same fucking grocery store as her. You walk your ass right back out, or it is the very last time you’re seeing the goddamn light of day. Do I make myself clear?”

Roy snorted. “You really think there’s any chance I’m scared of you, you fuckin’ Munchkin?”

“Okay… canonically speaking, I am most certainly taller than a Munchkin.”

Roy swung at Bo. Bo drove a foot into his stomach, pushing him—at the very least—away from David’s relatively new car. Damage control. Tonight was damage control. Killing Roy for ever laying a hand on Bridget could come later, when Bridget wouldn’t have to watch.

“Bo! Roy!” Bridget banged on the window. “Don’t hurt him! Oh, my God.”

Bo ducked beneath a second punch. Roy charged at him. Once he was close enough, Bo shoved him to the side. Not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to make him stumble. Bo had begged David to stay in the car and not look at Bridget no matter what, and thus far, he had listened. Still, he could practically feel David’s anxiety when their eyes met through the windshield.

The click of a switchblade drew Bo’s attention back to Roy a fraction of a second too late. Roy charged him, tackling him back against the tree in the yard, and rammed the knife into his side. An explosion of heat pierced his side. Again somewhere in his rib cage. Again near his hip.

David yanked Roy away, shoving him against the hood of the car. Bo sank to the ground, both hands working to find the best places to be to try and stop some of the pain, contain some of the blood. He didn’t really want Bridget to see this either. Or David.

Roy elbowed David in the nose, earning himself a shove to the ground and a knee between his shoulders to keep him there. Bo could see Bridget leaned over between the front seats, David’s radio held up to her mouth.

“Bo!” David called. Bo blinked a few times before dragging his gaze to David’s face. “Is it bad?”

“Umm…” Bo looked down, tipping one hand back enough to watch blood pool into his palm. “Well, uh, it’s not good.”

“Bo, I don’t know what to do,” David said, the words a little shaky. “I can’t transport him in my car. P-protocol is to wait for back-up to arrive. A-are you gonna make it for back-up and an ambulance?”

“Fuckin’ hope not,” Roy muttered.

David responded with a near growl rather than words. “Bo. I don’t know what to do.”

Neither did Bo. His pulse was rapid, if the constant rushing and pounding in his ears were anything to go by. He was growing lightheaded, and the edges of his vision were beginning to blur. He couldn’t let Bridget and David watch him die. They would never recover. He would not let them watch him die. “Have… have Bridget call Jamal.”

“He’s home. He left the station right after I did.”

“He is, but… eyes and ears all over… the country,” Bo said slowly. He licked his lips. “Call Jamal.”

8:30 AM; LOS ANGELES TRAUMA CENTER, CARE ROOM SEVEN

“Detective.”

Bridget lifted her head from the bed, blue eyes shifting to the doorway and landing on Jamal. “Hey,” she whispered. “Th-thanks for, umm, for getting them to let me in to see him.”

Jamal nodded. “You’re his family, no matter what the paperwork says.” He grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside Bridget, dark eyes scanning over Bo’s sleeping figure. “Has he been awake yet?”

“For short periods. They have him sedated.”

Again, the man nodded. “They stitched up some minor damage to his stomach and his bowel, but the damage to his spleen ruptured it. They removed it.”

“Jesus. God, I never should’ve called him.”

“What happened here wasn’t your fault. Bo made his own decisions, and from what I hear, at least one of those was to lock you in David’s car. You aren’t responsible for Bo’s actions or for Mister Farstead’s actions.”

Bridget sniffled, lifting her hand from Bo’s long enough to tucked her hair back behind her ear. “What… what happens now?”

“Well, Mister Farstead is in a holding cell for now. He’ll have his arraignment later today. This time, there’s going to be charges, and they’re going to stick.”

“Okay,” Bridget whispered.

Jamal laid a hand on the back of Bridget’s neck, gently pulling her to his chest. She threw her good arm around him, his suit jacket twisted between his fingers. “You deserve so much better than that piece of shit, Detective. I know that bastard convinced you that you were worthless and were nothing without him, but it’s all lies. You are an intelligent and beautiful young woman with a career all her own and her whole life ahead of her.”

Bridget nodded against his chest rather than responding. Jamal figured that was response enough. By the looks of her face, and the looks of Bo, she’d had a hell of a night.

“I don’t want you at any of your shifts this week. I want you to take the time off to rest, to heal. To breathe. You need to breathe. You need to allow yourself to exist for a few days in the way your world feels… differently now before you come back to work. Until then, you’re on paid leave. Do you understand?”

“Thanks, Chief,” Bridget whispered.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Jamal rested his chin on her head, unable to stop himself from staring at Bo again. He was so much paler than the last time Jamal had seen him, and even with the hospital blankets covering his body, it was clear he’d lost weight, not that a high metabolism and skipped meals had given him much to lose to begin with. David had said he’d seemed sober, and Jensen’s account of their little tackle in the alleyway insinuated much of the same. Still, even without living up to the binge-drinking rumors roaming around the station, the boy looked like hell.

“Do you need a place to stay, Decker?” Jamal asked.

“I-I don’t know. I’ll let you know?”

“Of course. If you need a hotel room or anything of the sort, you let me know. My LAPD family is… is always taken care of.”

Bridget shook her head against his chest. “You were so cruel to Bo when Kathy ran away.”

Jamal closed his eyes. “I know.”

“Y-you won’t turn on me too?”

“No,” Jamal whispered. “No, sweetheart, I won’t turn on you. You’re safe.”

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