Tobias: Book One of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Fuck off!” Tobias bellowed, struggling underneath the heavy weight of the two men above him.

The two thugs didn't budge, only spitting onto his face as blow upon blow landed repeatedly on his already beaten torso. Standing right above him, Preston sneered, swinging his leg forward to create a bone-crushing sensation on his side.

They had dragged him into the cooler of the Bar & Grill. Nobody had stood up to help; too scared to defy the exuberant wealth that bled through Preston McGove's horrid veins. The cold glint of a switchblade entered his surprisingly clear vision, glittering from the frost-covered lights above head.

Harsh breath reeking of stale cigarettes blew into him, causing his eyes to water and his stomach to heave. One of the men brought the large knife close to his brow, tracing the delicate skin lightly and then deeper until Tobias could feel blood trickle down. Fury burned inside of him, causing him to lash out more intensely than before.

The man with the knife fell backwards, slamming his head on a plastic crate of the walk-in cooler, but not before the switchblade dragged solidly down his exposed arm. Hissing with rage, he didn't even register the pain, only somehow managing to maneuver himself off the hard cement floor. Preston ran then, quickly followed by the two men.

“God damn it,” he cussed under his breath, hating how easy it must have been for Preston to overtake him.

Breathing deeply, he heard the cooler's large door lock with a resounding click. He sat down on top of one of the crates, settling down for what would be a very long wait.

                                                                            ***

“How's she doing?” he asked his mother, trying not to hiss as the sting of antiseptic as it splashed down the large cut right above his left eyebrow.

Ma gave him a concerned glance, furrowing her own brow slightly with concentration, a butterfly bandage quickly strapping itself onto the cut. “Better. She hit her head pretty hard, that one. You're just lucky that Alayna,” she referred to the blonde-haired bartender that he used to date in high school, “called when she did.”

His eyes scoured the kitchen, knowing that she wasn't in there but still hoping to just be able to see her. “And Tawson?”

“Same as always." She smiled, placing a light kiss on his forehead before throwing away the used bandage wrappers and bottle of antiseptic alcohol that she had literally poured over his cut up arm.

Together, they walked into the living room where everybody – excluding Jane – had finally settled down enough to give Callie her birthday presents. The soon to be five-year-old didn't even bat an eye as she saw the large gauze wrap covering the majority of his forearm, used to seeing at least one of her uncles with a few bumps and bruises.

“This one is from Daddy.” Callie beamed at all of them, opening a small box with a golden, heart-shaped locket inside. His niece looked up at her father, confusion and excitement in her eyes as she asked, “What is it, Daddy?”

Trace leaned over and took the golden chain with the locket attached to it out of the box, holding the small thing within the large palm of his hand. “It's a necklace.” He then opened up the heart, revealing a small picture inside. “See, inside is a picture of you and me. Remember when you and Gramma got my old tags engraved with your name in 'em?” he asked, slinging his silver dog tags over his head, holding them out to the curious girl.

“Yeah.” Callie grinned, revealing slightly crooked but very well-taken care of teeth. "So I got one, too? But it's just a heart?”

“Yes, sweetie.” Trace brought her small body onto his lap, placing a fatherly kiss on her small forehead. “I hope you like it.”