Free The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 2 by Kristina Blake

tossing him against the wall of the hallway. A knife suddenly appeared in his hand, fear and rage in his eyes as he wielded it at his brother, the only family that he had left.
                  Rick thought of the delivery boy, whom his brother had stabbed for only doing his job, because it meant being close to her when he could not. He wondered how long his brother had been watching him with Alex, spending each day with her, and each night in her apartment. He knew that he must have been watching, must have seen. Fear fueled his body as he righted himself, standing with his hands out, begging for his brother to calm down.
                  “Jake,” he said, “you don't have to do this.”
                  “You cannot take her from me,” Jake said, lashing out with the knife, barely missing Rick's upheld arms. “I will not let you have her. I will fucking kill you.”
    “Hey,” said Rick. “Kill me? I'm your brother.”
                  “I don't give a fuck,” said Jake, swinging the knife again. “No one can have her, she's mine. I deserve her.”
    Jake darted at him, wielding the knife, and Rick ducked his blow, barely avoiding his brother's attack. He charged him, his shoulder down, and they crashed into the wall together. Jake cried out, the wind knocked from his body, and Rick heard the crack of his ribs, obviously broken. The knife clattered to the floor, and Rick stooped to pluck it off the carpet before his brother could get hold of it again.
                  “Fuck,” yelled Jake, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his broken ribs. He turned, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared at his brother, before darting off down the hall toward the kitchen. Rick ran after him, his shoulder screaming from the impact with the wall, ripped from its socket by the collision, useless and limp by his side. As he came around the corner, his brother was leaping off the front steps, heading toward the car in the driveway.
                  “Jake,” Rick called, not wanting to lose his brother again, not when he was so close. He needed to keep hold of him, get him back to the hospital, get him back on his medications. If he lost him now, he didn't know what he would do.
                  “Fuck you,” said Jake, jumping into Alex's car and turning the key. “Fucking kill you!” He pulled out into the street, the tires squealing, and drove off into the darkness.
                  Rick stood in the driveway, the knife in his hand, and watched as the lights went on in the windows of the house across the street. He needed to go back into the house, needed to see if she was in fact there, if she was all right. Walking back into the house, he strode purposefully down the hall to his brother's room, and threw open the door.
                  She had been lying on a bare mattress, her skin pale in the light of the bedside lamp. His brother had pulled all the pictures off the walls, leaving them stark and white, showing signs of water damage coming through the ceiling of the old house. He stood in the doorway, staring at her, willing her to move, unable to imagine if he were looking down upon her lifeless body. He stepped into the room, cradling his dislocated arm, and sat down gingerly on the edge of the mattress next to her.
                  He reached out his good arm, gently placing his fingertips on the pale skin of her cheek. He breathed a sigh of relief, finding it warm. Her eyelids fluttered, and she moaned as if waking from a nightmare.
                  “You're okay,” he said, more to convince himself that she was all right, that his brother hadn't harmed her, than to comfort her.

Chapter Nine
                  Rick rubbed his eyes, dragging himself from the memories of that night, the police and the paramedics arriving at the same time, the hours of questioning both at