Page 99 of Elling & Jackie

"Who?"

There was no reason to play games. Elling knew why he was here.

"Jacqueline." He turned and faced her oldest brother. "I want to know she's safe and nothing is going to happen to her."

"The last person you should be thinking about is my sister." Jett motioned his chin toward the garage. "Get in."

Keeping his hands free and knowing they hadn't removed the two pistols from underneath his vest, he stepped into the garage. The door slid closed behind him.

Instinct told him he wasn't alone. Outside, motorcycles started, probably to cover up any noise coming from the garage. He regretted nothing in his life, except for the short time he got to spend with Jacqueline.

His intentions were true. He would've spent a lifetime loving her.

He turned to see who he'd be facing and found several men spread out around him. Jett stepped forward, holding a pistol. Elling held his shoulders square, not showing any fear. He'd been through worse.

He imagined his own death would be easier to face than watching his parents' die or the days, months, years after their deaths.

Jett stopped in front of him, his arm shot out with the gun in his hand. Pain exploded in Elling's face a second before it registered he'd been pistol whipped.

The power behind the hit whipped his head to the side. He straightened, ignoring the pain, and looked Jacqueline's brother in the eyes.

"You touched her." Jett backhanded Elling, the barrel of the pistol hitting his temple.

Black spots narrowed his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a second longer to lift his head. He held his ground.

"I'll touch her ag—" His breath slammed out of him, he doubled over from the sucker punch.

Coughing, he struggled to refill his lungs. He weaved on his feet, doing his best to stay standing. Knowing the minute he went down, it'd be over for him.

His stomach seized. He hacked, spitting on the floor of the garage. When he straightened, he had double vision. Make that triple.

If he hadn't known better, he would think Jett had multiplied in front of him. But he knew all three of Jacqueline's older brothers decided to give him his pounding before they killed him.

Pride made it impossible for him to give up. Honor made him take the torture.

He was a Slag. A Norwegian.

Dragging his forearm across his face, he steadied himself and straightened. The Stanton family had no idea who they'd fucked with.

"Go ahead, fight back." One of them stepped forward.

"I only fight for Slag and your sister." He spit. "You want to kill me, you're welcome to try."

A fist flew at him, the impact on his jaw swept his feet out from under him. His head hit the concrete, and he rolled on instinct to protect his middle. Somewhere a guttural sound infiltrated his head, and he realized it was him. He struggled to his hands and knees, gulping air like a banked fish.

He heaved to his feet and pain ricocheted through his ribs under the power of a steel-toed boot sending him to the ground again.

Only two of her brothers had any fun at his expense. He waited for the third brother to come after him as he pushed off the ground and staggered.

"Do it." He walked forward. "Ask your sister what I've done to her."

The last brother pushed him back. He rebounded and stepped closer, not allowing them to see his pain.

"Ask her how many times I've been in her body." The incoming punch knocked him back two feet. He kept charging. "She's mine. She belongs to me."

A right hook landed under his chin. He flipped backward, and all went dark.