CHAPTER 49
She sobs—loud and broken. The kind of sob that comes after your soul’s already left your body.
And I just hold her.
Tighter.
She’s covered in that asshole’s blood and her own misery, but it doesn’t matter.
I’d carry her through fire like this. Through hell.
And she lets me.
No resistance. No hesitation. Just… trust.
She tucks her face into my neck and cries like I’m her sanctuary.
And for her, I am.
Not because I deserve it—fuck, I know I don’t.
But because I’m hers.
I’m the one who sawher.
Saw through the performance, the cheer, the bright clothes and charming smiles. I saw the rage. The fire. The need.
And now she’s in my arms.
Mine.
The world is quiet for a breath.
The storm is still coming, but right now?
She’s safe.
And I’ll burn everything else to ash to keep her that way.
She’s light in my arms when I turn from the doorstep. Silent with exhaustion.
The kind of quiet you don’t get often—when the air still tastes like adrenaline and the world feels like it might crack if you breathe too loud.
She stirs, instincts kicking in like she should put up a fight. She’s so cute trying.
“Get away from me.”
“Never.” I hold her tighter, making it clear she’s not getting down until I say so.
I carry her inside like I was made for it.
Dexter follows like he understands.
His nails click softly on the hardwood, ears perked—not anxious. Just accepting.
She doesn’t know I’ve been coming over here. Bribing the little shit with treats. Leaving a worn shirt in his bed so he gets used to my scent.
I know exactly what she needs, and as I walk through her house with ease, she realizes it.
I’ve been here enough to know the creak of the banister, the dip in the third stair that catches her heel.
She always mutters about fixing it, but never does.
“I can walk, you know.” She tries to hide the tremor in her voice.
Her body is warm against mine, limbs heavy with the kind of grief that doesn’t make sound until it breaks.
“No, you can’t. Not like this.”
In the bathroom, I set her down gently. Like she might break—but not because she’s fragile. Because she’s sacred.
She stays where I place her, shaking. Terrified.
But she doesn’t run.
And that matters.
“Who are you?” she whispers, trying to peer around as I kneel beside the tub.
I feel her eyes on me while I turn on the water. Feel her heartbeat adjusting to mine. Slowing.
She startles when I turn to her—her breath catching like a note cut short.
“I need your clothes,” I say. Simple and controlled. But inside, I’m anything but.
Her eyes go wide before she narrows her glare. She doesn’t move.Yeah, baby, give me some of that fire.
She says, “No.” Breathless. Fractured. Like she knows she should resist but knows it’s pointless.
I lift my hand slowly—careful not to spook her. The glove comes off one finger at a time, teeth tugging leather. I want her to watch.
I want her to know I’m not in a rush.
Her silence hums between us, thick with defiance.
“I’ve already seen it all, Sunny,” I murmur, just loud enough for her to feel.
My gloves hit the counter with a soft thud, but her heartbeat is louder.
Her eyes flick to the shower. Putting it together. The handprint. What I was doing in there.
“This how you normally introduce yourself to strangers?”
My cock twitches at her snark. At being this close.
“Arms up.”
She hesitates. Just for a breath.
“I said no.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
My hand dips under her shirt, and it’s off with a sharp pull. She stumbles toward me, palms to my chest before she yanks them back.
Her bra is next. I have to clench my jaw to keep from putting my mouth on her.
“You want my dignity too?” Her bite is back.
“I’ll take everything you offer me, Sunshine.” I whisper it against her ear, relishing the shiver she pretends didn’t happen.
“I won’t give you anything.” Crossing her arms over her breasts.
She’s shaking. But not from fear.
From adrenaline. Cold. The gravity of tonight sinking in.
“Yes,” I lower my hands to her pants. “You will.”
She doesn’t stop me, but she clenches her stomach. Her thighs.
I peel the pants down slowly, helping her step out. They join the pile, and I turn my gaze to her panties. I take my time, sliding my hands up her thighs, thumbs slipping beneath the thin fabric.
“You enjoying the show, creep?” There’s no venom in her tone—just an attempt to mask arousal.
I look into her eyes as I pull them down.
The fight not to stare at her pussy. To see if she’s glistening. To smell her. To lick her. I’ve never fought so hard against something I want.
“Yes. I am.”
Her face burns. Embarrassed. I want to kiss it away. Press my mouth against the soft mound above her clit.
The blood drying on her will start to grate—like a cracked desert floor. She’ll want to scrub until there’s nothing left.
Her panties drop to the pile. She’s stripped to skin and consequence.