Jesus. No wonder she’s so afraid of everything, if this is the monster who raised her.
I drive away.
“He’ll kill you.” I can barely hear her.
I laugh. “He can try.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know him.”
I give her a cocky grin. “And honey, you don’t know me. Trust me when I say he won’t hurt either of us.” I let the grin fade, let her see my confidence. “He’ll never lay a hand on you again. You have my word.”
She looks at me—we pass under a streetlamp, and I can make out the color of her eyes in the dull orange glow. They’re gray. Not just gray, but the layered dark shades of a stormcloud. Her hair is pure auburn, a burnished reddish brown. In the sun, I bet it’d be more red. It’s long—in a thick fishtail braid, it hangs over her left shoulder and curls on her lap. The end is tied with a faded piece of red fabric torn from a larger swath. Not even a real ponytail holder.
“Why?” Her voice is stronger, a little louder. “Why are you helping me?”
I shake my head, roll a shoulder. “Honestly, I’m asking myself the same question. But I am. I will. I’ll protect you, Naomi. You’re okay now. You’re free.”
She blinks rapidly at me. “Free?”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re free.”
She swallows hard. “I just didn’t want to hurt anymore,” she whispers.
I reach out a hand toward her, but she shies away, and I drop it back into my lap. “You won’t be hurt anymore, Naomi. I fucking swear.”
She just looks at me. Assessing. She meets my eyes for a moment, and in that moment, I see behind the curtain—I see a woman who has just done the most courageous thing I can think of.
Something that took balls of fucking steel.
And that was just her escape. Getting in the car with me just now? Defying her father to his face?
I can’t imagine the courage that must have required.
I find a huge well of respect for her filling up inside me. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, what I’m going to do…but I just know down to my balls and bones that my future is tied up with hers.
Why, how, hell if I know. But I feel it as surely as I know the lines on my palms, the angles of my face in the mirror.
I’m starting to understand Rev, Kane, and Chance a little bit, suddenly. Not that I’d ever say that to them after I was so openly derisive. But…I feel drawn to her.
And more than anything, I feel a fierce, feral, violent drive to protect her. To make sure no one ever hurts her again.
It’s something in her eyes. In her stillness. In her fear of everything around her, every twitch of my hands. She shouldn’t be so afraid. She’s too beautiful to be so terrified, so deeply hurt.
She’s a wounded bird who deserves to fly.
I’ll take care of her.
Protect her.
And god help anyone who gets in my way.
into the unknown
Naomi
Plop.
A crimson circle stains the faded wood floor between my feet.
