Chapter 19
Hew heard the shower cut off. Heard the soft whir of Sabrina’s toothbrush. Heard the rhythmic hum of her hairdryer.
Such sweet, domestic sounds. Feminine sounds. Sabrina sounds.
They should’ve comforted him. Warmed him.
She was home. She was whole. She felt well enough to go about her usual morning ablutions.
Except…a war raged within him.
On the one side was the part of him that was sure he’d felt her warm lips on his skin. Felt her hot breath as she opened her mouth and the wet, tentative, testicle-tightening touch of her tongue over his pulse point.
On the other side was the certainty that his brain, fried from twenty-four hours of fear and adrenaline, had hallucinated the whole damn thing. And what he’d thought was her wet tongue was just one of her tears sliding against his skin. What he’s mistaken for her lips opening was just…
What?
He scrubbed a hand down his face and dragged in a deep breath that contained plenty of oxygen but, unfortunately, didn’t contain any answers.
The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled him from his battling thoughts. Looking up, he decided it was a good thing his last breath contained plenty of oxygen. Because, suddenly, he forgot how to breathe.
Sabrina stood framed in the doorway like a goddamn vision.
Damp hair clung to her throat, curling at the ends like chocolate ribbons.
Steam kissed her skin, making it glisten.
And her little pink robe molded itself to her lithe frame like it was trying to decide if it wanted to be completely immodest or just slightly immodest.
He felt his self-control fray and barely refrained from marching over, cupping her sweet face in his hand, and kissing her cross-eyed.
That would tell him if she’d really kissed his neck or if he’d imagined it all.
“I thought you left.” She pulled the two halves of the robe tighter, interrupting his heated thoughts.
Good thing. Too much more of that and he’d need to pull one of the pillows from her bed over his lap.
“Sorry.” He stood from the chair, suddenly aware of how inappropriate it was to linger in her bedroom uninvited. “Didn’t mean to— I’ll head downstairs and—”
He saw it then.
The dark bruise blooming just above the robe’s lapel. Deep. Angry. Fresh.
His body moved before his brain caught up. One second, he was standing beside her bed. The next, he was there, chest-to-chest, fist in the silk of her robe, fury singing through his veins.
Before he could stop himself, he pulled the material aside to examine what it covered.
“What—?” Sabrina squeaked and blinked up at him in shocked astonishment.
He barely noticed. He was too distracted by the rage that rolled over him as quickly and as densely as a New England fog bank.
This wasn’t cold, though. It was white-hot.
“What did those motherfuckers do to you?” His voice was gunpowder soaked in gasoline.
He barely recognized it as his own. “I’m goin’ to kill her.
” He turned toward the door, determined to march downstairs and wrap his hands around the throat of the blonde.
“I’m goin’ to put three holes in her skull and turn her head into a fuckin’ bowlin’ ball—”
“Hew. Stop.” Sabrina had somehow beaten him to the door. She used her body—her arms spread out to grip the doorframe—to keep him from leaving. “It wasn’t Black Widow.”
He swallowed, fighting for control. “That’s what she calls herself? Jesus. What an arrogant—”
“Doesn’t matter,” she cut him off. “What matters is that it wasn’t her. It was the one they called Diesel. And you can’t turn his head into a bowling ball because he’s already dead.”
“Good riddance.” If he’d been outside, he would’ve spat on the ground. “Although I wish he weren’t. ’Cause I’d like to kill him again. I’d like to rip him limb from limb for touchin’ ya. For markin’ ya. For—”
He couldn’t finish past the bile that spurted into his throat. His stomach heaved. His fists curled. He had to force his next question through his clenched jaw. “Did he ra—”
“No,” she assured him swiftly, shaking her head, bravely holding his violent gaze. “I was groped.” She tilted her chin toward her poor, bruised breast. “Hit.” She pointed to the cut on her cheek. “But that’s it.”
The fury in his blood cooled to embers. But it wasn’t doused. Because…groped. Hit.
Hurt.
They’d hurt her. And he hadn’t been there to protect her from them. He hadn’t been there to—
“Wait.” She suddenly frowned. “Black Widow is here? I remember her being in the helicopter, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“She’s down in the Bat Cave,” he informed her, jaw still tight with barely leashed rage. “We need to interrogate her. But first, we’re lettin’ her stew in her own juices. No food. No water. A little quid pro quo for what she put you through.”
He caught her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him.
She blinked, wide-eyed, and he could see the little flecks of gold floating in the creamy brown of her irises. The flutter of her pulse in her long, pale neck was like a hummingbird’s wings.
“Are ya sure they didn’t—”
“I did more damage to them than they did to me,” she assured him, chin trembling. “I—I killed one of them, Hew. The one they called Hummer.”
The words came out raw, ragged. Like they’d been torn from somewhere deep inside her. Hearing them made something inside him rip open, too.
“They were going to kill me,” she explained unnecessarily. “They planned to take the money and kill all y’all, and so I shoved a glass shard into Hummer’s throat because I thought if I could help you guys then…”
She stopped and shook her head, her breath going thready. “I felt it go in, Hew. His blood was hot on my hand. And I watched him struggle until—”
Her fingers jumped to her mouth. Her other arm curled around her midsection like she was trying to hold herself together.
Hew didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even think, really. He did the only thing he knew to do. The only thing he could do. The same thing he’d been doing since she first arrived at BKI.
He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and rocked her gently in his lap as her tears fell.
Hunter had reported on the corpse that’d been at Sabrina’s feet when the Knights stormed the bottling plant. But none of them had thought she had been the one to slit the man’s throat. They’d all assumed it’d been a tiff between teammates. Assassins turning on one another.
But it was our brave Sabrina.
Our Roman river goddess doin’ all she could to even the odds for us.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she whispered into the crook of his shoulder. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason y’all walked into a trap. And so I—”
“You did exactly what ya had to do.” His voice was low and rough. It had to work past the lump in his throat. “You were fightin’ for your life. For all our lives. And there’s not a soul on this planet who’d blame ya for that.”
“But I—"
He pressed his thumb under her chin so he could see her pretty face. Then, he silenced her words by tapping a finger over her lips.
Of course, when he felt her warm breath bathe his skin, he had to remove his hand because it made his dick twitch.
Stupid bastard, he silently admonished. Now’s not the time.
With Sabrina, it was never the time.
Or was it?
Had she opened her mouth over his throat? Had she flicked out her little tongue to taste him?
“You didn’t choose to be taken.” He pushed all other thoughts aside.
“You didn’t want to be put into the position to save yourself and give the people ya love like family a fightin’ chance.
And the fact that you’re feelin’ anything but vindication right now?
Well, that just means ya have a heart. A big, brave, beautiful heart.
And I couldn’t be any prouder of you than I am. ”
A fresh tear slipped down her wounded cheek. He gently caught it with his thumb and brushed it away.
“I’d take it from ya if I could,” he swore vehemently. “All the grief. All the fear. I’d carry it so you don’t have to.”
“You have, Hew,” she declared with a determined dip of her chin. “I couldn’t have gotten through all these months without you.”
Her full, lower lip trembled, and it took everything he had not to duck his head and pull it into his mouth. Soothe its motion. Instead, he leaned in until their noses touched.
Her breath smelled of her minty toothpaste. Her skin smelled of her fruity body wash. And her hair smelled of her flowery shampoo.
“Why does life have to be so hard?” She sniffed pitifully.
The smallness of her voice had every protective instinct inside him roaring and beating its chest Tarzan style.
He pushed back so he could see her face when he told her, “It’s a rule. What? Don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t the one who made it up.”
She laughed, just as he’d meant her to. But it sounded brittle, like glass breaking.
“Sorry about earlier,” she whispered, immediately sobering.
Everything inside him stilled.
Except for his heart.
That beat against the cage of his ribs like it was doing its level best to escape his chest.
“What d’ya mean?” he asked carefully.
Her mouth flattened. “Come on, Hew. Don’t play dumb.”
“I am dumb,” he insisted. “Most times I just go around playin’ smart.”
She scrambled off his lap, and he had to fist his hands to keep from pulling her back. After she flounced into the chair, adjusting her robe over her silky thighs, she turned a sullen frown on him.
Snatching the lobstah off her pillow, she worried its claws before finally saying, “I took advantage of your friendship, and I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve made it very clear where you and I stand.”
He shook his head. Then nodded. Then asked, “I have?”
“On many occasions,” she emphasized. “I finally caught a clue.” She tapped her temple. “Even though I was a little slow on the uptake.”
He nodded again. In fact, he couldn’t seem to quit nodding. It was like his body’s attempt to comprehend what they were talking about because his brain had completely given up on the task.
“So earlier I…” She shrugged and shook her head. “Earlier, I was an idiot. And I apologize.”
“Right.” Nodding. Nodding. Nodding some more. “And what, exactly, are ya apologizin’ for?”
She thrust out her chin at an angle. “You’re going to make me come right out and say it, aren’t you?”
Still nodding. “You’re goin’ to have to. ’Cause I’m lost.”
“I’m apologizing for kissing your neck.” She waved a vague hand at the neck in question, and he felt his lungs collapse. “I know you don’t like me like that.”
Now he couldn’t stop blinking.
He thought maybe the nodding was better. At least he was contributing to the conversation that way.
“I don’t?” he finally managed to ask.
She rolled her eyes. “You’ve made it obvious.”
“I have?”
She sighed heavily. “Remember when you showed me the yearbook with your parents’ pictures?”
He nodded.
Great. Back to contributin’ to the convo.
“I grabbed your thigh when we were flipping through the pages, and you jumped up like you were snake bit and said you were going to go get us something to drink. And remember when we took Freedom for a ride and stopped at the beach?”
You guessed it. He nodded.
“Remember how, when we were walking back to the bike, I faked a trip and you caught me? Our mouths were this close together?” She held two fingers an inch apart.
“But instead of kissing me, you set me back on my feet and brushed the sand off my jeans like I was a toddler. And then there was the first night we all went to Red Delilah’s. ”
His voice sounded raw when he managed, “What happened there?”
“Not there.” She shook her head like he was ten kinds of idiot.
Honestly? He was beginning to think she was right about that.
“When we came back. I was teasing you about getting the brunette’s phone number, giving you a hard time about having a type.
Basically, leaving the door wide open for you to tell me if I was your type.
But did you walk through it? No. You just said you didn’t have a type and—” She stopped and tugged the halves of her robe together. “Hey, Boss. What’s up?”
“Uhhh.” Frank Knight stood in the open doorway and glanced awkwardly between them.
“Martin’s on the phone for you. The business phone,” he stressed.
“Said if you’re ghosting him, that’s okay.
He understands that’s how things work in the modern world.
But he asks that you let him know. Or that you tell me to let him know.
Because he’s been trying to get a hold of you ever since you missed the show last night. And he’s worried.”
“Oh, my god!” Sabrina jumped up. “I can’t believe I forgot Martin!
” She put a hand to her head and threw the stuffed lobster back on the vacated chair.
Hew felt like maybe that was a metaphor for something he didn’t like in the least. “We were supposed to meet at the Lyric Opera House. What must he think of me?”
Hew dumbly watched her slip out the door, his eyes clinging to her the way dew clings to flowers on a spring morning.
After her footsteps sounded on the stairs, Boss turned to him and lifted an ash-gray eyebrow. “Y’okay?”
Hew nodded. It seemed to be the only thing he was capable of. Then he shook his head and admitted, “I actually have no idea.”