28. Trip
TWENTY-EIGHT
TRIP
L ydia is too quiet.
Her body limp against mine, her arms wrapped loosely around my neck, her face buried in the crook of my shoulder. I can feel her breath, soft and uneven, warm against my skin. But she isn’t crying. She isn’t shaking.
She’s drained .
I tighten my grip on her, holding her closer, feeling the way her body molds against mine. The weight of her is familiar. Mine. But the silence–the fucking stillness , is wrong.
My boots echo off the cold concrete as I carry her out of that fucking hellhole.
The scent of blood clings to the air, thick and metallic, mixing with the distant trace of smoke from the explosion I’d set off to get inside.
My jacket is draped over her, wrapping her in my scent, but it isn’t enough.
I need her back.
“Stay with me, killstreak,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her temple, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Her body tenses just slightly, a whisper of awareness. But she doesn’t speak.
Fuck.
Patrick’s screams echo behind us, but I don’t look back. I don’t give that piece of shit the satisfaction of one more second of my attention. He’s nothing now. Less than nothing. He will bleed. He will suffer . But not yet.
Not until I’m sure Lydia is safe.
I keep moving, my body on autopilot. Each step is measured, calculated. My truck is parked a block away, hidden in the shadows where no one would see. I move toward it with purpose, keeping Lydia pressed to me like she’s a part of me. And maybe she is.
Because without her, I’m nothing.
The moment I reach the truck, I open the door and ease her into the passenger seat. Her body sags slightly as I pull back, and for a second, panic grips me so fucking hard I can’t breathe.
“Killstreak…” I cup her face gently, tilting her chin so I can see her eyes.
Her lashes flutter. Her lips part, her breath shaky.
Green. Wide. Glazed over with exhaustion, but she’s there .
My girl.
Her gaze locks on mine, and for a heartbeat, the world stands still. Her lips tremble, but when she speaks, her voice is a fragile whisper.
“You stopped him. You saved me…” She says almost deliriously. She’s beyond exhausted. Her body is reeling from being in fight or flight mode for so long.
I swallow hard, my jaw tightening as I brush my thumb over her cheek.
“He’ll never touch you again.”
A shudder runs through her, but her expression doesn’t change. Her eyes search mine, looking for something– anything– but her body stays soft against me.
“Okay,” she whispers, the word barely audible.
I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers, inhaling deeply as I try to steady myself. Her scent is still there, beneath the blood and fear.
“You’re safe now.” My voice is rough, but I need her to believe it.
Her hand lifts weakly, her fingers brushing over my jaw. “You always… keep me safe.” Her words are soft, barely a breath, but they hit me like a punch to the gut.
I’ll never stop.
I kiss her forehead, then her cheek, her lips, soft and slow, tasting her, grounding myself in the feel of her.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her fingers curl tighter into my shirt, her body pressing closer. “Don’t let go.”
Like I fucking could.
The drive is quiet.
Lydia’s head rests against the window, her eyes closed, but I know she isn’t asleep. Her breathing is too shallow, her body too tense.
She’s replaying everything. Reliving it.
I clench the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white as the rage simmers beneath the surface.
I’ll fix this.
I’ll make it right.
When we pull into the driveway, Lydia stirs, her lashes fluttering as she blinks herself back to the present. Her gaze drifts to the familiar surroundings, but I see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes.
“Home,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.
My chest tightens.
Home.
She says it like it’s a question.
I kill the engine and turn toward her, my fingers brushing gently over her thigh.
“Yeah, we’re home.”
Her lips press together, her eyes still distant. But she nods.
“Good,” she breathes softly. “I don’t… I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
Neither do I.
I’m out of the car before she can say another word, rounding the vehicle and pulling her door open. I don’t need to tell her to wait for me to lift her. She knows I will.
Her body melts into mine the second I have her in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist, her face pressed to my neck.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper as I carry her inside. The door slams shut behind us, locking the world out. And in that moment, it’s just us.
She doesn’t speak, but I feel her body relax slightly as I carry her through the house.
Still tense. Still guarded. But… safe. I don’t stop until we are in the bathroom. We’re both covered in blood– his blood and I can’t stand it.
I need to get him off of her.
I set her down gently, my hands steady as I reach for the jacket still covering her.
“Let me…” The words are barely a whisper, but she doesn’t stop me. Her eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I see it.
Trust .
She lifts her arms, letting me peel the fabric away, her skin marred with bruises and raw from the ropes.
My jaw clenches, the anger threatening to rise again, but I push it down. Not now. The fabric falls to the floor, and my fingers trace her skin.
Slow. Gentle. I treat her like she’s fragile, but I know better .
Lydia isn’t fragile . She’s fucking mine .
When she’s bare before me, I step back, letting my eyes roam over her body. My blood boils.
Bruises. Fucking marks. His marks.
I swallow the growl that claws its way up my throat, my fingers brushing over her hip where a faint bruise is already forming.
“I’ll fix this,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.
Her eyes soften, her lips parting slightly. “I know you will.”
Fuck.
“Get in, killstreak.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment longer, her eyes filled with something I can’t quite name.
But then she steps into the shower, her body shivering slightly as the water cascades over her skin. I don’t hesitate. I join her, grabbing the soap, lathering my hands before I touch her.
Every stroke is slow. Intentional. My fingers trace over the bruises, washing away the blood, but my mind is burning .
I’ll replace every fucking mark he left.
With mine.
“Trip…” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her head tilting back as my hands move lower.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Please…”
Fuck. I press her against the cold tile, my body caging her in.
“I need you.” Her words aren’t a request. They’rea fucking plea .
“Mine,” I growl against her skin, my lips trailing down her neck.
“Yours,” she whispers, her body arching into mine. That’s all I need. I devour her.
Her lips.
Her neck.
Her fucking soul .
And when I finally slide inside her…
Her body clenches around me, her nails digging into my back. I fuck her against the wall for what feels like hours.
By the time we’re finished, we are both panting, exhausted, and pruny.
“Let’s go to bed, killstreak.”
Her answering smile is all I need in life.