Chapter 15 #2
"I'm right here," I remind them both, irritated at being discussed as if I'm not present. "And I feel fine. Just sore and a little stiff."
"Xavier says another day of rest," Greyson counters firmly.
Dad nods, seemingly satisfied with this assessment. "Compound's still on lockdown. You'll both stay here until we're sure it's safe."
When Zach pokes his head in to deliver an update on business, Greyson steps into the hallway with him but leaves the door ajar, glancing back at me every few seconds.
"Your man's gone full grizzly bear," Tiana says when she and the girls come to visit me again, once Greyson is out of earshot. "I haven't seen him let anyone near you without looking ready to rip their throat out."
"He's just worried," I defend him, though even I have to admit his behavior has been extreme today.
"He carried you to the bathroom," Cassandra points out. "Torch offered to help earlier when Greyson was talking to your dad, and I thought he was going to get stabbed for suggesting it."
I sigh, unable to deny the truth of their observations. "We went through something… horrible. He's processing it in his own way."
By late afternoon, the pattern is firmly established. Greyson carries me to and from the bathroom, refusing all offers of assistance. When his parents arrive, bringing homemade soup and fresh bread, he allows his mother to embrace me but intercepts his father's attempt to help me sit up straighter.
"I've got her." He slides behind me on the bed to support my weight himself.
His father exchanges a knowing look with his mother but doesn't comment on the obvious possessiveness.
When I mention wanting to shower, Greyson immediately scoops me up, carrying me to the en suite.
He helps me undress with reverent hands, his eyes cataloging each bruise and scrape with renewed fury.
Then he strips down himself and steps into the shower with me, supporting my weight so I don't have to put pressure on my injured ankle.
"I can manage," I insist as he carefully washes my hair, his movements achingly gentle.
"I know you can." He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "But you don't have to. Not while I'm here."
His tenderness nearly undoes me. This is the flip side of his ferocious protection—the care, the absolute devotion that makes it impossible to resent his overprotective behavior.
After the shower, he wraps me in a towel larger than I am, drying me with the same focus he applies to everything concerning my well-being. When he carries me back to bed, I notice fresh sheets and blankets have appeared, courtesy of his mother, no doubt.
"You can't keep carrying me everywhere," I say as he tucks the blankets around me. "You're injured too, Greyson. You need to rest."
"I'm fine." He dismisses my worries, though the bandage on his temple tells a different story.
"You're not fine," I argue, catching his hand to stop his fussing with the blankets. "None of us are fine right now. But we will be."
He sinks onto the bed beside me, suddenly looking exhausted. "I keep seeing it," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "That gun against your head. Those men touching you. I keep thinking about what would have happened if—"
"But it didn't happen," I interrupt, squeezing his hand. "We got out. We survived."
"Because we got lucky." A tremor runs through him. "If we hadn't found that road…"
"But we did," I insist. "And now we're safe."
His laugh is hollow. "Are we? Volkov's still out there. He still thinks you have something he wants. And he's not the type to give up easily."
I can't argue with that. The truth is none of us will be truly safe until Volkov is dealt with permanently.
"Then we'll handle it," I say with more confidence than I feel. "Together. But right now, you need to take care of yourself too. You can't protect me if you collapse from exhaustion."
He considers this, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. "I'll rest," he concedes finally. "But I'm not leaving this room, and I'm still carrying you when you need to move."
It's a small victory, but I'll take it. "Deal."
He stretches out beside me, his body curving around mine. Even now, even here in the heart of the clubhouse surrounded by armed men, he positions himself between me and the door.
"I love you," I whisper, feeling him relax incrementally as I nestle against him. "More than I knew it was possible to love someone."
His arms tighten around me, his breath warm against my neck. "You're everything to me, Livie. Everything. I can't—I won't—let anything happen to you again."
As he drifts toward sleep, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion it's been fighting, I stare at the ceiling and wonder how we'll ever find our way back to normal after this. If there even is a "normal" to return to.
One thing is for certain, the man holding me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip for even a moment will never be the same. And neither will I.
But perhaps that's not entirely a bad thing. Perhaps surviving something like this together forges a bond that nothing else could create—a connection tempered in fire, stronger for having been tested.
As I follow Greyson into sleep, I find myself thinking that whatever comes next, whether it's healing from our ordeal or facing Volkov again, we'll face it together. And that knowledge is enough to keep the nightmares at bay, at least for now.
* * *
Greyson
I jolt awake to the sound of Livie's scream tearing through the darkness. Her body convulses beside me, back arching off the mattress as another cry rips from her throat.
"Livie!" I'm instantly alert, pulling her thrashing form against my chest. "Baby, wake up. It's just a dream."
Her eyes fly open, wild with terror, unseeing. She fights against my hold, nails raking down my arms as she tries to escape whatever horror still has her in its grip.
"No! Don't touch me!" she sobs, still caught between nightmare and reality. "Please, don't—"
"Livie, it's me. It's Greyson." I cradle her face between my palms, forcing her to look at me. "You're safe. You're at the clubhouse. No one's going to hurt you."
Recognition slowly dawns in her eyes, the panic receding as she focuses on my face. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps, her entire body trembling violently.
"Greyson?" Her voice breaks on my name, small and uncertain.
"I'm here, baby. I'm right here." I brush sweat-soaked hair from her forehead, my heart breaking at the fear still etched across her features. "It was just a nightmare."
A sob escapes her as reality fully returns. She collapses against me, fingers clutching desperately at my shirt as if I might disappear. I hold her tightly, rocking her gently as violent tremors rack her body.
"He had you," she chokes out against my chest. "Volkov. He was… He was cutting you apart while I watched. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't—"
"Shh, it wasn't real." I press my lips to her temple, tasting the salt of her tears. "I'm right here. We're both safe."
The door bursts open, Zach appearing with his gun drawn, two prospects right behind him. The sudden intrusion makes Livie flinch violently in my arms.
"Stand down," I order, keeping my voice low and steady for Livie's sake. "Nightmare. We're fine."
Zach lowers his weapon, concern replacing his battle-ready stance. "You sure? That scream…"
"We're good," I confirm, even as Livie burrows deeper against me, her body still shaking. "Close the door."
He hesitates, clearly torn between following orders and making sure we're truly okay. "Xavier's still here. Should I send him in?"
I glance down at Livie, assessing. Her breathing is evening out, the worst of the panic subsiding, but the haunted look in her eyes remains. "Yeah. Tell him to bring something to help her sleep."
Zach nods and backs out, pulling the door closed behind him. I turn my full attention back to Livie, stroking her back in long, soothing motions.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, embarrassment creeping into her voice. "I didn't mean to wake everyone."
"Don't apologize." I tip her chin up, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. "Not for this. Not ever for this."
A knock announces Xavier's arrival. I call for him to enter, keeping Livie secured against me as he approaches with his medical bag.
"Nightmare?" he asks, his clinical demeanor replaced by genuine concern.
I nod, feeling Livie tense slightly at having to discuss it. "Bad one."
Xavier sits carefully on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. "That's completely normal after what you've been through, Livie. Your mind is trying to process the trauma."
"It felt so real," she admits, her voice small. "Like I was back there."
"That's how PTSD works," Xavier explains gently. "Your brain can't always distinguish between a memory and reality, especially during sleep."
He reaches into his bag, producing a small bottle of pills. "These will help you sleep without dreaming. Just for tonight, to give your mind a break."
I take the bottle, reading the label carefully. "Side effects?"
"Mild grogginess in the morning, maybe. Nothing serious." Xavier's eyes meet mine with understanding. "She needs rest, Greyson. Uninterrupted rest."
I nod, handing the pills to Livie. She hesitates, then takes them, swallowing one with the water Xavier offers.
"Try to keep her talking for a few minutes until it kicks in," Xavier advises as he stands to leave. "Don't let her fall back asleep right away or the nightmare might continue."
After he's gone, I shift us both until we're sitting against the headboard, Livie still cradled against my chest. "Want to tell me about it? The dream?"
She shudders. "Not really."
"Might help to get it out," I suggest, though part of me doesn't want to hear the details, doesn't want to know exactly what horrors her mind conjured.