Chapter 30 #3
A tear slips loose before she can stop it.
I wipe it away with my thumb before it gets farther than her cheek. Then I say the part I already knew was coming the second I saw that picture. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere without me.”
Her eyes flick up to mine immediately. There’s a time, maybe even just a week ago, where she would’ve pushed. Would’ve bristled. Would’ve argued. Would’ve said she didn’t want to be handled or controlled or treated like something fragile.
I know that because I know her now.
But this time?
This time she doesn’t fight me.
She just looks at me. Really looks. And I can see the exact second the words stop sounding like control and start sounding like safety. The exact second they land the way I mean them.
Not ownership. Protection. Not cage. Shield.
Her throat works once. Then she nods.
No argument. No pride. No resistance. And somehow that yes hits harder than if she’d screamed.
Because it means she’s scared enough to let me carry some of it.
Because it means she trusts me enough not to weaponize the fear.
Because it means I’m now responsible in a way I already was but can no longer pretend is informal.
I press my forehead to hers and let out a slow breath. “Good.”
Her hands are still fisted in my shirt. She doesn’t let go.
I don’t ask her to.
After a second, she whispers, “What about Lexi?”
That question lands right where I expected it to.
“She stays close,” I say. “No wandering. No town runs. No playgrounds. No routines that can be tracked.”
Raven closes her eyes. Nods again.
I keep going. “I’ll talk to the women too. Make sure if she’s not with one of us, somebody knows exactly where she is at all times.”
That gets a tiny flinch out of her. Not because she disagrees.
Because it makes it real. Because “at all times” is the kind of phrase you only need when the danger is already in motion.
I hate that too. But hate doesn’t change reality. Planning does.
So I keep holding her while the fear settles into something she can survive. While her breathing evens out. While the shaking in her shoulders eases. While she slowly starts coming back into herself enough to stand without all the weight of it crushing her.
Eventually, she tips her head back enough to look at me again. Her eyes are still red around the edges. Still scared. Still fierce enough to cut. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
That gets my full attention immediately. “For what?”
“For bringing this here.” The words are so soft they almost don’t register.
Almost.
Then they hit, and something in me goes instantly mean. Not at her. Never at her. At the thought.
At the fact that somewhere, somehow, some rotten part of what Cal did to her is still alive enough to make her think she’s the thing that spreads damage instead of the thing that survived it.
I cup her jaw harder. Not painful. Just enough to make sure she can’t look away from me when I say this. “You don’t ever say that shit to me again.”
Her eyes widen slightly.
Good.
I need her listening. “You didn’t bring danger here,” I say, voice low and deadly enough that every word lands like a stone. “Danger followed you because it doesn’t know when to die.”
Her breath catches.
I don’t stop. “And if it was dumb enough to follow you to me?” I say. “That’s its fucking problem now.”
That one lands. I can feel it. Can see it. Not because it magically fixes anything.
It doesn’t.
But because she believes me. At least a little. At least enough. And for now, enough is all I need.
Outside the room, I can hear faint movement in the hallway. Life still happening. The clubhouse still breathing. Somebody laughing too loud two doors down.
Normal.
It almost sounds ridiculous compared to the way the world just tilted in here. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the thing I need to remember more than anything else right now.
This life is still here. This room. This woman. That little girl down the hall probably currently trying to convince Amy that Bunny deserves his own juice cup.
They’re still here. Still mine to protect. Still breathing. Still reachable.
And I’ll kill before I let that change.
Raven’s fingers loosen in my shirt eventually.
I brush my thumb once more under her eye and ask quietly, “You with me?”
She nods. “Yeah.” It’s shaky. But real.
I believe her.
Then, because she needs grounding and I need to put my hands on something that reminds me what exactly I’m protecting before I go back into strategy mode and become the version of myself that knows how to turn fear into violence if it has to, I lean down and kiss her.
Slow. Not heated. Not demanding. Just steady. Solid. A promise, more than anything else.
When I pull back, I keep my forehead against hers and murmur the truest thing I’ve said all day. “Not one fucking inch, angel.”
Her eyes close. And this time when she nods, I know she understands exactly what I mean.
Not one inch closer to her. Not one inch closer to Lexi. Not one inch further into our life.
Not if I can help it.
And God help the poor bastard if I have to.