TWENTY-SEVEN #2
She looked up, confusion surfacing then fading. ‘I called my uncle… Didn’t I?’ She glanced around to find her phone.
Shaking my head, I kept my tone as calm as possible. ‘You called me – like you should.’
She met my eyes again. ‘I… I don’t remember. I hit the panic button, and then—’
‘Call the police,’ I cut in, moving a stray strand from her face. That made her pause. I watched the shock and confusion slowly thawing at the corners.
She inclined her head, tears quivering on her lashes. ‘They’ll be here soon.’
Her fingers curved around my hand that I held her chin with. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. ‘I am okay,’ she said, her voice small but steady.
Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. An unshakable guilt lingered.
I’d come so close to losing myself, to becoming everything I hated, and the only thing that had stopped me was her.
She was my anchor, the last tether keeping me from slipping into the abyss.
I’d even forgotten about the cameras that could have recorded me killing the fucker.
I would’ve been in some serious shit then.
Christ, the trouble I get myself into…
‘Get your stuff. You’re coming with me.’
Paula’s eyes widened, her face a mixture of exhaustion and surprise. ‘But we said—’
‘I don’t give a flying fuck what we said,’ I interrupted, sharper than I meant.
I exhaled, reining it in. ‘I’m not leaving you alone here. After the statement, you’re staying in my guest room until that arsehole is either out of the country… or dead.’
That last part fell harder.
Did I mean it?
Fuck yes. I meant it.
I would kill him – for her, for myself, for my mother, for every goddamn person who’d been dragged through hell by someone like him.
The thought burned in my chest like fire… and scared the hell out of me – because a part of me welcomed it.
Her small frame crashed into my chest, fists gripping my shirt as if it were the only thing holding her to this world.
Sobs shook through her quietly. I pulled her close, arms wrapping tight around her.
I was probably holding her too hard – but she didn’t let on.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Reflex, not thought.
A small gesture.
But it felt monumental.
She looked up, her eyes red, wide with lingering shock.
I breathed her in. The swelling at her brow scraped something raw in me, and I had to coach myself – don’t go after him. Not yet.
‘Take me away,’ she whispered.
Something cracked wide open in my chest.
I must have had a concussion from last night, because for a second, I pictured us in some snow-covered cabin, wrapped in blankets…
And chains.
With my duffel bag in the corner.
The police were efficient, in and out within half an hour. Statements. Questions. Footage.
I kept my eyes on her – pale, adrenaline-drained, looking smaller. Fragile.
Staying close to her side, I dared not touch her, but I kept near enough that she would know I wasn’t going anywhere.
The drive to my penthouse was silent, neither of us speaking, both lost in our own thoughts. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind that gave space to breathe, to process everything that had happened.
I knew the drill, though. I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eye as she kept her gaze fixed out the window.
She looked exhausted, but there was something else too, something I felt deep in my gut.
We were on the edge of something, something big, and it scared the hell out of me how much I wanted to take the leap.
When we got inside, I guided her to the guest room. As she stepped inside, she stopped at the threshold and thanked me weakly, then closed the door behind her.
I knew this stage of the aftermath. She was still in shock.
I rested my forehead against the wood.
She needed this time to herself, I told myself. She needed to rest so she could let me in again.
I didn’t see her again that morning.
After icing my knuckles, I managed to slap some greens into a bun – the saddest sandwich I’d ever made. I hoped she’d be well enough to mock me for it later.
Leaving the tray in front of her door, I knocked and announced her breakfast was there with the softest, most careful tone my rugged voice could muster.
I hadn’t slept at all, and the sun was already breaking over the sky.
Hours later, long after the city outside had bloomed to life, I went to check on her, thankful I was so high up in the building that the traffic wouldn’t wake her.
The sandwich still sat there. Not even the water had been touched. My heart stumbled against something sharp.
I knocked, eased the door open. She was curled on the bed in the same clothes, the pillow gripped tight against her chest – damp with tears.
She looked so small, and it killed me that I hadn’t been there sooner to stop everything.
Then she screamed.
The sound ripped through me like shrapnel, and I lunged forward before my thoughts engaged. In seconds, I was at her side, pulling her into my arms, her body shaking against mine.
She was trapped in a nightmare, breaths ragged. I murmured her name, over and over, voice low, steady. Grounding her.
Her sobs quieted gradually, tapering off into soft, uneven breaths.
Phase two was nearly over.
Melting into me, her weight felt soft against my chest as the last tremors faded.
I shifted, gently, to ease her position. But the second I moved, she stirred.
She murmured something and clung tighter, burrowing closer.
My entire body tensed.
Tucking her head beneath my chin, she sighed as her face nuzzled into my neck. Then, to my utter fucking horror – her leg swung over mine, her knee pinning me down.
Oh… shit.
I stared up at the ceiling, every inch of me reacting like a fucking virgin. My heart thundered. She was tangled around me, half-asleep, and I was trapped in the most compromising position I’d ever been in without a safe word.
I tried moving again, just a little, but she murmured a faint protest and hugged me tighter, her arm looping higher around my chest in a drowsy claim. Her breath was warm against my collarbone, but I couldn’t tell if she was fully asleep or teetering on the edge. Either way, she wasn’t letting go.
‘Paula,’ I whispered, careful not to wake her completely. ‘You’re kind of… making this difficult.’
She didn’t respond, just wriggled again, and this time her leg brushed up against me, uncomfortably close to where my body was throbbing.
I sucked in a sharp breath, willing my brain to override my baser instincts. Not the time! Jesus Christ, not the fucking time!
I tried to rationalise my way out – she was asleep. None of this was deliberate. I couldn’t shove her off without waking her… or making her think she was under threat again. No. I was stuck. Pinned under a beautiful, half-broken woman I couldn’t touch without risking shattering something fragile.
Her soft sighs filled the room, the sound oddly soothing despite the predicament. She was finally calm, her body limp and trusting.
She needed this. Needed me to feel safe.
That recognition cut through the guilt, the shame, the blood under my nails. She saw me as safe, not dangerous.
I resigned myself to my fate, shifting as little as possible, trying to find a position that didn’t feel like fucking torture.
My arm tightened around her shoulders protectively, and I exhaled slowly, trying to match the rhythm of her breathing. She might have me pinned down like an idiot, but I wasn’t letting her go. Not today.
After a long fucking while, my body finally gave to sleep.
One thought lingered as the dark took me: this made the cut – right up there with the most fucked-up, heart-wrecking, impossible positions I’d ever been in with a woman.
And still…
I wouldn’t move.
Not a fucking chance.