Chapter Eight
Grayson
I drive my car up the driveway almost absentmindedly. Damien and I checked out the house where we thought Daryl might be staying, and we interrogated his drug dealer—forcefully. But Daryl wasn’t there, and hasn’t been seen in a few days. So the whole trip feels like a waste of time.
Time that could have been better spent with my Sophia.
I can tell that Sophia’s still very worried about Daryl. I’ve had Damien investigating him, the people he owes money, and any other trouble he might be involved in—and I also just want to keep tabs on him. From Sophia’s story, it’s clear that Daryl depends on her, no matter what she thinks. I believe he will start looking for her sooner or later.
I’ll give Damien a few days, and if Daryl’s still missing, I’ll start getting more involved in the search myself. I don’t like the thought of not knowing where the bastard is at all times.
I park my car and climb out, happy to breathe the same air as my woman. As I reach the entrance, I hear Sophia’s scream. My senses come alive and I go rigid. The cold predator takes over. My thoughts and actions are in precision as I kick down the door and rush in.
Sophia is sprawled on the floor and there’s a strange man astride her, hitting her. For a second, my heart stops. She isn’t moving!
My mind blanks and I fly into a murderous rage. My fury is a burning lava. Who dares to touch my woman? My reason for breathing. I lunge at the man before he can bring his filthy hands down on her again.
He crashes to the floor, away from Sophia. I’m barely thinking now.
I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him… The words are on a loop in my head. There’s shock on his face. Before he can recover, I swing a powerful punch across his face and then follow that up with another. My mind is in a haze. I keep punching until he’s powerless and feeble, and even then I don’t stop.
Sophia is weeping in the background. “Grayson, please stop, you’ll kill him, please!” she says through her tears.
And though I hear her, I can’t process the words. I just keep swinging my fist.
How dare he? I’ll kill him for hurting Sophia.
Then Sophia grabs my hand as I try to throw another punch. “Please stop, he’s my brother. Don’t kill him,” she sobs.
That takes all the fight out of me. I look down at my bloody fist and then at the man on the floor. His face is all messed up, and I doubt he’s conscious. So this is the scum that sold Sophia to the auction house to settle his own debts? The same man who made her life miserable in the name of looking after her? I feel my anger rising afresh, but I manage to keep it in check.
“He’s my brother,” Sophia repeats, still sobbing.
I stop and catch my breath for a second. “Did he hurt you?” I ask her.
She stares numbly, but I don’t need her response. It’s evident on her face. There are imprints of hands on her cheeks. I wonder if I’ll find marks all over her body too, and it’s enough for another surge of anger to rush through me.
“Please,” she pleads softly, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Her brother groans on the floor and tries to get up, but he doesn’t seem to be able to move yet.
I keep one arm around Sophia and pull out my phone with the other, dialing the number of a trusted friend who works in personal security.
“Jackson—I have a job for you, are you available right away?”
He’s at my house within the hour, and I explain the situation. “Take him away and get him off my property. And then when you return I’ll need protection for Sophia. I hadn’t realized she’d need a bodyguard when on my own property. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Sophia gasps, looking up from where she’s curled up on the couch with a cup of tea. “A bodyguard—Grayson, is that really necessary?”
I walk over to her and brush her hair away from her face. “I won’t allow him to come anywhere near you again. You’ll be safe—I swear it.”
She looks like she wants to defend her brother again, but then she shivers under my touch and nods her head. “Alright.” She smiles softly. “Thank you.”
“Good girl,” I whisper, kissing her temple.
Jackson goes over and picks Sophia’s brother up from the floor. Before he leaves, I tell him, “Take him to the hospital first and send me the bill.” I’m only doing this out of consideration for Sophia.
After they leave, I turn my attention to Sophia, lifting her up and carrying her upstairs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
The first thing I do after I carry her upstairs is take care of her bruised knees. They’re red and swollen. “Did he also do this to you?” I ask her.
“No, I crashed into the kitchen stool as I was getting away from him.”
I look up at her. Is she telling the truth? Or is she trying to protect her brother?
“It’s true,” she insists.
I work quietly. I get out the first aid box and clean and bandage the wounds on her knees. Then I proceed to clean the cut at the corner of her lips. I know it’s from Daryl hitting her face. My hand trembles with the force of my anger.
Then my gaze shifts up, meeting hers. She looks scared and vulnerable, and that melts my fury like it never existed. I was never really angry at her, only at her brother and how she chose to defend him. Looking at her now, her hazel eyes bright with pain, the overwhelming urge to protect her is stronger than ever.
I draw her a hot bath and watch her gingerly undress, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of her body. Bruises mar her creamy flesh. Some are red and swollen while some have turned a shade of purple. I stiffen as rage festers inside me, growing from a deep well of protectiveness.
“Grayson,” Sophia calls to me. Her voice is thin and far away as I continue to stare at her bruised flesh.
I am her protector. I failed her.
“ Grayson ,” she snaps, and I look down at her. “It’s not your fault,” she beseeches me.
I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have left you alone,” I state.
“You couldn’t have known.”
“You defended him. He did this to you and yet you protected him,” I whisper, unable to understand.
I know she was only thinking of him as her brother. Still, I can’t help the anger warring inside me. It makes me want to punch someone, or lash out.
I close my eyes. I can’t be around her in this state. “I’m sorry, baby. Enjoy your bath. I’ll be in my office,” I say gruffly.
“I don’t want to be by myself, can you join me?” she asks just as I’m about to leave the bathroom.
Her tone is soft and hesitant. I can’t refuse her. “Okay.”
I help her get into the tub. I wet the sponge with shampoo and gently scrub it all over her body, tracing her curves. It’s a soothing activity that gradually eases my anger.
As I towel her dry, she draws me close and kisses me deeply. The soft smell of fruit-scented soap still hangs heavy on her.
“I’m really sorry about today,” she says.
“Don’t worry about it, Sophia. None of it is your fault.”
My cock is stiff from the kiss and the heady scent of her, but despite my arousal, I know she’s too sore for any rigorous activity. I rub a soothing oil on her skin and stiffen at her every wince and flinch. By the time I’m done, I’m angry all over again.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say gruffly, helping her climb into bed and pulling the blankets over her.
I take a shower and think back on the situation as water drums on my head. I can’t let go of my hurt, and at the same time I’m irritated at myself for being so sensitive about the issue when Sophia is no doubt in pain.
I leave the shower and dry myself, slipping on a pair of boxers. Then, I go back to the bedroom to find her asleep. I watch her for a long moment, and then press a soft kiss onto her lips.
“I love you,” I say quietly in the dark.
I can’t sleep yet, though. I’m still restless. A thought occurs to me and I walk out of the room, heading to my office.