Chapter 13 #2
My pulse hammers against my skull, drowning out everything but the roar of blood in my ears.
Before I know it, I’ve yanked her tank top over her head.
The faint bruise in the shape of teeth on her breast shreds every ounce of control.
I pull her toward me, trailing my fingers over her stomach, searching for more evidence of abuse, then spin her to examine her back. When I see none, I let her go.
She stumbles back into the wall. Something flickers across her face, maybe fear, but it fades when our eyes lock.
I step closer, the need to feel her making me move on instinct.
I run my hands over her shoulders, down her arms, my thumb moving over the stitches.
Glide my fingertips over her belly and lower back and ass, then around to between her thighs.
She makes a small sound as I cup her over her jeans.
There’s a primal urge to shove my hand under the denim and drive my fingers into her.
Feel her warmth wrapped around me. Bend her over to reclaim what he touched.
Instead, I keep my touch gentle, soft. Just letting my hand rest softly against the place that’s been used to control her.
After a minute, my heartbeat finally slows. The unease swirling through me settles now that I have my hands on her. I step back, and she presses her back to the wall, her gaze dragging all over me.
At least she’s stopped crying, thank fuck.
Cora reaches for me, hesitantly, then traces the line of my nose, slowing to feel the slight bump from where it was broken when I was a kid.
Her tongue darts across her lower lip, drawing my eyes to the delicate flesh, and something in my chest tightens.
The finger on my nose ghosts over my cheek like she’s counting each freckle or outlining my cheekbone underneath, before trailing to my jaw, then up to my ear, and finally to my hair, feeling the strands between her fingers.
I freeze, barely breathing as she studies me, watching as her eyes home in on certain parts of my face—the moles on my cheeks, the furrow between my brow. My lips. The deep set of my eyes. When she brushes my lashes, my eyes flutter closed, her touch unwinding something coiled inside me.
When she drops her hand, I open my eyes, and find her gaze locked on me. It’s difficult to decipher her expression. It’s scarily blank.
Until it’s not.
Rage cracks her emotionless mask. Her spine straightens and her hand flies out. Pain explodes across my face.
Shit, that hurt.
I wince when her hand makes contact with my cheek again, her fingers catching the bridge of my nose, making my eyes sting.
“I deserved that,” I tell her, rubbing my cheek.
“You and Reaper knew,” she says, her voice deadly calm. “You both knew I was promised to Zane and said nothing.”
“Our hands were tied,” I say. “There was nothing we could do. Reaper trusted you’d find a way out of it because we couldn’t, little Vixen.”
“Reaper,” she grumbles his name like a curse, then meets my eye. “When is Delly coming back? Rune mentioned trying to negotiate a price with your father.”
Shit. I’m not sure how much she knows, so I keep my answer vague. “Our girl is still back home, training and—”
“Training?” she asks, cutting me off. “Training for what?”
Okay, so she doesn’t know much.
“That will come later,” I say. Her emerald eyes glimmer with anger at my lack of response, and I can practically see her sassy retort forming as her pouty lips pull into a frown.
I smile at her ferocious rage. This woman. She’s fire and passion and pure female power.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?” she snaps.
“You’re beautiful when you’re angry.” I reach for a red curl, but she slaps my hand away.
“And you’re…” Her voice trails off as she settles back against the wall, her emerald eyes moving from my face to my chest. “Not too bad looking yourself.”
My grin widens. “I’ve been told I’m quite striking.”
Her features flatten, her pretty mouth turned down in a scowl. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m willing to settle on saying that you’re pretty.”
“I’ll take it.” I grin. “Though I’m going to continue to tell myself I’m the latter.”
She makes a sound that could pass as a laugh, then looks down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. “They told you,” she says quietly. “About Rune. That’s why you came.”
“No, Vixen.” I crowd her space, my finger hooking under her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine. “I came because I missed that sassy mouth of yours.”
Her lips twitch, then flatten. She tucks a curl behind her ear, trying to step away, but I move with her, keeping her against the wall, refusing to let her avoid this.
I dip my head, inhaling her scent. Sweet, innocent, floral.
Purely her. My lips brush the shell of her ear, and the shiver that races through her slight frame hits me like a drug.
“Your secret is safe,” I whisper against her skin. “But the second we’re alone, I’m going to cover every single inch of your skin with my kisses to remind you who you belong to.”
She turns, our noses brushing, gazes colliding. This close, her eyes look so vibrantly green, flecked with gold, like a precious stone. Something dark flashes in them, something I know too well.
“What Rune did is not your fault,” I tell her.
“No shit,” she snaps, shoving me back. A tear escapes, and she wipes at it, angry again. Maybe at me, maybe out of pure humiliation that I know her secret. Maybe at her lack of control, possibly because of her entire fucking life.
I’m a nosy fucker, so I watched each video recording of the girls at night when I couldn’t sleep, devouring every moment of them together in their rooms, hungry for more. When I came to the footage of Striker with her, I slowed the recording and heard every brutal detail about her mother.
His too.
Breaker once said Caroline deserved what happened to her. I never agreed. Her death was vicious. No human deserves that level of depravity.
Until I heard what she did to our girl.
Cora has not had a single person outside of Clyde and Delilah care for her. Love her. Then we stepped in and took over, making promises we couldn’t keep. Just like everyone else in her life.
I want to tell her she’s not alone anymore. I’m here. Breaker is here. Soon, Striker and Reap, and Delilah, and we’ll all be together again. That Rune will be dead, and she can lay it all to rest, but it’s a lie.
Delilah isn’t ready.
And I have no idea if they’ll want us after they know the truth.
Cora grabs her tank top off the floor, pulling it over her head, then pulls her button up shirt over her shoulders, avoiding my eyes. She moves past me and right when she reaches the door, she turns to face me.
“Don’t tell him, okay?” she whispers. “Don’t tell Reaper what Rune did.”