Chapter Three #2
“Earlier,” she began, voice cautious, “you said you’d protect me even without the label.”
“Yeah,” I said. No hesitation.
“Why?” Her question came raw. “You barely know me.”
I leaned back and exhaled slowly. “Because you stood as a good woman caught in a bad spot. I didn’t need your entire history to know you deserved better than tonight.
At work, I watched how you treated people -- giving them worth, making them matter.
When you thanked someone, I could see in your eyes you meant it.
Your small actions revealed everything I needed to know. ”
Her eyes shone. She blinked fast. “I’m sorry,” she said suddenly. “For bringing Roth to your door. For risking your patch.”
“Stop.” My words were sharper than I meant.
She flinched.
I forced my voice down. “You didn’t make me do anything. I opened the door. I chose you.”
“But --”
“No. Guilt belongs to the man who kicked your door down. Not you.”
Her mouth trembled. She nodded once -- a small concession when full belief remained beyond her reach.
The hum of the fridge filled our silence.
My house seemed quieter than before, wrapped in an unnatural stillness.
Beyond these walls, the compound appeared deserted, though I sensed the men patrolling the perimeter.
Their vigilance pressed against my awareness, invisible guardians moving through darkness.
Jade pushed her plate away. “I feel… tired.”
“Bed,” I said, standing. “Now.”
She stood too, slower, careful with her ribs. “I can take the couch.”
“No,” I said. “You get the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Her eyes narrowed, stubbornness peeking through fear. “I don’t want to displace you.”
“You’re not displacing me,” I said. “You’re giving me something to do besides rage.”
That earned a small, reluctant smile. I turned off the kitchen light and led her down the hall.
At the bedroom doorway, I flipped on the lamp near the bed.
The soft yellow light warmed the room. I pointed to the clothes waiting on the bed.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in what you had on,” I said.
“Shirt and sweats. They’ll be big. Drawstring helps. ”
Her fingers brushed the fabric. She froze. “They smell… they smell of you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Sounds weird.”
“Sounds honest,” I said, keeping my tone even. “No need to apologize for honest.”
Her gaze flicked up. I saw fragility move behind her eyes -- relief mixed with uncertainty.
She wanted to trust me, I could tell, but someone had weaponized trust against her before.
“When I said you could take the bed, I also meant you can close and lock the door, if that’s what makes you feel safe and comfortable here.
” I stepped back. “I won’t come in unless you call. No surprises. No pressure.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction. “Thank you.”
I pointed to the nightstand. “You can set your phone there. Call me if you need anything. Loud ringtone. I’ll hear it.”
“I don’t have your number.” She held out her phone to me, and I quickly added it. She took it back and hesitated a moment. “Will you… stay awake?”
“For a while,” I said. “Long enough.”
She swallowed. “Okay.”
I backed out and shut the door. I heard the lock click a second later.
Back in the living room, I sank onto the couch and stared at my hands. Exhaustion tugged at me. Adrenaline kept yanking me back.
I texted Atilla.
Me: She’s showered. Fed. In my bed. I’m on the couch.
The reply came quickly.
Atilla: You staying up?
Me: For a while.
Atilla: Gate reports no strange vehicles since she arrived. Extra eyes on the perimeter.
Me: If Roth comes here, he dies.
Atilla: If Roth comes here, he chooses death. Rest when you can. Tomorrow we dig.
I set the phone face down on my chest and closed my eyes for a beat. The house settled into a rhythm -- fridge hum, distant tick of the cheap clock, faint drip in the bathroom I’d been meaning to fix. Underneath it all, another presence existed under my roof.
A woman who had run to me, the one person she’d felt she could trust when she was in trouble. I stood and checked the front door again. Deadbolt. Chain. Solid. Then I checked the front window lock, then the back, even though it faced inside the compound.
My cut hung on the hook by the door. The Glock sat on the coffee table within reach.
I kicked off my boots and stretched out.
Sleep didn’t come easy. Every time my eyes drifted shut, my mind handed me images of Jade’s bruises and Roth’s hands.
My jaw clenched until my teeth hurt. My palms itched for violence.
Violence wouldn’t fix what she carried in her head, but it might stop the man who fed it.
Eventually my body took what it could. The clock moved forward in small jumps. The house blurred around the edges.
A sound snapped me awake. Not pipes. Not fridge. Not wind. A soft, choked noise, like someone trapped words behind their teeth.
I sat up fast. My hand went to the Glock, then stopped. The sound came from the hall, not the front door. The house wasn’t under attack. She was.
I left the gun on the table and moved silently down the hall. Light spilled under the bedroom door. She’d turned the lamp back on. I paused with my hand hovering near the wood, listening.
“Please,” she whispered. “Just leave me alone.”
Nightmare. Her voice came strained, thick, as if she tried to talk through panic.
I pressed my forehead to the door for half a second, forcing myself not to kick it open.
I didn’t want to become another crash in her memory.
“Jade.” My voice came out low and steady.
“You’re here. You’re safe. You’re in my house, not your apartment.
Roth isn’t near you. Open the door if you want me to come in. ”
Silence followed, but not the heavy kind. The kind where a brain tried to decide whether help was real. Then the lock clicked.
I cracked the door and looked in.
She sat in the middle of my bed, knees drawn tight to her chest, my gray shirt swallowing her slight frame.
Damp hair tangled around her face. Sweat shone at her temples.
Her eyes looked too big again, rimmed red, fixed on the door like it might splinter at any second.
“Sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you. ”
“Don’t apologize.” I stepped in slowly. “You okay?”
A humorless laugh escaped her. “No.”
I nodded once. “Nightmare.”
“Door,” she said, voice thin. “He keeps kicking it in. Over and over. No matter how many locks I add, he comes through. Sometimes my brother stands behind him. Watches. Sometimes you’re there too, but you’re… not you.”
My stomach clenched. Roth had gotten into her dreams. That kind of poison spread. I sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space. My hands remained where she could see them. No sudden movement. No looming. “You want me to stay?
Her throat bobbed. “Please.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m here.”
She stared at me with distrust written across her face.
Words had betrayed her before -- I could see the history of those lies in her eyes.
Hell, I understood why she hesitated. I lifted my hand between us, palm up.
A simple offer. No pressure. No demand. “I’m right here,” I said.
“If you want to hold on, you can. If you don’t, we can sit in silence until your head calms down. ”
Her gaze dropped to my hand. Her fingers trembled as though she stood at a cliff edge. She slid her palm into mine.
Heat shot up my arm, sharp and unexpected. Not lust. Not yet. Something closer to purpose. The warmth of her hand surprised me – like her, it felt small and fragile, yet she was also stubborn and determined. I closed my fingers around hers, not tight, but enough for her to feel the weight.
Her shoulders eased a fraction. “This helps.”
“Good.”
She swallowed. “Tell me something. Anything except… him.”
For a second I searched my mind. Safe stories appeared first. Boring ones.
Then the truth of where I came from pushed forward, and I knew what to share.
“When I was eight, my neighbor had a dog named Bruno,” I said.
“Big ugly mutt. Half something, half something else. Black fur, white patch over one eye. Everybody in the neighborhood said he was mean.”
Her brows pulled together. “Okay.”
“He growled at people for sport,” I said. “Bit the mailman twice. My old man hated him. Said he was dangerous.”
Her grip stayed on my hand. She didn’t pull away. She listened.
I continued my story. “One day my father stumbled home drunk. He yelled at everything and everyone. The bottle he threw shattered against the wall. My mother disappeared into the bedroom -- her usual escape. I ended up standing alone in the yard because nowhere else felt safe.”
Jade’s fingers tightened a little.
“Bruno jumped the fence,” I said. “I thought he’d tear into me. Instead he went straight for my old man. Took a chunk out of his pant leg. Snapped at his hand every time he raised it. Ran circles around him until the neighbor came out and dragged him back home.”
Her eyes widened. “What happened after?”
“My father swore he’d kill the dog,” I said. “Next day, a For Sale sign went up in our yard. We moved two weeks later. No warning. No goodbye. I never saw Bruno again.”
A quiet settled between us. Jade’s thumb brushed over my knuckles, small and absent movements while her body worked to stay present.
“Everyone thought Bruno was mean,” I said. “Truth was, he had priorities. The dog knew who deserved teeth. Point is, loud and rough doesn’t always mean bad. Sometimes it means someone who bites the right target.”
Her gaze dropped, then lifted again. “And you?”
“I learned early you either become the man who throws bottles at kids,” I said, “or you become the man the dog thinks is worth protecting.”
Silence held again, but her breathing slowed. Her shoulders dropped another inch. Her grip stayed on my hand, steady now. “You’re a good man, Kane,” she said quietly.
“Most days I’m a man trying not to screw up,” I said. “Good is a big word.”
“I’m using it anyway,” she said, and the stubborn edge returned. “Deal with it.”
Something warm spread in my chest. Not pride. Not ego. Relief, maybe.
I held her hand while minutes ticked by. Lamp glow warmed our small circle on the bed. Shadows claimed the rest of the room. She glanced at the door less frequently now. Her eyelids grew heavy. The panic in her body faded to a manageable tremor.
“You should sleep.”
Her head tipped toward me. “Stay until I drift off.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I can do that.”
She lay back against the pillow, still holding my hand. The blanket covered her legs. My shirt hung off her shoulder, exposing the edge of another bruise, older than tonight. Yellow at the edges. Purple in the center.
I stared at it a beat too long. “How long?” I asked, voice quiet.
Her eyes opened again, wary. “How long what?”
“How long has Roth put hands on you?” I said. “No bullshit.”
Her fingers tightened around mine. “He didn’t, not personally. It was his men. Roth intimidated me, but he didn’t physically hurt me.”
Rage rolled through me, thick and heavy, as she told me more. I swallowed the violence rising in my throat. “Before him?”
A pause. Then a small nod. “Ex-boyfriend.”
I let out a slow breath. “You’ve had shit luck.”
A weak huff escaped her. “Tell me about it.”
I leaned closer, not touching her, keeping my voice low and controlled. “No one touches you again. Not him. Not his men. Not anyone.”
Her eyes filled again. “I still don’t get why it matters to you. Not that I’m not grateful. After all, I came here hoping you’d help.” Her voice told me she couldn’t comprehend protection without paying some price.
“Because I enjoy breathing.” My words came out blunt. “My lungs work better when you occupy the same room.”
She stared at me with wide eyes, confusion written across her face. A single tear slid down her cheek. She wiped away the moisture fast, clearly angry at herself. “You shouldn’t say such things to someone in my mental state,” she whispered. “I might believe you.”
“Good,” I said. “Believe me.”
Her eyelids drooped again, heavier now. Sleep circled close. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asked, voice small.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised. “Even if I’m not in this room, I’ll be in the house. Unless the President calls me away.”
Her mouth softened into the faintest smile. “Good. I enjoy knowing the dog stands on my side.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Sleep.”
Her breathing evened out. Her hand slackened. My fingers eased free from hers, and I pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. The lamp stayed on while I watched her chest rise and fall, making sure she breathed steadily.
Sleep erased the tension lines from her face, revealing someone younger. Softer. The woman I remembered from the diner returned -- pouring coffee, laughing quietly at someone’s joke. Fate had thrown her into my lap when she ran for her life, yet here lay the real person beneath all the fear.
I turned the lamp down and left the door cracked. A slice of hallway light cut across the floor. No dark traps. No sudden silence. Back on the couch, I lay down again. My body wanted to collapse. My mind wanted war.
Before sleep won, I made myself a vow. Roth had crawled into Jade’s life through her brother’s choices. He had turned her home into a trap. He had turned her mind into a battleground. That ended here. Patch or no patch, he didn’t get another inch.
I closed my eyes with her name in my head and the weight of that promise steady in my chest. Whatever waited outside my door, I stood ready.