Chapter 15
A cry tears through the noise of the crowd, sharp, ragged, and unmistakably Devyn’s. My blood flash-boils, my attention snapping toward the direction of the scream, and I catch a glimpse of her before she’s swallowed away again.
“Devyn!” I roar her name, but the sound is lost in the tumultuous pandemonium.
Years of tactical training, crowd control, and extraction under fire take over, and my body moves before my brain can catch up.
Although none of that training and preparation dulls the terror clawing at my throat, the primal panic of hearing her in distress superseding everything.
I shove through the sea of people with no regard for courtesy or restraint, my shoulders acting as battering rams and my hands shoving bodies aside with a level of force that borders on violence.
A broad-shouldered, bearded man, holding up his phone to capture the chaos, blocks my path. I don’t give him the opportunity to move. Swinging my arm, my elbow catches him in the face with a satisfying crunch. He falls to the ground, crying about his nose, as I tear past him.
She screams again, and the sound causes my heart to leap into my throat. It’s higher, more desperate, and edged with a terror that makes my vision blur red. “Gunnar!” My name billows over her lips as she seeks a lifeline in a sea of churning people.
The crowd parts just enough for me to see her.
She’s on the ground, folded in on herself, and clutching something to her chest. Her face is pale and stricken, accentuated by the harsh glare of phone flashes.
The people around her press close. Too close.
Their hands reach for her, touching her and violating her personal space in ways that make me murderous.
I violently part the remaining people separating us with a protective roar that rattles from the depths of my soul. When I reach her, I drop to my knees, shoving people away from her before cupping her face.
“Devyn.” My voice is unrecognizable, scraped raw with fear and fury. “Devyn, look at me.”
Her eyes timidly find mine. They’re glassy, and her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and shock.
She’s trembling, shaking so hard that her teeth are chattering.
Her hands squeeze tight against her chest, the pink petals of a flower poking through her white-knuckled desperation.
“He’s here.” I barely hear her shaky whisper, but that rage that floods my system is so pure and absolutely, I have to close my eyes for a moment to calm myself.
I scoop her into my arms with one fluid motion, and her arm wraps around my neck, clinging to me with sheer desperation, nearly shattering my resolve.
Cradled against my chest, her trembling body fits against mine like she is made to be there.
I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in, her normally warm, floral scent tainted with the acrid, metallic tang of fear and panic.
“Got you,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Pulling her tighter, with one arm banded around her back and the other supporting her legs, I rise to my feet.
The crowd presses in on us as my eyes dart through the crowd.
I’m not just cataloging threats, I’m searching for the predator who dared touch her and give her that fucking flower.
I see nothing but fans, all of them excited, opportunistic, and oblivious to the violation that occurred just inches from their outstretched hands.
A blacked-out Suburban screeches to a halt a few feet away.
Jagger is behind the wheel, his face grim and focused.
He reaches across the passenger seat and shoves the door open.
Turning my body and using it as a shield to protect Devyn from the crowd, I move toward the vehicle with a single-minded purpose.
I climb in sideways, settling into the seat with Devyn still in my arms and arranging her on my lap like she’s precious cargo.
Because she is. She absolutely is. The moment I yank the door shut, Jagger presses the locks and peels away from the curb, with a squeal of tires that drowns out the disappointed roar in our wake.
Locked in the safe confines of the vehicle, Devyn doesn’t let go.
Her arm stays wrapped around my neck, with her face buried in the hollow of my throat and breaths coming in short, hitching gasps that gradually slow but don’t stop.
She’s trembling—violently and uncontrollably—and I can feel her heartbeat thudding against my chest, rabbit-fast and terrified.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her forehead. Pulling her tight with one hand, I use the other to stroke her hair, smoothing the whiskey-colored waves back from her face, my fingers tangling in the silky threads. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She makes a sound—a sobbed sigh—and wriggles closer, her body curling into mine like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin. I adjust my grip, dragging her impossibly closer, one hand spanning her lower back, the other cradling her head against my shoulder.
The drive back to her house is a blur of streetlights and stop signs.
Jagger navigates with grim efficiency, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds to ensure we aren’t being followed.
He doesn’t try to talk to me, like he knows I’m not capable of speaking to him at the moment.
All my focus is on the woman in my arms.
“Let go,” I insist, firm but gentle, as my fingers brush against hers, still clutching the petals and thistles as they dig through her skin. “Devyn, let go of the flower.”
She vehemently shakes her head, tightening her grip as she denies my request.
“Okay.” I keep my voice soft and steady, addressing her the way I’d speak to a spooked animal or a frightened child. “Okay, you hold it. You hold whatever you need.”
As the miles pass, she relaxes incrementally, nuzzled against me.
I comfort her for the entire drive, urging her to slow her breathing and watching as her tremors gradually subside into occasional shudders.
When Jagger pulls up before the house and puts the SUV in park, I pop the door open and slide out, with Devyn still cradled against my chest. She makes a noise of protest when the cool night air hits us, burrowing deeper into my neck.
I adjust my grip, hitching her higher, making sure she feels secure.
Hawk is waiting in the doorway, his face a mask of professional concern that cracks when he sees her clinging to me as I carry her up the front steps. “Fuck…” The word wafts over his lips.
I nod, once and sharp, pushing past him into the house.
I head toward the stairs without breaking stride, the door closing and locking behind us with a solid thunk before the security system beeps.
At the end of the hall, I nudge the door open gently with my foot and carry her inside.
The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the windows and a small lamp on the nightstand.
My boots are a muted thud on the hardwood floors as I cross them to her bed.
I lay her down carefully, pulling back the covers with one hand while supporting her body with the other.
Her arms tighten in resistance, not wanting to let go of my neck.
She makes a small whimper of distress that tears at my chest. “Shh,” I soothe, untangling her arms with gentle persistence.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. ”
She settles against the pillows, her eyes finally opening, fixing on my face with a pleading vulnerability that makes my heart ache. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hip pressed against hers.
“Your shoes.” I keep my voice low and grounded.
“Let’s get them off.” I unbuckle the straps of her heels, one at a time, my fingers working the small buckles with surprising dexterity.
I remove each shoe carefully, cradling her foot in my palm for a moment before setting the heel on the floor beside the bed, arranging them neatly.
I pull the covers over her, tucking them around her shoulders, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.
She watches me with heavy eyes, her lashes fluttering, the adrenaline crash pulling her under even though she fights to stay awake.
“Get some rest,” I whisper, brushing her hair back from her face, my fingers tracing the line of her cheekbone and the shell of her ear. “We’ll all be downstairs.”
“Stay,” she groggily requests, shimmying backward enough to make room for me.
As much as the rational part of my brain tells me to decline, I find myself bending over to unlace my boots.
The motion is slow and deliberate, like I’m giving my brain time to think better of it.
But I don’t. One by one, I untie them and set them beside her heels.
Staying is easy. That’s not the problem; knowing where to draw the line is.
The mattress dips under my weight as I slide in beside her carefully, a small relieved sound falling over her lips.
She shifts closer until we are chest to chest, and I can feel the heat of her skin against mine.
The pillow sinks under us as we share every inhale, her uneven exhales blowing over my lips.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth before she tentatively closes the distance between us, her lips brushing over mine. The touch is so featherlight, I almost think I’m imagining it. But it’s enough to erase every line I’ve been drawing in my head since I met her.
As much as I want to, I don’t take from her.
I meet her lips with the same tenderness.
The result is a slow, unhurried kiss, a careful collision of restraint and quiet surrender I feel all the way to my core.
Her mouth softens against mine, and she lets out the tiniest moan, the warmth of it spilling onto my lips.
When it breaks, it’s only by a fraction, neither of us really moving away.
Her eyes open, searching mine. Lightly dusting my thumb across her full lower lip, I keep my voice low when I interrupt the silence. “You should sleep.”
Her lashes flutter as she nods, answering me without words.
She exhales slowly and heavily before leaning forward and tucking herself under my chin.
Sleep doesn’t arrive all at once; it steals her in pieces.
The tension in her shoulders unravels first, then the tight grip of her breathing, until there’s nothing left but the soft, even rhythm of it against my chest.
And I stay there longer than I should, memorizing the feeling of her against me as something in me goes unnervingly still, just holding her.
Only when I’m certain she’s gone under do I shift my weight.
I ease her onto the pillow, keeping one hand near her until I’m sure she won’t reach for me in her sleep.
Her fingers loosen slowly, finally releasing the last of their hold, and I notice the flower still caught in her hand.
I take it gently, peeling it free from her grip and placing it on the nightstand.
Her hand falls open, and there are small scrapes along her palm, thin angry lines where thistles caught her delicate skin.
After laying it gently beside her, I cross into the adjoining bathroom without turning on the light.
I grab a hand towel from beside the sink and run it under warm water before wringing it out.
Returning to Devyn, I kneel beside the bed and take her hand into mine.
I clean the tiny scratches slowly, each wipe of the cloth gentle enough not to wake her.
When I’m done, I set her hand on the mattress and cover her with the blanket before leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple.
Carrying my boots, I cross the room in silence. When I reach the door, I turn to look at her for a moment before stepping into the hall. I pull the door shut with a soft click, ensuring I don’t wake her.
I make my way downstairs and find all of the guys in the living room. Hawk looks up first, reading me before speaking. “She okay?”
“Yeah.” The lone word comes out rougher than I intend. “She’s okay.”
The silence that follows is full of everything I don’t say.
When I sit down, the chair creaks under me, and I lean forward to brace my forearms over my knees.
I drag a hand over my mouth, still feeling the lingering softness of her lips against mine.
Forcing my gaze up from the floor, I look up at Hawk.
My voice is tight when it finally comes. “I should’ve stayed away… but I can’t.”