"He's never going to touch you again." I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Do you hear me? Never. I don't care what I have to do. I don't care what it costs. That man is never getting near you again."
Tears spill down her cheeks. "He threatened the baby. He said he'd cut—he said he'd?—"
"Stop." I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. "Stop. Don't say it. Don't even think it. It's not going to happen. I won't let it happen."
She sobs against me, her whole body shaking.
I hold her through it, stroking her hair, murmuring words I'm not sure she can hear.
It doesn't matter.
What matters is that she's here.
She's safe, and I'm going to make sure she stays that way.
When her tears finally slow, I pull back and look at her.
Ireallylook at her.
The bruises on her throat are darkening.
Tomorrow they'll be purple and black, a perfect map of Virgil's violence.
Her cheek is swollen, her lip split, her eyes red and raw from crying.
And underneath all of that—underneath the fear and the pain—I see something else.
Shame.
"This isn't your fault," I tell her.
"Isn't it?" She laughs bitterly. "I'm the one who racked up debts with a drug dealer. I'm the one who?—"
"You were an addict. You were sick. And he took advantage of that." I grip her shoulders, making sure she hears me. "Whatever you did back then, whatever you owe him—none of it justifies what he did today. None of it gives him the right to put his hands on you. Do you understand?"
She nods slowly, but I can tell she doesn't quite believe it.
That's okay.
She will.
Eventually, she'll understand that she's worth protecting.
Worth fighting for.
Worth killing for.
"I need to call talk to Ruger and call church," I say. "Tonight. This can't wait."
"Church?" She looks alarmed. "Garrett, you can't tell everyone?—"
"I'm not telling them the details. But I am telling them there's a threat. And the club is going to handle it." I press a kiss to her forehead. "That's how this works, Van. We take care of our own. And you're ours."
She's quiet for a moment. "What are they going to do?"
"Whatever it takes."
Church convenes at nine.
