“I’m so sorry,” Talon says. “I should have been here. I should-”
“No one could have expected someone to attack us in our own restaurant,” Aria says, hurrying over to me. She nods to Talon. “Take those girls. They’ll know something.”
“Afton. Sweetheart.” Mason’s hand is on mine, my bloody fingers still gripping the knife. “Give me the knife, aye? Let me handle this part. You did so well.”
The man with his insides on the outside slides to the floor, lying on his side, away from me, thank god.
I don’t remember giving Mason the knife but he has it, handing it off to a grim-faced Devon, hovering in the hallway. “Clear the way,” Mason tells him. “We’ll take them out on the back elevator. Pull the car up.”
“Done,” Devon says. “I’ve got fifteen men combing through the building for accomplices.”
“Ye are amazing,” Lachlan says, gripping my hands and not seeming to mind all the blood. “Ye protected my wife. Ye kicked his fecking arse. You’re definitely a MacTavish.”
***
I don’t remember much of the ride home, Mason keeps his arms around me, helping me out of the car and into the house. Swinging me into his arms, he takes me upstairs to our bedroom.
“Where did you learn martial arts?” He unzips my gore-splattered dress and helps me out of it, kneeling to remove my shoes like a reverse Prince Charming.
“Um, I never would have been allowed to learn self-defense at home…”
What was I talking about?
“Sweetheart, where did you learn, then?” Mason turns on the shower, kicking off his shoes and bringing me under the spray, still in his dress pants and shirt.
“When I went to college, there was a Krav Maga class at the same time as a yoga class. For three years, four times a week, Wyatt thought I was taking yoga,” I say slowly. “I could never participate in the tournaments, of course, but I earned black belt status. I still work out with the online classes in your gym at home.
“I could never participate in a match, of course, but I always wondered what it would be like. Out on the mat, the crowd cheering as I took out my opponent. Maybe that’s why your fights made sense to me.”
“Have you ever killed someone before?” He's gently soaping my limp hands and arms and I stare at the red water going down the drain.
“Once.” It takes me a minute to form the words. “I- I shot someone. For Wyatt.” I choke something between a sob and a laugh. “My brother Sam, he taught me to shoot and gave me a gun. A little Smith & Wesson. No one knew about it.
“Two men tried to kidnap me when I was nineteen. Wyatt thought he’d knocked one of them out and he was fighting the other one. But the first guy, he pulled a gun. He was going to shoot Wyatt.
“I always kept the pistol Sam gave me in my backpack and I… you know, I shot him in the back. Wyatt lost his mind when he found out I’d been carrying a gun all that time. He demanded I give it to him, that it was absolutely against my father’s rules. I threatened him. I told Wyatt that I’d claim I usedhisgun to shoot the bad guy and save myself. A low blow, but…”
Mason angles my arm, running a soapy sponge over it, exquisitely gentle.
“We told my father that Wyatt killed the kidnappers. Would-be kidnappers. Dad would have lost his shit if he thought his marriageableassetwas capable of something as unladylike as protecting herself.”
“I’m proud of you.” Mason cups my face in his hands, making me look at him. “You’re so brave. You saved yourself, you protected my mother. Mom said you moved like you’d done battle all your life.”
“Muscle memory,” I say blankly. “Muscle memory. My coach told us it would be like that if we practiced every day.”
“So brave.” He kisses my forehead, my cheekbones. “So strong. Why didn’t you tell me about your martial arts skills? We could easily find you some sparring partners here.” His thumbs rub over my cheekbones as he watches me. “Ah. Did you not say anything because you thought I would want a helpless wife, too?”
My laugh is bitter. “My father made it clear that the only valuable skills as a mafia wife are getting pregnant and hosting dinner parties.”
His fingers slide into my hair, rubbing my scalp. “I’d never considered what I would want in a wife,” he says, looking slightly surprised at his honesty. “A warrior like you? Now,thatwould be at the top of my list.”
After washing me until there’s no trace of that man’s blood left, Mason pulls me from the shower. He takes a long time drying and brushing my hair and dresses me in one of his t-shirts. I sit on his lap in front of the fire in the master bedroom and we listen to the crackle of the wood as his fingers stroke through my hair.
“Mason?”
“Yes, my brave g- my brave lass?”
“Are you doing this because it’s what you think husbands do or because you want to?”
