After months of searching with PIs and utilizing every single one of my connections to locate what seemed like a dying man’s mirage, here she was. Walking right into my club. A cool glass of water to quench my sickened thirst.
I was reasonably suspicious of the coincidence. That is, until I intercepted her in the hallway. Until I met those panicked, gray eyes.
Honestly, I had started to wonder if the events of that unfortunate night were even real. Maybe that’s why I was so adamant in locating her. A tangible whisper of proof in a storm of blurred sense and pain. I wasn’t expecting her insistence on discretion, like she feared my retribution for leaking the events of the night. I couldn’t help but rush to tell her she was safe.
The urge was strange.
Sheshouldbe scared of me. It’s logical.
Everyone is scared of me. In fact, I prefer it that way. Reputation is quite a useful tool in my particular career path.
But for some reason, the idea of herbeing scared of me overwhelms me with visceral disgust.
A horn blares into the night, and the car lurches when Ivan slams his foot on the brakes.
The asshole who cut us off speeds away, but I have to brace when we’re hit with the ricochet backward, and my grip around Cassandra tightens when we’re shoved back into our seats.
Naturally, Ivan loses a string of curses in our native tongue, but I’m instantly captured by the pair of wide, terrified eyes that peer up at me.She’s awake.
“It’s okay, it was just a car. We’ll be there soon.”
My placation is a calm, direct splash of logic. Exactly what I’d appreciate were I in her shoes.
But, fuck, it’s clearly not the right thing to say, because her breathing starts to increase. My heart races, matching the same tempo that jerks her ribs up and down as she fights for more air. That feeling of raw helplessness races through me for the second time tonight.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I promise.” I brush her hair back from her face, wishing like hell I knew what to say to calm her down.
Her mouth opens slightly, as if mouthing a word she can’t seem to form. I watch aptly. After a few fruitless attempts to get something out, her lips close with a huff of defeat.
Fuck.I look over her motionless body, the realization hitting me like a stone to the head.
She can’t move. She can’t even speak.
No wonder she’s freaked out.
“Menace, I know you’re scared, but I promise, I’ve got you. I need you to breathe slowly. You think you can breathe with me?”
It strikes me that our positions have been reversed from that first night. Her, slumped in my arms. Me, whispering encouragements into the shell of her ear. She was so much better at this than I am.
Her gaze meets mine, tears flowing freely down the side of her face. Her head raises slightly in a delicate nod.
It melts my charred heart.
“That’s a good girl. In…out. We’ll breathe together, okay?”
Her pale throat convulses with a swallow, chest spasming as she tries to match my breaths. After long minutes of effort, her hyperventilation eases to a more sustainable rhythm.
I brush my thumb in what I hope are soothing circles over her shoulder. “Okay, sweet girl, blink once for yes, twice for no. Understand?”
Her eyes press shut before opening back to me, and I give her a gentle smile, brushing the wet streaks from her cheeks.
“Can you move your fingers?” My own reach to enclose her small palm.
The look of fear that overtakes her gaze provides me with an answer, but she confirms my worry with two quick blinks. The second pushes another wobbling tear over the threshold of her lid.
“It’s just temporary, I promise.” I want to clear the stricken expression off of her soft features as quickly as I can. “It’s just that shit pumping through your system. The doctors will have it out in no time, promise.”
Her face still holds the terror from before. Like everything in her wants to be screaming. Like her agency has been stolen and used against her.
