I have never shown a hint of violence toward any woman when he was growing up. I thought I had led by example on how to treat a woman.
Clara never so much as asked for help. I should have paid attention sooner—I could have saved her long ago.
As I walk past the door to the basement, her powerful voice is gone, replaced with gut-wrenching sobs. I’ve held back, letting her have the time she needed, but now it’s my turn to take care of her.
Heading down the stairs, I beeline for Clara.
Ryan’s eyes are no longer bloodshot—instead, they are vacant. She took her pound of flesh, as evident by his shredded corpse.There are also various body fluids that cover the floor, but it's a problem I’ll take care of later.
Clara sits with her knees pulled up to her chest, gore splattered around her.
I walk carefully around the mess, doing my best not to slip, and I pick her up. She’s a lot lighter than I thought she’d be. I can feel her bones through her clothes.
“Burke?” she whispers, clinging to my shirt.
“I’m so sorry, Clara. He should’ve been mine to take out, but I felt you needed it more. You did good. It’s okay. It’s over, I’ve got you now.”
Guilt for my failure as a father and a natural protector of women burns in my stomachs as I gather her closer to me in my arms. This strong, beautiful woman has suffered so much but never gave up.
When I bring her to the living room, I nuzzle her hair before putting her down. Lifting the shirt off her body, I undo the buttons to her jeans and slip the blood-stained denim off her legs.
As I kneel before Clara to help, her nails dig into my shoulders, and I stare up at her as I remove her socks.
“I thought freedom would feel good, but I’m no better than him.”
Her eyes are bloodshot, and I wish I could take the pain for her. Standing, I run my fingers over her jaw, angling her face to stare at me.
When our eyes meet, I fight the urge to kiss her, something I have been battling against for a while.
“You’ve been through enough with that abusive asshole. Freedom will take time. I’m so sorry I didn’t see the signs sooner. You deserve all the good in the world, not the hellish scraps he threw you. It’s okay to lay your armour down for a minute.”
She hesitates, and I hold out my hand, offering it like a sign of peace. “I killed him.”
“You sure did. It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of it.”
“He said you’d kick me out,” she chokes out.
“Never. I’ve got you.”
Clara wraps her arms around my neck, and I pick her up again before heading upstairs. I don’t put her down until we’ve reached my ensuite bathroom.
With a twist of the knob the water flows into the tub, and I add Epsom salts and bubble bath, their lavender scent filling the air. After a few minutes, it’s filled halfway, and she strips her panties before getting in.
“I’m a wreck,” she mumbles, and I sit on the edge of the large built-in tub.
“You survived for how long?”
“Too fucking long. I’m so tired. I’m exhausted to a level I can’t even describe. Burke, I killed your son. Why are you taking care of me?”
Repeating herself might be good. Maybe she’ll start to process what happened. I’ll get her hooked up with the best therapy around if she’s willing to stay.
“Because you deserved better,” I tell her. “Just because he’s blood doesn’t make him family. The moment he raised his hand to you, he cut anything we had.” I turn off the tap and lean forward to wet her hair before grabbing the shampoo and washing the memories of tonight from her.
“I’m so fucking tired of fighting. The cops did nothing.”
“Sorry, they should’ve done something for you,” I mutter. Anger courses through me, knowing the system failed her like I did.
I can’t believe I let this slip through my fingers while living under the same roof. Even though she always stuck up for himand did such a good job at hiding everything, I should have picked up on something.
