I gave her space.My own nerves had nowhere to land, so I cleaned.I grabbed the pizza box, folded it shut, and shoved it in the trash.I wiped the counter, then wiped it again, even though it didn’t need it.The motion kept me from punching something.Kept me from marching out of the compound and hunting a man whose name kept burning the back of my throat.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I said, nodding toward the short hallway.“First door on the right.Towels are under the sink.Hot water runs a little temperamental, but it works.”
Her gaze slid toward the hallway and froze.“You want me to shower?”
“I want you to breathe,” I said.“Sometimes hot water helps.Reminds your body it isn’t still in danger.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she offered the smallest nod.When she took a step, a wince crossed her face.She attempted to mask the pain, but I noticed anyway.“You hurt your ribs?”
Her lips tightened.“Maybe.He shoved me hard.”
Rage flared so hot it made my vision sharpen.I forced it down.I didn’t need anger right now.I needed control.“I’ll find you clothes you can sleep in and put together something to eat while you shower.”
“I don’t want to be a problem,” she said, voice rough.
“You’re not aproblem,” I said.“You’re apersonwho got cornered.That’s different.”
She held my gaze for a long second, then looked away first.She moved down the hall with careful steps, like her body kept trying to anticipate impact.When the bathroom door shut, the lock clicked a heartbeat later.
Good.
Water started running.Steam curled under the door and seeped into the hallway.I stood there listening longer than I should have, not because I wanted to invade her space, but because the sound told me she stayed upright.She hadn’t curled up on the tile floor.She hadn’t stopped moving.
Her presence transformed my house.Made it feel foreign, yet demanded protection.The bedroom light flickered on with aclick.Four walls held only the essentials -- a queen bed, oak dresser, scratched nightstand, narrow closet.Clean sheets covered the mattress.No stench of alcohol or body odor lingered in the air.I maintained everything with brutal simplicity.Control came easier this way.
I yanked open the top drawer and dug out the softest shirt I owned, worn thin from too many washes.A pair of sweats came next, then drawstring shorts in case she hated heavy fabric.I set it all at the foot of the bed and stared for a moment.My brain flashed an unwanted image -- her body in my shirt, bare legs beneath my blanket, hair falling damp around her shoulders.Heat kicked low in my gut.I slammed the thought away with such force it rattled my skull.
Not now.Nothere.The fact I’d claimed her made her mine, technically, but only for protection.No document or ruling in Church granted me permission to want her.None of that could erase her trauma or fear or the violence another man had inflicted when he’d treated her as property.I refused to become one more predator reaching for her when she couldn’t fight back -- a man who deserved every bullet this world could fire.
I left the clothes for her and turned down the covers, then shut the bedroom door halfway, enough for privacy later.Back in the kitchen, I opened the fridge and took inventory with the seriousness of a diner owner, not a bachelor.Eggs.Bread.Deli meat.Cheap cheese.Butter.Leftover chili in a pot sufficient to feed a small army if reheated.Peanut butter and milk.Nothing gourmet, but food served a purpose beyond impressing.It kept someone upright.
The eggs went into a bowl first.Then I assembled a grilled ham and cheese.Simple.Warm.Protein-rich enough to stop her body from shaking itself apart.Heat rose from the pan while my mind spun forward to consequences.
Atilla had permitted her into the compound.General had studied her face and movements, deciding she was telling the truth.Spade had begun digging into Jason Fairmont, eager for a reason to sharpen his blade.All their assessments meant nothing if we weren’t prepared for Roth appearing at the gate with friends and weapons.
Would he chase her immediately?Or wait, watch, plan?Men such as him craved power.They stretched fear to its limits.They made people beg.Roth had already moved from threats to breaking doors and grabbing her with his hands.
Escalation didn’t stop unless someone stopped it.
My phone sat on the counter.I glanced at it too often.No new messages.No calls.Quiet didn’t mean safe.Quiet meant the storm waited.
I flipped the sandwich and whisked the eggs.The smell filled the small space -- toast, butter, warm meat, cheap cheddar melting.It made my kitchen feel almost normal, which only sharpened hownotnormal this night was.
The bathroom door opened.Steam rolled into the hall.Jade stepped out with damp hair and a tighter grip on her coat.She looked cleaner, even if the water hadn’t been enough to wash away her fear.She’d scrubbed her face hard enough to leave it pink.
Her gaze landed on the table.“You cooked.”
“Yeah.It’s not much,” I said.“Sit.”
She moved to the chair slowly and eased down with each bend causing visible pain.The coat remained wrapped around her shoulders -- armor she couldn’t surrender yet.I placed a plate before her: scrambled eggs, grilled ham and cheese, two glasses of water.“Eat as much as you can.”
For a moment she studied the food with suspicion, then took a bite of sandwich.Her eyes closed.A faint sound escaped her -- half sigh, half something else.“That good?”I asked.
When she opened her eyes again they looked glossy, but more present.“I forgot food could taste different from fear.”
My grip tightened on my fork.“You’re here now.”
She nodded, attempting to absorb this fact.The sandwich disappeared first, then she started on her eggs.After drinking half the water, she set down the glass with careful precision.Her fingers traced the condensation on the outside.“Thank you,” she whispered.
