There's such conviction in his voice that I almost believe him. Almost let myself trust that maybe, just maybe, he means what he says.
"I'm sorry," I say again. "For being such a bitch. For assuming the worst about you and your club. You didn't deserve that."
"Yeah, I did. You were protecting yourself. Can't fault you for that." He moves toward the door again, and this time I can see how badly he's struggling to stay upright. "You should try to get some more sleep. The nightmares might come back, but they'll get easier with time."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"I am."
He's at the door now, his hand on the handle, and I realize I don't want him to go. Don't want to be alone in the dark with my thoughts and memories.
But he's injured and exhausted and has done more than enough for me already.
"Shadow?" He looks back. "Will you... can you check on me in the morning? I know it's stupid, but—"
"It's not stupid. And yeah, I'll check on you in the morning." His voice softens slightly. "Try to rest, Rachel. You're safe here. I promise."
Then he's gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
I'm alone in the dark room, but somehow it feels less oppressive than before. The shadows don't feel quite as threatening, and the silence isn't suffocating.
Because Shadow, this damaged, deadly man who barely knows me, promised he'd check on me in the morning. And for some reason I can't explain, I believe him.
I settle back against the pillows, pulling the blanket up to my chin. My body still aches, my ribs throb with each breath, and the memory of the nightmare lingers at the edges of my consciousness.
But I close my eyes anyway.
And this time, when sleep claims me, the nightmares stay away. Maybe it's the exhaustion finally catching up with me. Maybe it's the pain medication still working through my system.
Or maybe it's because I know that when morning comes, there will be someone checking on me. Someone who stayed when I asked, who listened without judgment, who promised protection without demanding anything in return.
The thought should terrify me. Should send me running in the opposite direction because getting attached to anyone, especially a biker with ghosts in his eyes and blood on his hands, is a recipe for disaster.
But I'm too tired to run anymore.
Too tired to keep all my walls at maximum height. Too tired to do anything but accept that for the first time in months, I feel something other than anger and fear and crushing emptiness.
And as I drift off to sleep, I decide that maybe, just maybe, it's worth the risk.
Just this once.
Just for him.
Chapter 7 - Shadow
The pain in my shoulder has gone from manageable to fucking excruciating. Every movement sends fire radiating down my arm and up into my neck.
My left arm is basically useless now, hanging at my side like dead weight, and I'm pretty sure the stitches are bleeding again based on the warm wetness I can feel seeping through the bandage.
I should go back to Luna. Should let her check the wound and give me more pain medication.
But all I can think about is Rachel.
The way she looked when she told me about her ex-boyfriend. The pain in her voice when she described being grabbed by the Eagles. The vulnerability in her eyes when she asked me to check on her in the morning.
She trusted me with her story. With her fear. With the truth of why she's built those walls so high.
And I stayed. Promised I'd be there in the morning. Made a commitment to this damaged, prickly woman who's gotten under my skin in ways I don't understand.
