Breathing through the agony takes all my focus, so when thick fingers curl around my bicep, I freeze with instinctual terror.
“Matteo, no, don’t touch her.I’ll help her.
“Little rabbit, you’re not supposed to—”
“I’m pregnant, not injured.Move aside, jerk.”
When my brain finally connects the voices with names, I grit my teeth and press my palms to the floor, but my arms refuse to push me upward.The sluggish quality of my thoughts is too much like when Cathy and her gang pushed me in the hall and cracked the back of my head open on a locker.
The world darkens and shrinks.I can’t breathe.
The locker was too dark.Too small.I couldn’t move.Couldn’t stop the blood from trailing down my back.Couldn’t scream for fear of them returning and hurting me again.
Brook Simons—no, Brook Ricco now that she married Matteo—kneels beside me and settles her hand on my upper back.
Brook leads the self-defense class.Her wedding wasn’t long ago.
“How bad did you hit?Do you think it’s another concussion?”
She’s one of the only people on the planet I confessed a previous concussion to, since self-defense classes require physical exertion.There’s always a risk of getting injured, so telling her of it—but not how or why—was important.
I push against the floor again, but she presses down on my shoulder and speaks in the unyielding tone she uses during class.
“Just breathe for a minute.Getting up too fast will—”
Something slams against the front of the building so hard the window in the foyer flexes.
Matteo steps between us and the door without hesitation, blocking my view with his shoes and making me feel more trapped.
The bell over the door rings.I hiss as the sound stabs into the top of my head and vibrates between the hemispheres of my brain.
Audrey’s legs dart across my periphery.She skids to a stop beside Brook as her fiancé, Brennan, joins Matteo in forming a living shielding.
“What’s going on out there?”Matteo asks.
“Sounds like Mr.Carter’s meting out justice again,” Brennan says.
I struggle to keep up with their words, but Brennan’s dry tone tells me he’s more amused than worried.He must have had firsthand experience.
I wince and reach over my shoulder to push Brook’s hand off me.The floor is too cold and limiting.It’s too close to my face.I need freedom.I need out.
The bell over the door rings again.I fight to escape the hands and bodies and noise.
Startled exclamations fill the air, but my memories replace the slightly baffled voices with ones of contempt.I roll and shove but gravity is too strong.My arms are too weak.
The commotion around me worsens.I dive deeper into my nightmares.
A deep, guttural snarl breaks through my spiral.I know who made that sound.I want him.
Sebastian.
His name sears my throat.I reach for him.
Strong arms lift me off the floor and crush me against a massive chest made of granite, but unlike the cold, hard floor, the warmth emanating from him thaws the tundra in my soul, and the rapid thudding of his heart synchronizes the vibrations in my brain.I cling to him and breathe in his delicious woodsy scent.
When he sits cross-legged on the floor and settles me in his lap still cradled to him, I wrap my arms as far around his ribs as they’ll reach and press my forehead against his chest.
His brutish hands roam over me with wondrous care, surprisingly gentle despite their size.The worry in his voice penetrates the fog in my brain long before his words.
