My gun slips back into its holster as I examine Wren. She hasn’t been touched by the blood. Although she’s shaking, the gun in her hands still aimed at Grant even though he’s dead.
It’s instantly clear that she didn’t fire—but shealmostdid.
I glance at Robbie, his face grim and resolute.
Wren didn’t shoot him. Robbie did. In the back.
It’s fucking time her birth family protected her.
“Wife,” I murmur, my voice raw in my throat. “Give it to me.”
I hold my hand out, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are unfocused. She’s disassociated. Her finger twitches over the trigger, and she’s still in that moment even though it’s passed. She’s not in danger anymore. Not from him.
My hand finds her wrist, and I pull the gun free from her hand.
It snaps her back to reality. Instead of falling into my arms, Wren launches herself at her brother.
She hits him hard, almost knocking them both back, and he catches her easily with one arm, tucking his gun away before wrapping her up completely. He’s not just holding her, he’s making a promise, a vow.
Robbie’s eyes squeeze shut as he presses his cheek to the top of Wren’s head and breathes her in as she sobs.
The sound isn’t loud, but it tears through me, through Sin and Doc as we watch.
“I almost did it. I almost—I was going to—thank you. Thank you. You saved me. You saved me from him…and from myself.”
Her brother rocks her like he’s been waiting years for this moment of connection. How long have they been forced to play roles that kept them apart?
“I told you I’d protect you. And I will. I’m going to cooperate with the authorities and keep you out of it.”
His promise sounds genuine, and if he means it, if he keeps her out of it, I’ll put everything I have behind him for support. He kept her safe when we could have been minutes, seconds too late.
There’s no way to thank him for that. Not truly.
When she finally pulls away from her brother, eyes red and breathing rough, she turns back toward me. She looks up at me expectantly, waiting for judgement. Not comfort.
I step toward her, cradle her jaw, and whisper, “You were going to kill him.”
Wren’s lips part, but she can’t answer.
I lean in, forehead touching hers, soaking her in. The relief of being able to touch her, to count her shaky breaths, feel her hands curl into the front of my shirt. It’s more than enough. It’s everything.
I could have lost her.
“And I’m not sure,” I whisper, “if it terrifies me…or has me falling harder.”
“Pretty girl just tried to commit a homicide. I respect the hell out of her.” Sin’s dry comment tugs at the corner of my mouth.
It’s sexy as hell to think she can take care of herself. She’s strong enough. But I’m glad she didn’t have to. Killing someone irrevocably changes you.
Her sniffle is part laugh, even if weak. She’s going to have to process a lot. This is a good sign. I don’t want her to be wrecked over this.
“Don’t encourage her.” Doc all but growls the words, but I can feel his relief, too.
Wren stiffens in my arms, and I shush silently in her ear, hugging her harder, my hand creating a soft circle over her back.
“I mean…he deserved it.” Pixie’s attitude is spot on fire. Not a shred of disappointment in her tone.
The fuck did deserve it. You can only escape karma for so long.
