"I know."
And I do. I can see it in the way this shitty motel room is clean and organized, in the stuffed dinosaur placed on the pillow, in the exhaustion written all over her face from working herself to the bone to provide for him.
Ruby finishes cleaning my knuckles and starts wrapping them with gauze. "You do this a lot? Hit people?"
"Occupational hazard."
"That's not an answer."
"Yeah," I admit. "I do it a lot. It's part of my job. Enforcer means I enforce club rules, handle problems, protect what's ours."
"And I'm yours? To protect?" There's no accusation in her voice, just genuine curiosity.
"You work for the club now. That puts you under our protection. But this—" I gesture at my wrapped hands, at the situation downstairs. "This wasn't about the club."
"What was it about?"
You. It was about you and the way you make me feel things I thought were dead. It was about the fact that seeing someone touch you without permission made me want to commit murder.
"Didn't like seeing you scared," I say, which is the truth even if it's not all of it.
She ties off the gauze, her fingers lingering on my wrists. We're so close I can count every beauty mark on her face, can see the gold flecks in her dark eyes, can smell that sweet scent underneath the casino smell.
"I don't know what to do with you," she says finally.
"You don't have to do anything with me."
"But you're going to keep doing this, aren't you? Showing up. Protecting me."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah."
"Why are you here? Why are you doing all this for someone you just met?"
Because I'm selfish and broken and I want you with an intensity that scares the shit out of me. Because you need protecting and I need to protect you, and maybe that makes me fucked up but I stopped caring about that the moment you wrapped your arms around my waist on my bike.
"Because you deserve better than this," I say, gesturing vaguely at the motel room. "And until you have it, someone needs to make sure you're safe."
Tears shine in her eyes, and fuck, I can't handle that.
"Hey, no—" I reach up without thinking, cupping her face with my bandaged hand. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying." But her voice breaks on the words. "I'm just... no one's ever... not since my grandmother..."
She doesn't finish, but she doesn't have to. I understand what she's not saying. That she's been alone for a long time. That she's used to taking care of herself and her kid with no help from anyone. That the simple act of someone giving a shit about her wellbeing is enough to undo her.
My thumb brushes across her cheekbone, catching a tear that escaped. Her skin is so soft, and she leans into my touch like she's starved for it.
I should leave. Should walk out that door before this goes somewhere it can't come back from. But she's kneeling between my legs in a tiny motel bathroom, looking up at me with those docile eyes full of tears and trust and leaving feels impossible.
"Ruby," I start, not sure what I'm going to say.
"Stay," she whispers. "Just for a little while. I don't... I don't want to be alone tonight."
Every rational thought in my head is screaming at me to say no. To leave before I make this complicated. To keep the distance Pope ordered me to keep.
But I've never been good at following orders when it matters.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "I'll stay.
