Then Rafferty.
He stands in the doorway and his eyes find mine across the room. He's changed his shirt. His knuckles are wrapped in what looks like a torn strip of fabric. There's a smear of something dark on his jaw that might be blood, but is probably not his.
Everyone sees him looking at me. Everyone sees me looking at him. And one by one, without a word, the room empties.
Saoirse ushers the others out with the quiet efficiency of a woman who has been orchestrating exits her entire life. A hand on Iris's elbow. A nod to Liam and Grace. A murmured word to Katya, who lets Killian guide her toward the stairs. Within two minutes, the kitchen is empty except for us.
Rafferty crosses the room. He crouches in front of my chair, bringing himself to my level. His wrapped hands rest on my knees. His eyes move over my face, cataloging the damage, lingering on the bruise, the split lip.
"It's done," he says. "He's gone. He won't be coming back. Not to you, or to your family, not to this city. I need you to understand that."
"I believe you." And I do. Completely. Without question.
"I'm sorry I was late. Fifteen minutes. If I'd been on time—"
"Don't." I put my hands over his. Feel the heat of his swollen knuckles through the fabric wrapping. "You came. That's what matters."
He turns his hands over and laces his fingers through mine. His grip is careful, measured. Holding me without squeezing. Anchoring without trapping.
"Come to bed," he says. "My room. You're not going home tonight."
"My parents—"
"Liam called your father. He knows you're here. He knows you're safe." He pauses. "He doesn't know the details. We told him there was an incident, that it's been handled, and that you're staying here tonight. He knows he can trust us."
I look at this man. Crouched in front of me in his mother's kitchen at night with blood on his jaw and wrapped knuckles and calm, steady eyes that are asking me to let him take care of me.
"Okay," I say.
I let him lead me to his room without turning on the overhead light. The only glow comes from the bedside lamp he clicks on, low and warm, and from the moonlight spilling through the big window that overlooks the dark grounds. His room smells like him, clean soap, faint leather, and that quiet masculine warmth that’s become my new definition of safe.
Rafferty closes the door behind us with a soft click. Then he turns to me, slow and careful, like I’m made of glass he’s afraid to crack. His wrapped knuckles brush my cheek as he studies the bruise Kyle left behind. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays gentle.
“You’re shaking again,” he says. “Come here.”
He guides me to the edge of the bed and sits me down. Then he crouches in front of me again, hands resting lightly on my knees. His dark eyes search mine.
“I can sleep on the couch if you need space,” he offers. “Or I can hold you. Whatever you want tonight, Nadia. No expectations.”
The words settle over me. For three years I was powerless. For three years I let a man control my body, my money, my fear.Tonight Kyle tried to take even more, but Rafferty stopped him. And now this man, this dangerous, beautiful man, is kneeling in front of me offering me the one thing I’ve not had in so long: choice.
I want it back. All of it. My power. My body. My pleasure. And I want to take it with him.
I slide my fingers into his hair, feeling the thick strands, still slightly damp from the night air. “I don’t want space,” I whisper. “I want you.”
His breath catches. “Nadia—”
“I know what I’m asking.” I lean down and kiss him. “I want to feel something real. Something that’s mine to choose.”
He kisses me back, deep and hungry, but he keeps it controlled, hands staying on my knees, letting me set the pace. When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“I need to shower first,” he says, voice rough. “I’ve got his blood on me. I don’t want any part of that bastard touching you again.”
I nod, but the decision is already burning in my veins.
He stands, peels off his shirt, and I get the full view of him, broad shoulders, the ink across his chest and ribs, the fresh bruises and split knuckles that he earned for me. My stomach flips with heat. He disappears into the attached bathroom, leaving the door open. A moment later the shower turns on, water rushing loud against tile.
I sit there for ten seconds, listening to the spray, feeling the pulse between my legs grow heavier. Then I stand up.
