I blinked, and Peyton’s beautiful face came back into focus. She was pulling her hair back into a ponytail, her lips curled in a sardonic smile.
“Nothing,” I told her.
“I dunno,” she squinted, skeptically. “Looked like something.”
“Trust me, you mind-wiped me just now.”
Her blue eyes dropped playfully to the front of my shorts. “That’s not all I wiped.”
Fuck. I was getting in deeper water, here. Stepping up and protecting Peyton felt amazingly good; so much better than it had any right to be. I hadn’t protected anyone, in a long time. Not even myself. Not since Adam and Brayden.
Not since Natalie.
Fifteen years…
It had been a long fucking time since I’d dragged our abusive foster father into that alley behind his bar, and abandoned him at the very threshold of death. I’d left him there broken and battered, in a puddle of his own urine. Reduced to a shattered, sobbing, heap.
It was far more than the asshole deserved.
But yeah, I’d been fighting for so long now I couldn’t even remember anything else. I convinced myself it was for my own best interests, but that was barely even true anymore. It was mostly for other people, now. Criminals. Killers.
Evil pricks, like Donovan Prescott.
I looked down at my hands, as I so often did. The scars were still there. Maybe they weren’t fresh, like they used to be. But each one told a story. Each one reminded me of who I really was.
“Ripley…”
A warm hand slipped into mine, soft and unblemished. It was a hand unmarked by the past. Unburdened by the stigma of having committed heavy, unspeakable acts.
“I want ice cream,” Peyton declared, pulling me in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s get some.”
“Okay.”
I would’ve given her anything right now. This fearsome, motorcycle riding badass who’d kicked me in the balls, now had my heart in the palm of her hand.
“After that, you can drag me into your bed for round two,” she smiled. “And if you promise to go slow, I’ll let you doanythingyou want…”
That part was promising, especially since I already had some ideas.
But then Colson burst in, with an even graver expression on his usually grave face. Unfortunately, it was a look I knew all too well.
“Come on,” he barked, already in motion. “We’ve got a problem…”
