“Look at me, angel,” I tell her.
Her hazel eyes lift. Fear, yes. Spine too. Stubbornness hanging on by its nails.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head fast. “No.”
“You sure?”
Another nod, smaller.
She swallows. “I’m sorry.”
The words land wrong. Like she thinks she owes anyone anything for surviving.
“Don’t,” I say.
Her brows knit. “I dragged you into this.”
I lean in, voice rough. “You asked. I answered.”
Her lashes flutter like she doesn’t know what to do with that.
I stand and lift her with me. She gasps, arms sliding around my neck on instinct.
Behind the bar, the bartender’s gaze meets mine. “Wolf?”
“I’m leaving,” I say.
He nods once.
I carry her out into the cold night, her arms looped around my neck like she’s afraid letting go will send her right back into the bar.
“I can walk,” she whispers against my jaw.
“I know,” I say. “I’m not letting you.”
Her breath shudders. Her eyes flick to the darkness beyond the lot and her courage thins. She hates that it does. I can see it.
My bike sits where I left it, dust on the tires from the road that leads out past town and into quiet. I set her down carefully, hands staying at her waist until her legs steady.
I grab the spare helmet and slide it over her hair. My hands work the strap under her chin, quick and sure.
She swallows. “Where are we going?”
“My place.”
Her head turns. “Your place?”
“Yes.”
Her arms hover at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. Like she’s afraid touching me will make this too real.
“Listen, angel,” I say. “That man came into the bar for you. You think he stops because I told him to leave?”
Her throat bobs. She shakes her head once.
“I’m not handing you back,” I continue, low and flat. “And I’m not leaving you in town where he can find you again. Too many doors. Too many people. Too many places to corner you.”
