“Of course, the bitch did!” Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, taking a breath, and I can only watch her, captivated by my beautiful, strong creature.
I hold her against me as tight as I can because God forbid there’s a motherfucker out there who wants to try me. I’ll feed their ashes to the wide blue sea.
I push the front door of my house open, or I guess our house now, and lock it behind me right away as I hold Sara against me. Fiasco comes rushing, wagging his tail.
“Hi bud…” I say, scratching behind his ears.
Earlier today, I called Mateo to enhance our security by adding two guards. I had a premonition that things might get perilous. I did, after all, send a message, an explosive one at that, when I had Damien leave a carefree gift on the boat the night of the raid.
I was hoping to find out a bit more about who owns it, because whoever owns this boat is in charge. I have a strong feeling about it. So, whoever is hiding behind their nautical mask, got a piece of fresh, fiery greeting from me.
Tyler being involved is a huge surprise. I didn’t think that little prick had it in him. I almost broke his nose in half at the nightclub, and he screamed like a dog in heat, but lo and behold, he’s even more of a scumbag than I assumed him to be.
Sara is slightly swaying in my arms, dense exhaustion taking over her body and adrenaline leaving her system. It’s okay, the way she leans into me tells me she’s feeling a sense of safety again.
I want her to know I’m her sanctuary, her safe place. I may not have always been, and maybe I’m a hypocrite for not showing up for her like this before, but I simply didn’t know how to look past my ruthless need to crush her. I convinced myself I couldn’t ever have someone like her. I even thought she was too broken.
“Baby, let’s clean you up. I’ll be gentle. We need to check if you need stitches.”
She whimpers in my arms, and I really hope we don’t need to stitch her up. I don’t want her to hurt more than she already is. It’s hard to tell with the dried blood and the cut mainly being on the side of her head covered by her hair.
I lead her to the bathroom, guiding her with gentle hands. The bright lights make her wince, revealing every cut and bruise that mars her skin and knees in stark detail. My jaw clenches at the sight, but I force myself to stay calm for her sake. She did this for Joe and innocent women. I want to ask her so many questions about what she was able to uncover, but first I want to care for her.
“Let me take care of you,” I murmur, helping her onto the edge of the bathtub. She is so tiny sitting there, her shoulders hunched and dark hair falling forward, partially obscuring her face. She nods weakly, her eyes closed in exhaustion. I open the medicine cabinet and grab the first aid kit, setting it beside her as I run the tap until the water warms. I soak a clean washcloth and wring it out.
“This might sting a little,” I warn as I bring the cloth to her temple. At the first touch, she hisses through clenched teeth, her body tensing. I press on, gently cleaning away the dried blood from her wounds. The cut on her temple isn't as deep as I feared, but it's still an angry red gash against her pale skin.
“I think we can avoid stitches,” I tell her, relief evident in my voice. “But it's going to bruise pretty badly.”
She nods again, her eyes focused on some distant point on the tiled floor. I continue cleaning her wounds in silence, carefully wiping away blood from her knees, her arms, and the small cut on her lip. With each touch, I feel her pain as if it were my own, a sharp ache beneath my ribs.
“Sara,” I whisper, “I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner.”
I apply a butterfly bandage to hold the edges of the cut together, my fingers trembling slightly with the effort to be gentle.
“Tyler did this to you?” I ask, my voice deceptively calm as I apply antiseptic to the cut.
She nods, wincing. “He pushed me into something. I don't even remember what. It all happened so fast.”
“I'm going to find him, Sara. And when I do—”
“I know you will, Liam,” she says softly, her fingers reaching for mine. She takes my hand, pressing it against her cheek. “Please don’t let me go, Liam… Don’t lose me. Not now… I can’t—” Her voice shakes, and my stomach free-falls as I stare at her.
I nod, swallowing hard. “I don’t have the will to leave you.”
She meets my eyes, something shifting in her gaze. The vulnerability is still there, but beneath it burns a quiet desperation. Without a word, her fingers find the hem of my shirt, I watch her as she lifts the fabric, exposing my abdomen inch by inch. Her lips press against my skin, feather-light, reverent touches that make my breath catch. Each kiss is a testament, a prayer of gratitude that we have one another.
She wraps her arms around my waist, burying her face against my abs, her breath warm against my skin, and I feel the wetness of fresh tears. The intimacy of the gesture knocks the air from my lungs. This isn't about sex or desire—it's about connection, about anchoring herself to me, and I reach the back of her head, holding her against me until I need all of her against me.
I help her stand, supporting her weight as we move from the bathroom to the bedroom. She's quiet, too quiet, and I can't tell if it's shock or exhaustion or something deeper that I can't reach. I ease her onto the bed, but when I try to step back to get her some clean clothes, she grabs my wrist.
“Don't,” she says. “Don't go.”
“I'm just getting you—” But she's shaking her head, eyes suddenly wide with fear.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice low.
I sit beside her on the bed. I recognize the plea in her eyes when fear and emotions take your breath away as you give and give while standing on the edge of a prayer for the person who stripped you of all your walls, pretenses, and fears to reciprocate. A prayer of promise, and she has all of me. I haven’t told her enough of it yet, but I will.
