Page 92 of My Damaged Protector

“He's not.”

“What do you know about him? What's his middle name? Where does he live? What job does he have? Is he in a relationship?” I throw at her.

I'm trying to make a point, and she knows it.

Glancing at me in annoyance, she speaks. “You know I don't know all these things, but I'm guessing you have a point.”

“Damn right, I do.”

“Okay, and what is this point?”

“Six restraining orders in ten years, all from the women he used to date,” I say.

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she speaks again. “How did you find that out?”

I scoff. “Is that what you really want to focus on? How I found out that your stepbrother is a serial offender or the fact that you need to be very careful of him?”

“Okay. I heard you. I'll be careful of him.” She says it so flippantly, I know she doesn't mean a word.

It makes me angry that she's been so nonchalant. I don't know if the guy would exactly harm her, but he looked desperate earlier, and I personally know what desperation can make a person do. I've seen a fair share of desperate acts and people in my line of work.

She needs to take this more seriously than she is. But I know she's not going to listen to me right now.

So what do I do?

There's no way I'll be able to sleep a wink tonight when I know that asshole is in town.

I also don't want to have to spend a night here.

If I ask her to come to the house with me, she wouldn't agree. And she'll ask so many questions anyway. Questions I am not ready to answer. Not when I don't even know where things stand with us.

That leaves me with one option.

Damn it.

“I'm going to spend the night here, just in case he finds out you're here and decides to come.”

“Ian, I don't need you trying to?—“

“That's perfect, Ian. I'll go make the guest room for you,” her aunt says, cutting her off.

I turn to look where she's standing at the entrance of the kitchen. I didn't even know she was listening to us. The way she left when I came in gave me the impression that she didn't want to talk to me. Why is she letting me stay here against Sarah's will then?

Except she sees my point.

Nodding, I acknowledge. “Thanks, Sheila.”

“No, thank you. I'll go get the room ready, and then maybe you can freshen up and come out for dinner? I'm making chicken soup.”

I want to tell her I had dinner hours ago, but I don't say it, not wanting to be rude. It's only ten p.m., anyway.

I nod at her, and she gives me a small smile before she walks away.

When we're alone again, I look at Sarah, and I find that her gaze is now on me.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For?” I ask.

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