Page 22 of Savage Heart

Liz loved her greens—and she’d especially loved his eyes.

Maneuvering around the door and into the hallway, he leveled his Sig and continued to listen. The only sounds were of his racing heart and the movie playing.

Where was Erika? Was she hiding again? She was probably terrified.

Get to her, get to her, his mind cried, and the air in his lungs turned to soup.

Behind, him he heard the quick, shrill whistle, about the volume of a bird chirp, and he knew it meant that Odin was there, and to not shoot.

Turning only his head, he saw the large man come through the door.

“There’s no one in the back. And I couldn’t see anyone through the windows. Unless they’re hiding upstairs, it’s clear.”

He doubted that whoever hurt Liz would stick around, hiding upstairs, when they could remain downstairs were escape was easier in a hurry.

Thank fuck.

Dropping his weapon, but keeping it in his grip, he hurried from the hallway into the kitchen, and nearly collapsed.

There she was. Liz.

She was laying in an expanding pool of crimson, and beside her, kneeling in her own mother’s blood, was the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. His heart stuttered, his whole bodyseeming to tense, and then release all at once, like an electric shock zapped through him. His green eyes, his blond hair…one look and he knew, without a doubt, he was her father.

But he didn’t have time to focus on what that meant, he needed to get to Liz.

“Erika, darlin’,” Odin spoke, tucking his Glock G47 into the back of his pants. “I’m Odin, we’re here to help your mama.”

The girl, whose eyes were large in her pale as paper face, began to cry.

“Mr. Odin?” Her voice was small and filled with fear.

The urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her was nearly as great an urge as the need to make sure Liz was okay.

Dropping to his knees and tucking his own weapon into his waistband, Trouble made quick work of checking Liz’s pulse. Weak but steady. Immediately, he could see that the blood on the floor was coming from a wound on the back of her head. The fucks had cold-cocked her from behind. Like goddamn cowards.

Odin nodded at him, silently acknowledging what he’d seen of the wound as well, and moved to crouch beside Erika. If it weren’t such a fucked-up situation, Trouble would have laughed at the sight of such a large man, squatting to get on the little girl’s level—the man could never make himself look small enough to not appear like a giant next to her.

“That’s me, I’m Odin.” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder. “And that’s my friend, Trouble. He’s a friend of your mama’s, too.”

Friend, former lover, father of her child…currently most hated person in her world.

Leaning over Liz, he checked her pupillary responses. Her pupils reacted to the kitchen’s overhead LED light. Good. No brainstem damage.

Next, he checked her body for any other wounds. None that he could see without removing her clothes. That she was stillwearing her sweatpants and t-shirt told him she hadn’t been raped, at least. He lifted her shirt enough to check for broken ribs. He didn’t feel any, but the deep purple bruising beginning to show along her side and on her belly meant there was plenty of damage he couldn’t see. If the men who hurt her were professionals, they would have aimed for her kidneys, and he bet money that if he rolled her over, there’d be bruising on her lower right and left side of her spine.

Finally, he checked her limbs—

Shit. Her right forearm and wrist were broken. The fuckers must’ve stomped on her after she’d already fallen to the floor. What kind of sadist fuck beat an already unconscious woman?

The kind of fuck that will die screaming.

As he quickly examined Liz, Odin kept speaking in low, soothing tones to the little girl, who only responded with nods and shrugs. This had to be a lot for her, but Trouble knew that Odin was handling the girl with the utmost care—and not just because they both realized that the girl was now officially a club princess, but because it was what she needed: comfort, and a sense of safety and security. Trouble knew that he and Odin were two big, scary motherfuckers, and to a nine-year-old girl, they seemed like monsters from childhood nightmares.

Looking up, he met the little girl’s gaze—a gaze so much like his, it made his breath catch.

“Hey, baby, your mama is going to be okay, yeah?”

Erika hiccupped a breath, then jerked a quick nod. “Okay.”

---