Page 43 of Raiden

“What are you doing?” Her eyes get shiny and I watch them, drowning in them, sinking to the very bottom of the lake of her.

“You need a shower. I’m going to help you get clean.”

“You- you hate showers.”

“Can I help you undress?”

She bites her bottom lip, a lost gesture that she would never usually allow. It hits me straight in the heart. I cup her face, running my fingers along her trembling jaw, tucking back strands of hair behind both ears.

“If you want to get in there yourself, that’s fine. I’m just worried about you standing up in there and I don’t have a tub. You could get hurt if you faint again.”

A hint of stubbornness and color comes back to her cheeks. “I’m not going to faint again. I just wasn’t breathing enough. It wasn’t even a real faint.”

“Fair enough. Your body is fighting with your mind right now and Iknowyou want to be clean.”

“I do.”

“Can I help you?”

A deep breath and she nods.

I unzip the leather jacket and carefully work it down her arms. I’m undressing her here. She’s here with me. She’s alive and safe. My sister is safe because of her. She outran that car. She was the one who fired the shots to keep those men fromtaking them. They shot back at her, Gunner said. I don’t want to think what they would have done if they’d taken them. I can only imagine what they would have asked for in exchange.

Gunner said he had trouble with his bike. He got left behind in the parking lot. Widow thought he was behind her and drove off. It couldn’t have been long before the car moved in on them. All Gunner knew was that he’d just got on his bike to limp it back to the clubhouse when Widow came screaming back, a black sedan trailing her and then all hell broke loose.

As I lift the soft long-sleeve black shirt off and over Widow’s head, I notice the way her eyes are shining. How she’s furiously blinking the tears back.

“It’s just us in here. You want to cry? You do go ahead and do that.”

Her jaw trembles, but her lips tighten. “I don’t need to cry.”

I’m not going to argue with her. I crank the shower on, leave her in her black lace bra with her breasts swelling over the cups, and work on her boots and jeans. There’s the vaguest dark imprint on the already dark denim. A splash of blood? I couldn’t find anything on her jacket.

I get her stripped down to her panties, black matching lace that I have to immediately stop thinking about. This is not the fucking time for a boner. That’s not going to make her feel safe. Not after what she’s been through.

I test the water to make sure it’s not too hot and get in. It hits me, triggering an immediate response in my body that tightens all my muscles and makes me want to puke, but I staythere and hold out a hand. I’m not going to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

She hesitates, watching the water cascade over me, then she puts her palm in mine and lets me guide her in. She closes the door after her. It bangs like a gunshot and she startles, grasping my arms.

“I’ve got you.” I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “It’s just you and me. Right here.” I shift to the side and give her some warm water. She’s like a frightened animal, but as soon as the spray hits her, her eyes shutter and the fight goes out of her.

I angle her around so she can take most of it.

I have shampoo and bodywash in here, all of it manly and scented like spice and stupid shit, but I fill my palm and soap her long, thick hair. She sways close to me, practically purring as I massage her scalp. Soap rungs down her face, but she keeps her eyes closed.

I’m rinsing it out, guiding the water through the heavy mass when the first sob explodes out of her.

It startles me so badly that I move in front of her, blocking her from danger before I realize what the sound even was. She chokes on another, but then she gives up and the tears come. Instead of covering her face and lashing out to keep me away and keep me from seeing, she throws herself at me. Her soaked body presses against the hard length of mine. Her arms twist around my neck.

I smooth my hand over her hair and fight through the thick wetness until I find the back of her neck. I cup it possessively and reassuringly, then sweep my thumb to press ather pulse point. It’s hammering madly with the emotion spilling out of her and the life throbbing inside of her.

She can’t contain the force of her tears and great big sobs rock her body. The sound is awful, keening and choked. I tuck her face against my shoulder and wrap my arms around her back.

I let her cry without offering platitudes, without telling her it’s okay. It’s not fucking okay. It’s not okay that she and my sister were chased, attacked, and terrorized. I can feel the fear wrapping around my heart like barbs, digging in brutally.

“I… don’t… deserve—”

She leaves the panted, garbled sentence unfinished.

---