Page 44 of Gunner

I make a small circle on his abs with my hand. “Does this hurt you?”

His deep voice rumbles above me. “No.”

“Can you turn the lamp off?”

He makes a sound that says that there’s zero chance this side of the century that he’s going to comply with any requests, but his arm sweeps up above my head and pulls the chain. It knocks softly against the stained-glass shade.

“Thanks,” I tell his washboard stomach. I can’t help but trace my finger over him. The skin is a different texture from the burns. His muscles are rigid and tense underneath. My mind goes straight to the fact that I’m being a crazy dumbass for not letting this man just leave.

Maybe I can fix this. Maybewecan fix it. Gunner has a family here. I can’t let him just abandon it because of me. And itisbecause of me. If he’d never met me, he wouldn’t be here now.

Neither of us would be.

That feels as much like a tragedy as everything he told me earlier about his life.

I think about the pain of those burns, the pain of his childhood, the fact that all his life, people have used him as a tool and a weapon. I just want him to have a chance to be a man. A human being. To have something good that is entirely his own. Maybe even to start down on his own healing journey.

Does that make me insane?

I stop breathing for an instant when his fingers run through my hair. Gentle. Tentative. Exactly how I knew he’dtouch me if he ever let himself. Like he’s afraid I’m the one who is going to disappear.

“This is the first time I can ever remember that someone has fought for me.”

His rough tone punches yet another hole in my lungs.

“Diletta?”

He’s working his fingers through my hair. That, the lateness, the trauma of the day, the shocks and revelations, and the earth shifting orgasms, all combine to make my eyes heavy. The coffee isn’t doing shit. How am I supposed to stay up all night and keep watch like this? I should get up, but I can’t tear myself away from the comfortable position. I’m deliciously warm, his body heat seeping into me from below.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t remember anyone caring until I betrayed them.”

Even after he bled. Even after half his body was scarred. Men like Adolfo Rossi reward loyalty. They don’t feel.

It hurts to think that my father might be the same way when it comes to his men. My father and Adolfo both have one shared weakness. Their families. But family doesn’t extend to men they’re paying to keep them alive or for the expansion and maintenance of their empire.

I know I’m getting sucked under. I need to sit up and wake up, but I just can’t do it. I’m the one who feels like I’ve been drugged. Maybe I just can’t pull myself away, not even when I know that Gunner can feel the hot tears leaking from my eyes, dripping all over his chest. His abs tense and his hand stills in my hair. He sucks in a breath so hard and sharp that I think if Iraise my head, I’d find him torn wide open and his cheeks damp too, but I’m so exhausted. So warm. So safe. So right. So home.

Chapter 14

Gunner

Iwake up all at once, a hard and abrupt coming into awareness. I’ve never slept so deep in my life. I expect the telltale signs of being drugged—the aching in my head, a foul dryness in my mouth, but I feel… good.

I’m on my side in a bed that isn’t my own, facing an empty coffee mug and a stained-glass lamp, a hardcover book on the nightstand. One of the classics. One of my favorites. I started reading them when I first started watching Diletta. I’ve taken note of every book she’s read over the years, devouring it myself later.

I’m no longer handcuffed, though my wrist does still bear the red imprints where the cuff dug in.

I sit up immediately, aware, adrenaline surging through me like I’m in danger, but the house is quiet except for hushed voices in the kitchen.

I freeze, my instincts all honed so sharply to react to danger that the first thought I have is to brace for violence. If Diletta willingly let anyone in, then the violence isn’t happening to her. It’s inside of me, choking me like a thick, oily smoke. The rational side of me still isn’t very rational, given what happened last night, and then what happened.Me, lowering my guard down like a fucking amateur—again, and getting cuffed to the bed. Add sleeping through an intrusion into Diletta’s inner sanctum to the list of continuous screw ups.

I shed half my clothes in the kitchen, but they’re folded in a neat pile on the end of the bed this morning. What fucking time is it? Also? She’s the one looking after me now?

I dress with all haste and zero grace. I find the packets of contacts I slipped into my pocket last night before leaving the clubhouse. I left them out, taking a risk, knowing it was too dark and smoky for most people to see or care. We slipped out the back door and other than waving at the prospects who opened the compound gate for us when I had my helmet on and covering my face, no one else saw us. I face the mirror on Diletta’s dresser and pop them in. Leaving my boots and socks in her room I walk quietly halfway down the hall.

I know Lark and Ella well enough to recognize their voices, even at such a quiet level. My unease settles, but my pulse doesn’t stop hammering.

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