Page 11 of Save Me

Until tonight—until her—I'd never even kissed anyone. Even blackout drunk, the thought of anyone touching me made my skin crawl. Guess that shit happens when you spend half your life like a whipped dog, unsure if that raised hand means affection or pain. But the anxiety isn't there with her. The feeling of impending doom and the need to escape when someone gets too close don't exist.

Touching her feels natural.

I didn't even have to think about it outside of Memphis's bar. I saw her standing out there, dressed like sex, looking for trouble, and all I could think was, 'Oh, hell no. She's not fucking going in there.' There wasn't a chance in hell I was letting her stroll into a bar full of bikers who'd eat a sweet little thing like her alive.

Reaching out to stop her was instinctive, automatic.

When she reacted how she did and elbowed me, I expected a jolt of panic. That's usually what happens. Someone puts their hands on me, and I flip the fuck out. But the panic never came. Instead, all I could think about was making sure she didn't feel the same fear. And the fact that my balls ached because she knew enough to protect herself. That's sexy as hell to me. She should know how to protect herself. She's too damn beautiful to be defenseless in this world.

I wasn't calm, though. Fuck no. I felt the exact fucking opposite of peaceful and easy when my hands were on her out there. It felt like a shot of adrenaline surging through my system. It felt…right. That's a dangerous feeling.She'sdangerous.

Which is precisely why I shouldn't be standing here right now. I know a thing or two about addiction. Been there, done that. And this beautiful little goddess is quickly becoming my new vice. But I'm standing here anyway. Because, goddammit all, the fact that she knows about my past and still looked me in the eye and told me that it was okay if I had fallen off the damn wagon, has me feeling things I shouldn't. And so does the fact that she knows what it's like to be in my shoes, picked apart by someone meant to protect you.

She shouldn't know how that feels. Out of everyone I've ever met, she deserves it less than anyone. She should know nothing but love, nothing but peace. Especially at the hands of the people meant to protect her.

No wonder Mac Sterling is so goddamn protective of her and her twin sister. In his shoes, I'd be the same damn way.

"Um, would you like something to drink?" she asks after a moment, peering up at me from those baby blues. "Obviously not alcohol. But I have tea. And probably water."

"Probably water?" My lips twitch. "You're confident you have tea, but you onlyprobablyhave water?"

"Shut up." She rolls her eyes at me, practically squirming from foot to foot. "Of course I have water. I meant Iprobablyhave it in a fancy bottle since that'sprobablywhat you drink."

"You think I'm too fucking fancy for tap water?" I ask, genuinely amused.

"I don't know. Maybe." Her shoulders bounce in a shrug. "You look like you'reprobablytoo fancy for tap water."

I stare at her for moment. Jesus Christ. She's cute as hell. "Your father is one of the richest men in this state, little bird. I'm just an asshole who had the misfortune of inheriting a record company. I think if either of us is too fancy for tap water, it might be you."

"I'm not fancy, Brantley." She rolls her eyes at me again. "And my dad's money is his money. It isn't mine."

"Yeah?" I grin at her. "Does he know this?" I do not get the impression that Mac Sterling is the kind of guy who views the world through the same lens as her. In fact, from what I know about the man, everything he does, he does for his wife and kids. They are his world. If she's rejecting his money to be independent, I'm guessing he's not on board with her plan.

She opens her eyes wide and glances around us with her face scrunched up as if to make her point. "I'd certainly hope so since I paid for everything in this apartment by myself, even when he tried to boss me into letting him help."

"Ah," I murmur, glad to know I was right about her dad. And impressed that she's making the effort at all. Most kids born with a silver spoon in their mouths don't even bother reaching for independence. Isla clearly isn't one of them.

I'm not really surprised. She's a goddamn treasure. Every damn thing I learn about her just seems to sink me deeper under her spell. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like her—so completely naïve in every way but fiercely independent and wise at the same time. It's a hell of a combination.

"So…do you want the water or not?"

"No." My smile grows. "I don't want your fancy water, baby. But thank you."

"Okay." She shifts from foot to foot again, clearly nervous about having me in her space. And then she peers up at me from those baby blues again, chewing on her bottom lip. "You don't like your company?"

"I didn't say that."

"You said you had the misfortune of inheriting… Oh." She grimaces. "You mean because your father died. I'm sorry."

I shove a hand through my hair, sighing. "That makes two of us."

"Sorry he died or sorry you inherited the company?"

I shrug instead of answering because the truth? Well, that's fucking complicated. More complicated than I think she might be ready to hear right now. It's a good question though. One I've asked myself more than once since he died. Am I sorry he's gone? Fuck no. Does that make me a shit human? Possibly. Maybe. I don't fucking know.

Shit, guess that's complicated, too.

"My bio-mom is out of prison," she says, kicking off her heels. She glances over at me, her lips pursed. "I've spent a little time with her because I have questions. Bella thinks I've forgiven her, but I haven't really. I don't think I'll ever be ready to do that." Her shoulders bounce in a helpless shrug. "I guess I just want to know that she actually means it when she says she's changed and that she won't ever ruin our lives again. If the punishment didn't work, what was the point, you know?"

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