Page 44 of Alliance

Her eyes are still closed as I approach.

“Not yet,” she mumbles and slowly her hazel eyes open. Shock covers her features when she sees me and immediately her hands press against the ground as she pushes herself up. “What are you doing here?” she asks in a rushed whisper.

“Someone told me you’d be here.” I place my hand on her hip, tugging her toward me. I want to run my hands over her body, need to feel the smooth curves of her skin. I’ve never missed a person the way I miss Lana. When she’s not near me, I think about remembering every inch of her face, the taste of every kiss. It feels like an addiction, like I’m just biding time until my next hit.

After my bout with cocaine, I’ve spent so much time keeping myself from letting drugs and alcohol consume me, refusing to follow in the footsteps of my father. But no one ever warned me about this woman. No one told me to watch out for girls who pull you in with kisses sweet as candy and eyes like gold.

“Naz,” she whispers, “what if—”

“Shh.” I press a finger to her lip, silencing whatever objection she had. Instead, I lean in and press my mouth against her. She meets me there, letting me tug her bottom lip between my teeth. When I finally pull back, my eyes rake over her, wanting to see every inch of her.

They stop immediately though. Her neck is covered in purple bruises, the angry color fades toward the edges and wraps around the side. I can make out four distinct lines from where his fingers curved around her throat.

My chest aches and it feels like my stomach is full of rocks. I’m not sure if I want to scream or vomit at the sight. “What happened?” I ask, the question coming out in a deep growl that makes her flinch. “I’m sorry.” I step back, sucking in a breath and trying to calm myself. “Please, tell me what happened.”

She steps back too, wrapping her arms around her stomach in a protective gesture. “I’m okay,” she whispers, the words coming out low and meek. She’s lying. I can see from the way she holds herself, the way her eyes drop down to her feet, avoiding my gaze.

“Baby,” I whisper, and slowly walk toward her, extending my hand to her. She lets me pull her close again, lets her body sink into mine. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.

I can feel her pull in a shaky breath, and when she meets my eyes again, hers are glassy, brimming with tears.

“It was a mistake,” she says. “I shouldn’t have pushed him.”

I grip onto her shoulder, staring into her eyes. “This is not your fault. Do you understand me? His actions are not your fault.”

She swallows thickly and her eyes dart to the side. “His anger, I should have known...”

“No,” I tell her. “You shouldn’t tip toe around his feelings. You can control his anger, that’s up to him. And no man should ever hurt you.” My eyes scan over the purple covering her throat and I can feel her watching me as I lift a finger to trace over the colors.

“You are worth so much more than this. And I hope one day you see that.”

The tears that had pooled in her lower lash line break free and run down her cheeks. “I’m scared,” she whispers, and I pull her closer, running my hand over her back in a circular motion.

The truth that I won’t say out loud is I’m scared too.

Scared that one day he’ll go too far, squeeze for too long, hit too hard.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I tell her. But I don’t know that. I have no idea if it will be okay. If Sam does have an end game, I hope to God he starts it now.

“Here.” I pull back. Her eyes watch me as I unclasp the gold chain from around my neck, bringing it to her. “Turn around,” I tell her, and she complies, spinning around so I can clasp the necklace on her neck.

When she turns back to me, she’s holding the gold St. Jude medal between her fingertips, her eyes cast down watching the light reflect off the charm.

“Patron saint of lost causes?” she whispers.

“Yeah, my—”

“Your grandmother gave it to you.” Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “I remember, but this is important to you, you can’t give it to me.” Her hands reach around her neck to unclasp it, but I stop her, placing my hands over hers.

“I can,” I tell her. “That medal protected me when I needed it, and now it will protect you, okay? You wear that and St. Jude will watch over you.”

She brings her fingers back to the charm, and for a moment, I can see the thoughts churning through her head as her thumb runs over the pendant. “Do you really believe that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Her eyes flicker to mine. “What did it protect you from?”

Her question makes the scar on my thigh twitch, like the simple memory can bring the pain back to life. I rub my hand down the denim covering it, trying to soothe the ache that’s building there. “My father,” I tell her.

“What he’d do?” she asks, her curious gaze fixed on my face.

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