Page 92 of The Devil's Scars

“Not so much.” He gently stroked her cheek. “You and Keira are huge parts of my life, baby. You’re huge presents, ones that I don’t take for granted, not now and not ever. I promised to keep you safe, both of you, and this is just one way for me to do that.”

“But I was going to buy –”

“Nuh-uh.” He lowered his dark head to hers, kissed the protests right off her rosebud lips. “Let me do this for you, and for that gorgeous baby girl in there. Don’t fight me, or argue with me, or tell me that you could have done this yourself with a bit of time. Just try to not be your stubborn and ornery self for two minutes, OK? Please accept it, Zoe. Please let me do this.”

She was staring down at her feet quietly, and he actually saw the internal tussle that she was having with herself. This was the tough part for Zoe, he knew: the handing over and letting go. The ‘being vulnerable’ part, the ‘letting someone help’ part. She was way out of practice with all of that, she had been for years and years, and it was something that Scars had to proceed with extreme caution about.

But goddammit… Zoe was his, and that made Keira his too, by default and by choice. He’d throw himself in front of a damn semi-truck to protect them, he’d take a bullet, he’d do anything, anything, to keep them safe. But since death-defying acts of love and chivalry were in short supply – and thank Christ for that, really and all things considered – he had to settle for doing things that made Zoe’s life easier, safer, more relaxed.

And she was struggling with accepting even that much. He understood, though, so Scars just stood there, his arms around her loosely, not wanting her to feel trapped or pressured. He just waited, waited for her to let him in a little bit more. Or not.

When she looked up at him again, those incredible green eyes warm and sweet, he exhaled, his worry gone. And when she smiled, said Thank you, Scars, and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him, his heart almost burst out of his chest.

Scars recalled every single kiss that he’d shared with this woman, but something about this one was… well… it was –

Sweet surrender. She just handed over to me, completely and totally and fully.

Zoe was almost dizzy with the relief of just letting herself accept a gift, of not checking motives, of not being suspicious of what she’d have to do to ‘pay back’ the gift-giver, or of being in someone’s debt. There was freedom in accepting something with an open heart. She’d forgotten that freedom. This rough, scarred, gorgeous man in front of her had just reminded her of that amazing secret.

Scars gave to her with an open hand, he always had, and he did it because he didn’t know any other way to be. He gave to the people that he cared about, he just gave, and he never kept score or came back to collect.

He was a good man. He was a man worth loving.

He was a man that she loved.

She wanted him to know that. Now.

“Scars…”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I –”

A noise on the baby monitor caught her attention now, and she stared down at it, puzzled.

“What, Zoe?” he asked. “Is she waking up?”

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “I don’t think so. Is that… was that the storage room door opening?”

“Probably one of the guys, going back there to get something. Ink or whatever. Probably trying to be quiet and not wake up Keira.”

“No.” She shook her head, already turning back to the parlor, every mothering instinct in her body screaming at her. “It was the back door.”

“You mean the one leading out to the back parking area?” Scars was catching her unease and urgency, and he matched her strides. “The one off the storage room?”

“Yeah.”

That was when the man’s voice crackled over the monitor, low and hoarse and unfamiliar:

“Gotcha, sweetheart. Stay quiet now.” A rustling noise – Keira’s blanket? “Nice and easy now, here we go.”

“What the hell?” Zoe whispered, shocked. “Scars – who –”

They were running now, flat out running to the door, shouting at the parlor, praying that one of the guys would look up and out the massive front window and see their panic. But the door remained resolutely closed, nobody shot out to ask what the fuck, guys? Nobody noticed and nobody came.

Suddenly, with the loudest boom that Zoe could possibly imagine, the tattoo parlor window exploded into a thousand pieces of glass. Scars and Zoe weren’t thrown from the force, exactly, but it felt like ruthless hands had shoved them back, hard. With cries of shock and pain, they fell heavily between two parked cars, and without one second of hesitation, without any conscious thought at all, Scars rolled over on top of Zoe, his body covering hers, his hands covering her face. Protecting her with his own flesh and blood and muscle.

Zoe lay on her back, trying to breathe through the pressure of those massive hands, through the solid weight on her chest. What the actual fuck…what had just happened?

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