Page 6 of My Knight

He had dark hair, short on the sides but longer on top, styled just right to look like he didn’t try too hard. The longer strands swooped across his forehead in a way that made him look effortless and rugged at the same time. His jaw was covered in scruff—just enough to make him look dangerous, like a man who didn’t care for shaving but still somehow made it look good.

His eyes were deep brown, almost black in the low light, and they held something unreadable—like he was carrying the weight of things he never talked about.

Tattoos curled down both his arms, some thick-lined and bold, others more intricate, swirling in designs I couldn’t quite see from my angle. His knuckles were bruised and scarred. Hisshoulders were wide. The black T-shirt he wore stretched tight across his chest, and I had the sudden thought that he could probably break someone in half if he wanted to.

And yet, here he was, holding water to my lips and watching me like I might fall apart if he looked away.

“What are you doing here?” I asked softly. My voice was rough and scratchy, like sandpaper against my throat.

Pirate didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me. Those dark brown eyes unreadable and intense, like he was trying to see straight through me. Finally, he said, “You should be resting.”

I furrowed my brow and winced as the movement made my head throb harder. “And you should tell me why you’re here,” I repeated a little firmer this time.

How had he even known to come to the house, let alone the hospital? I didn’t remember much after making it to Mac’s place. Maybe she’d called the club? But that didn’t really make sense. She and I had both agreed—we kept our distance from the club. We knew the club had its secrets. Dangerous ones. We just wanted to do our job and get the hell out of Dodge before something else exploded.

And now… here I was, laid up in a hospital bed with my head pounding and my body aching. So much for leaving before something bad happened.

Pirate finally answered and shifted his weight like he wasn’t entirely comfortable. “Dice heard the call to your house, so we decided to come check on you guys.”

“Why?”

His brows pulled together like I’d just asked the world’s dumbest question. “What do you mean why?”

I tilted my head slightly and ignored the flare of pain that came with it. “You hate me.” My voice was flat. Not accusing, just… tired. True.

I didn’t have the strength to sugarcoat things, not that I ever really did. And besides, we both knew it. Mac and I had been background noise to them at best and intrusions at worst. They tolerated us only because the cameras we carried gave their club the end of their contract. Did anyone really want a camera in their face all the time? No, not really.

Pirate sat down in the chair next to the bed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. He looked like he had no intention of going anywhere.

“I don’t,” he said quietly. “I hate your job, but I don’t hate you.”

I blinked slowly. That… was not what I expected to hear.

I closed my eyes and let my head sink back into the pillow. The scratchy hospital linen was somehow still better than concrete and blood. “Makes perfect sense,” I whispered. Not.

He didn’t argue with me. Just let the silence settle between us like a blanket. For some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Just rest,” he said, softer this time.

Not like I had a choice. The small burst of energy I’d conjured to ask him those questions was already gone. It was drained out of me like someone had pulled the plug. My body felt heavy, as if gravity had doubled. Every breath I took seemed to require more effort than the last.

I wanted to ask him more. A dozen questions hovered in the back of my mind—about the club, about who attacked me, about why the hell Pirate, of all people, had shown up and climbed into the back of that ambulance with me like he actually gave a damn.

But none of them made it to my mouth.

The world was starting to blur again, and my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. My fingers twitched weakly at my sides, still feeling the ghost of the stone I’d used to defend myself. Ididn’t even know if the man had lived or died. I didn’t care. All I knew was I’d survived. Somehow.

My breathing slowed, and the sounds around me faded into a soft hum. The monitors beeped steadily, and my heartbeat echoed from the machines nearby. Pirate didn’t move. He was still there beside me, a quiet and steady presence that shouldn’t have felt as comforting as it did.

And just before I let the darkness pull me under again, I heard his voice.

Low. Gentle.

“Sleep, Saylor,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

Then everything went quiet.

Chapter Three

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