Page 5 of My Knight

I screamed and brought the rock around one more time with every ounce of strength I had left.

This time it hit his head.

He fell back. Stunned. Blood on his temple.

I didn’t wait.

I lunged at him and hit him again. Same spot. I heard a sickening sound—bone, maybe—and he let out a low moan before his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled.

I didn’t check if he was dead. I didn’t care.

I ran. Bloody, broken, beaten—I ran.

I remembered all of it now. The fear. The fight. The taste of iron in my mouth. The stone in my hand. I remembered making it to Mac’s house. Knocking. Collapsing. Then everything went black.

“Saylor,” a voice cut through the memory, low and steady, male.

My heart jolted.

My eyes fluttered open again, this time with more effort and more purpose. The room was still a little hazy, but the voice had anchored me.

“Pirate?” I rasped.

Even just saying that one word took everything I had.

I remembered him being there when the paramedics loaded me up. His face was blurry above me. I didn’t know why he was there, but I remembered the relief I felt when I saw him.

My mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Dry and disgusting. I smacked my lips and tried to wet them, but it didn’t help.

“Water,” I croaked.

“I got you, baby,” Pirate said, and I heard him move.

I blinked slowly and tried to clear the fuzz from my vision. Bit by bit, the room came into focus. The sterile walls. The sound of a machine beeping nearby. The smell of antiseptic.

And him.

Pirate stood by the counter and grabbed a plastic cup of water. He stuck a straw into it, then turned and walked back toward me. He looked so out of place in this room—likesomething wild and dangerous had stepped into a world that didn’t know what to do with it.

He leaned down beside the bed and held the straw to my lips.

I took a small sip. It was cold, and it tasted like heaven.

But even as I drank, I couldn’t help the thought that crept into my mind.

Why is he here?

The guys from the club never paid attention to Mac and me. We were just background noise—girls with cameras and microphones, poking into business they didn’t want us in. At best, we were tolerated. At worst? Ignored.

But here he was. Pirate. Sitting at my bedside like I mattered. And he called me baby. What in the world?

I pulled my lips from the straw, and he moved the cup away to set it on the little table beside the bed.

I looked up at him.

His face was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—concern, maybe even guilt. It felt strange. Too intimate.

Pirate was handsome. I’d have had to be blind not to notice that.

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