Page 42 of Mine to Protect

“Nope,” I said, letting smoke filter through my wide smile.

“John, please,” Alta begged. At the second lock, her hand slipped, sending the keys falling to the porch. “Go.”

Five seconds, maybe less, was all the fucker had to obey her order. Hell, I should’ve clocked his ass for the fact that she had to repeat herself, twice. But I couldn’t trust myself like this. Not with the anger and unease flooding my veins. Who knew what I would do to him. Every instinct commanded me to protect her at all cost.

Protect my Lady.

Mine.

Hadn’t even kissed her, and yet every cell in my damn body screamed it. She imprinted on me in a way no woman ever had. Alta Johnson was mine, but I was just as much hers too.

“Now,” I said in a voice so calm there was no mistaking the underlying threat.

Smarter than I took him for, John heeded the warning and stepped off the porch, never taking his eyes from mine. In the most drawn-out retreat in history, the bastard’s truck finally sped away, kicking gravel and dust in its path.

Her mouth opened.

“Don’t waste your breath.” Between two fingers, I pinched out the cherry of my cigarette and stuffed the filter into the pocket of my coat. “I’m not leaving.”

Alta’s hazel, tear-rimmed eyes found mine.

At the sight, my heart, hardened by years of being unwanted and having any sympathy or useless emotion beaten out of me in the marines, splintered.

A sob bubbled from her chest. Without warning, her knees buckled, sending her tumbling to the porch.

Within seconds, her lean frame was tucked in my arms, held tight to my chest. I cursed her fucking three deadbolts as I worked to hold her and open the door at the same time.

Inside, a pitiful whimper brought my attention to where Benny sat on his hind legs, paws reaching for the beautiful creature in my arms.

“Down, boy. She’ll be okay.” The sole of my foot slammed against the door, securing it shut. “You watch the door, and I’ll take care of her.”

I swear the dog nodded before swinging his dark eyes to the door.

Having memorized the layout earlier, I carried her into the small bathroom. My knees cracked as I squatted, setting her on the floor with her back resting against the tub. I unlaced her boots and placed them beside the door in a perfectly straight line. Next came her socks, which were tossed into the overflowing hamper.

I stayed quiet as I worked. She would talk about what happened when she was ready, but I did have to make sure the blood on her clothes wasn’t hers. Each second that question went unanswered was torture.

“Are you hurt?” I asked in a calm, even tone, completely different than the mess of emotions inside me.

The top of her black beanie wobbled up and down as she nodded with her forehead pressed against her bent knees.

“Show me. I need to stop the bleeding.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She had to be okay. But it wouldn’t surprise me if my bitch of a life gave me a hint of one good thing, then ripped it away before it could be great. Why did I ever think someone like me could have a sliver of something wonderful like her?

“My heart,” she mumbled through a sob, both delicate hands clasped over her heart. “My heart is… my heart is broken.”

Um.

What?

“I shot her.” Swollen hazel eyes peered up to meet mine. “I killed her,” she cried.

What. The. Fuck.

“It’s okay, Lady. You’ll get through it. I’m sure she deserved it—”

“She was innocent,” Alta seethed, narrowing her bloodshot eyes. “That bastard made me kill her.”

“John?”

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