Page 50 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

“Why? Look at me, Niran. I’m a fucked-up mess,” I cry. I’m a murderer. I just killed my baby.

“Saffie, Cyn just needs to get her head on straight, and I’m doing what I can to help her. You, though? You’re going through something no woman ever should. Where I want to be is here with you.”

“I’ve nothing to offer you, Niran.”

“Don’t want fuck from you, Saffie. I just want to comfort you.”

“Sounds to me like you should be with your sister,” I snap, waspishly.

Niran shakes his head. “She thinks she needs me, but she doesn’t. Me not being there will give her a chance to stand on her own two feet, but with a safety net around her. You, though, you’ve not got anyone else. I might not be much, but while you need me, I’m all yours.”

Chapter Seventeen

Niran

For a while, talking about Cyn with Saffie had distracted her, but then she’d grown quiet, and the tears had started falling again. Having no words to comfort her, I’d just held her, letting her cry in my arms. It’s clear Saffie is exhausted, and no wonder given what she’s been through today.

I do think she’d made the right decision. Her baby had no chance of life. Religious folks might have opted to wait for a miracle, but even if God exists, those are in short supply. Myself? I prefer to rely on the word of the experts which doesn’t make me a non-believer. After all, God had given us both science and free choice.

You don’t need to believe in an unseen being to know however much I could tell her she’d done what was right, Saffie’s doubting her choice. I wouldn’t expect any different. We’re human. Hope is hard to give up. I suspect today’s events will play on Saffie’s mind until the day she dies, maybe getting easier to deal with, but never disappearing.

I’m not qualified to discuss it. I’m a man, I’ll never carry a baby, so what the fuck do I know about how she’s feeling? I stay quiet on the topic, knowing it’s her who’s got to come to terms with it.

It hadn’t escaped me that even given her fears about bikers, she’d grabbed at me like a lifeline. Probably I could have been anyone with a friendly face and supporting arms. However much or little she thinks of me, I’m not leaving this apartment. She needs someone, whether or not she admits it, and part of me is afraid of what she might do if she’s left on her own. Cyn’s problems fade in comparison. I know my brothers and the old ladies will look out for her. It’s one of the benefits of having a family I can trust.

As Saffie settles back and sheer exhaustion makes her close her eyes, I wonder at myself and why I feel this strong desire to help her.

Even though I’ve not seen her at her best, we’ve not even kissed, yet alone fucked, something about her makes me wonder how it would feel to claim her. Something about her keeps drawing me back. Despite that I’ve seen her crying more often than not, even tears can’t detract from the fact that she’s pretty. Perhaps not in the classical magazine cover beauty, but she’s got big eyes, a generous mouth, and on those few occasions I’ve seen her smile, her expression could light up a room.Is that it? Am I attracted to her?If so, it hasn’t started the way I’d have predicted. No girl meets boy and falls in love stuff. I’ve seen her at her worst. Which poses the question, at her best, would I still want her? Of course, none of our interactions have been about sex or even the acknowledgement of any attraction between us, which makes any idea of making her my old lady a complete nonstarter. Though something tells me I certainly would be proud to have her on my arm, or riding at my back. Of course, that would only be if she could get over her fear of bikers.

Sitting quietly, I try to analyse the reasons why I’m here and not running hell for leather and trying to extract myself from her mess. Saffie needs me, and I know inherently I could be good for her. Maybe Kink did see something in me. Maybe that’s all it is. A broken bird I think I can fix, much like a car that’s been brought in after a fender bender.

Whatever drives me, I want to be her friend, want to have her back and support her. Whether it would ever go further than that has a big question mark over it. She’s still not explained who got her pregnant, and if she were raped, as I expect, it would take a fucking lot for her to consider trusting any man in her bed. And who could fucking blame her? My fists clench as I think of all the ways I want to make that man hurt and the hundreds of painful means by which he could die.

My thoughts are interrupted when Saffie groans and rests her hands on her stomach.

“You sore?” She opens her eyes as if she’d forgotten I was still here. Her grimace shows she indeed is. “You got some painkillers?”

“I’m okay.” It’s a lie, but I don’t call her out on it.

“You hungry? Want me to rustle up some food? Or order in? Just tell me what you’d like.”

Her face contorts with disgust. “I couldn’t eat a thing.” Awkwardly, she stands, then wraps her arms around herself. “You should go. I’m going to lie down.”

Emphatically, I shake my head. “No can do, darlin’. I’m not leaving you alone. You go ahead and get some rest, but I’ll be staying right here.”

She looks like she wants to argue but lacks the energy to find the words. I settle back and watch her go, then hear her enter her small bathroom. When she exits, instead of going to her room, she comes back into the living area instead.

“Er, Niran?” Her brow creases and she hangs her head.

“Whatcha want?” I’ll do anything but go.

Her mouth twists. “I should have stopped by the store.”

I raise and lower my shoulders. “Anything you need, I can get.”

Now her face reddens, twin crimson patches highlighted in the otherwise pale of her skin. “I need to go myself.”

“Nah. You need to rest. I can get whatever you want.” One phone call and it will be here.

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