Page 29 of Freeing Savannah

She obeyed, but her hands still shook slightly as she held it.

“I know I’m supposed to be used to this now,” she said after a few sips, eyes cast down. “The crowds. The expectations. The politics dressed up as music. But tonight . . .” Her voice trembled. “Tonight broke something. I just wanted one moment of peace.”

“You don’t have to be used to it,” he said firmly. “That was never the deal. You were supposed to play beautiful music and maybe bring people together. Not be paraded like a show pony for world leaders to gawk at.”

Her eyes lifted, glassy and vulnerable. “And what happens when I can’t take it anymore?”

Voodoo sat beside her now, the cushion dipping slightly with his weight. “Then you don’t take it. You step back. You breathe. You lean on someone who’s not afraid to throw a punch or break down a door.”

The corner of her mouth twitched at that, but her gaze drifted. “The lights going out like that . . . the door . . . it reminded me. He used to punish me for embarrassing him.” Voodoo didn’t need to ask who “he” was. He knew she could only be talking about the Senator. “He’d lock me in that closet and make the whole house go dark and quiet. Like I didn’t exist.”

Voodoo exhaled slowly, fury curling inside him like smoke. “He won’t touch you again. Ever.”

“He hasn’t in years. Not like that.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “But sometimes it’s worse. The performance of it all. Pretending I’m this grateful daughter, this brilliant, obedient prodigy who never flinches at the hand that shaped her.”

“You don’t owe him that performance,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You never did.”

She looked at him then. Really looked. Her eyes were raw, shining in the dim light, and he saw the question she didn’t say out loud.

Then who am I, without all that?

“The sun isn’t the only thing that shines bright,” he started. With a sweep of his hand toward the window, he indicated the moon, a ghostly orb hanging in the vast, inky blackness of the night sky. “See how brightly the moon is shining tonight? A bright beacon in the dark. Just as luminous as the sun, and it has to work even harder to make shine through all that darkness. Don’t underestimate yourself for anyone or anything. Even if everyone loves the sun, my heart’s still with the moon. My Savi Moon.”

Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, made his heart clench in his chest. “Sawyer,” she whispered. “Is that really how you see me?”

The fact that she didn’t see her own worth the way he did made him burn with frustration. Instead of answering with words, Voodoo reached forward and gently took the bottle from her hand, setting it aside. Then he leaned in, resting his forehead to hers, his voice low and certain.

“You’re Savannah Gaines. The girl who cried when she found a baby bird with a broken wing and pleaded with my mother to take it to the vet. The girl who hated thunderstorms and loved Chopin. Who used to fall asleep in my treehouse because it was the only place she said felt like home.”

Her breath hitched again, but not from panic this time. “You remember all that?”

“I never forgot.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, silence stretching between them like a balm. After a while, she said, “It wasn’t the treehouse that felt like home. It was you.”

Those words hit him hard, right in his heart. The organ had felt alive in twenty years, and now it was starting back up. He just hoped when this was all over, it wouldn’t die again.

They grew silent once more, each needing the moment to decompress from the day. “Savi? Why didn’t you press the button on your clip?”

Her head snapped up and her hand rose to touch the clip tucked into her hair. “I honestly didn’t think about it. The panic . . .”

“I get it. If something like this ever happens again, I hope you can calm yourself to remember it’s there.”

“I will,” she promised. While his greatest wish was that no further harm would ever come to her, it was his fervent hope that she would, indeed, be able to keep that promise should the unthinkable happen.

Savannah reached up, her fingertips brushing his jaw. She traced the old scar under his chin just before saying, “Stay with me tonight? Not . . . not like that. I just . . . I don’t want to be alone.”

Voodoo cupped her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”

And as she curled against him on the couch, wrapped in his arms, her breathing finally began to even out. Still haunted, but steadier.

He held her close, eyes trained on the door, the shadows, the city lights flickering outside.

Whatever this tour had stirred up—whoeverwas trying to mess with her—it wasn’t over. He knew that down to his bones.

Voodoo waited until Savannah was asleep, her body curled against his, breath finally slow and steady. He eased himself up carefully, laying a throw blanket over her. Then he crossed to the suite’s desk, turned on the lamp, and pulled out his encrypted phone. He dialed the line that would reach Condor’s Overwatch.

Three rings. Then a familiar voice answered.

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