Page 11 of Guarded from Havoc

Clothes intact, jeans still fastened, her T-shirt tucked in.

Her bare arms are marked with several finger-shaped bruises.

Rage swells up inside me.

They hurt her. Knocked her out. Grabbed her hard enough to bruise. Possibly drugged her, just like me?

Thosebastards.

I’m trained to withstand injury. Pain. Torture.

But to hurt Tatum? A small and vulnerable woman?

My teeth nearly grind to dust.

If I find them, I’ll kill them.

But first.

I take Tatum’s wrist carefully, resting my fingers above her pulse.

My breath gusts out as I feel the steady throb of her heart.

And I try really hard to ignore how soft her skin feels against mine.

How delicate her bones feel. How small her hand is.

This surge of protectiveness is like nothing I’ve felt before.

Her forehead wrinkles as she moans again, this time moving her head from side to side, as if she’s waking from an unhappy dream.

“Tatum,” I say in a low tone, “can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

The only response I get is another moan.

Shit.

What if she has a head injury? From that bruise, she could have a concussion.

Or worse.

What if she has a TBI? A brain bleed? I have basic first aid knowledge, but if it’s something more serious…

On a gasp, her eyes fly open.

For a moment, there’s nothing but confusion in them.

Then a beat later, abject fear.

Though I know it’s normal, that she’s probably hurting and disoriented, just as I was, I can’t deny the sting that comes along with it.

I don’t want her to be afraid of me.

She jerks her wrist from my hand and wriggles away, but she’s not strong enough yet to sit up. Instead, she makes it about halfway before sagging back to the ground. With a scared little whimper, she hunches into herself and whispers, “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

Oh.

It’s a blade slashing across my chest.

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