Page 59 of Twister's Salvation
“You’re shaking,” I murmured.
“So are you,” she whispered.
I wrapped the cut with gauze and medical tape, then stood between her legs and wrapped my arms around her waist.Her head rested against my chest.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
“I’m not.”
She looked up.“Twister…”
I leaned down and kissed her forehead.“No one gets to hurt you, doll.No one.”
“But it wasn’t personal.”
“Yes, it was.You’re mine.That makes it personal.”
Her lips trembled.“What now?”
“Now,” I said, jaw tight, “we hunt.And we burn down whoever’s behind this before they get the chance to touch you again.”
She nodded.I saw the trust in her eyes.The fear, too, but more than that, the fire.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
And neither was I.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tempi
Swift was parked at the end of the bar like a bouncer with a resting murder face.Arms crossed, boots planted wide, and eyes scanning the empty room like someone might pop out from the ice machine and start throwing punches.
He hadn't said much since we got here.Just nodded when I handed him a mug of coffee and grunted something that I think was “thanks.”Since then, he stood post like a silent, muscle-bound statue.
Britta, meanwhile, was the exact opposite.
She was perched on a stool near the register, one leg swinging, sipping soda from a mason jar and staring at me like I was about to burst into flames.
“You gonna tell me what’s going on,” she said, “or do I need to shake it out of you like a dusty rug?”
I sighed and wiped down the bar for the third time.“It’s nothing.”
“Tempi.”
I froze at the tone.She didn’t use that voice often.That voice was all business.Serious.Protective.
I set the cloth down and turned toward her.“There was another brick.”
She blinked.“What?”
“Through the window.At the clubhouse.”I think part of the reason why Twister had been so annoyed was because they had just fixed the damn window.
Her jar hit the bar a little harder than she meant to set it.“When?”
“Last night.”
“Jesus Christ.”
