Page 56 of Sacrifice
I should fight it, should maintain my walls.
Instead, I turn into him, letting him hold me while I shake.
"This is my fault," I whisper into his chest.
"No." His voice is fierce. "This is on whoever came into your home. On whoever hurt her. Not you."
"If I wasn't connected to the club?—"
"Then you'd be someone else, living a different life." He pulls back to look at me. "This is the life we have. The family we have. And that means sometimes we're targets. But it also means we protect our own."
"I can't protect anyone. I couldn't even protect Elfe."
"That's my job now," he says simply. "Protecting you. Both of you. And I'm very good at my job."
"Emil—"
"You're moving in with me." It's not a question. "Tonight. Your place is a crime scene, and even if it wasn't, you're not safe there."
"I can't just?—"
"You can and you will." His hands frame my face. "Someone came looking for you, Saga. When they didn't find you, they hurt Elfe instead. You think I'm letting you out of my sight after that?"
I want to argue.
Want to insist I can take care of myself.
But Elfe's blood is still under my nails, and all I can think is what if I'd been home?
What if they come back?
What if they find out what hospital she's at?
"What about Elfe? When she wakes up?—"
"I'll post prospects at the hospital. Round the clock protection. No one gets near her without going through them."
"She'll hate that. People watching her?—"
"She'll hate being dead more." His voice softens at my flinch. "I'm sorry. But I need you to understand how serious this is. They came for you. When they couldn't find you, they took it out on her. This isn't random violence. This is a message, one the entire club will want blood for, especially her father."
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"Just until we figure out who did this. Then I go back to my life."
"We'll see," he says, but there's no smugness in it. Just relief.
A doctor appears, looking tired. "Family of Elfe Eriksson?"
"That's me," I lie again. "Is she?—"
"She's stable. Concussion, some lacerations that needed stitches, bruised ribs. She's lucky—it could have been much worse."
"Was she..." I can't finish the question.
"No signs of sexual assault," he says gently. "She has defensive wounds suggesting she fought back. Brave girl."
