Page 25 of Her Wicked Knights
My eyes lock on the thin line of blood on her collarbone, and my stomach twists as rage takes over.
"What happened, Mars?" I demand, searching the scene for the source of whatever the fuck drew blood from my fucking girl.
The broken glass bottle on the ground explains the smell, but there's no way that bottle made such a clean cut. And I know Marley wasn't drinking it, so where the hell did it come from? Did someone throw a beer bottle at her?
"The guy..." She swallows, shaking her head the slightest. "He was drunk, I think. He..."
"What did he do?" Tripp asks, scanning her again for any damage. He runs a hand over her hair and cups the back of her head, and the intimacy, the devotion he looks at her with, makes my throat go dry.
"He called me a witch." She shakes her head in confusion, like she still doesn't understand for herself what happened. "He was just walking by and he saw me and started screaming that I was a witch."
"He's going to spend the night in the drunk tank, thinking about what he did." One of the officers assures her, nodding at the police car pulled up to the street.
I glance at it to find the man glaring at Marley, her dark eyes full of rage as he stares at the place where she stands. I'm grateful she can't see past Tripp, so she has no idea that he's still looking at her like he wants to set her on fire with his gaze.
"Is she free to go?" Tripp asks, straightening to his full height and addressing one of the officers, who still holds a note pad and pen. He hesitates for a minute, looking at Marley, and then sighs.
"Yeah," he nods, flipping the notebook shut with the pen still tucked inside. "Just give me a call if you decide you want to press charges, okay?"
Marley nods her understanding, and Tripp wraps an arm around her, heading down the stairs. I move to take her other side, blocking the view of her as we walk past the police cruiser, and the man in the back seat slams his head against the glass, his eyes crazed.
Tripp spots our limo easily, wasting no time leading us toward where it's parked behind the venue. I'm going to ask how he knows it's the right one when the driver's door opens and the harried man steps out, brushing Cheeto dust from his sports coat. "You're early!" He remarks as he rushes around to open the door for us.
Tripp doesn't bother giving him an explanation as he slides onto the leather seat, reaching a hand out to pull Marley beside him.
"She okay?" The driver asks, uneasy as he takes Marley in.
"She just needs a minute." I explain. "Give us some privacy."
His eyes take me in for a minute before sliding to Marley, who's already leaning against Tripp's chest. After a moment, he shakes his head, muttering to himself before shutting the door behind me when I slide in next to her other side.
After a moment, the driver gets back in his seat, casting a suspicious glance at us before the partition goes into place between us, leaving the three of us alone together. Much better.
"You're okay, Mars?" I ask, unsure what I can do to help.
"Just c-cold." She trembles, and I notice the blue tinge on her lips.
Tripp wraps her tighter in his arms, like that's going to do anything to help the matter. "Take your jacket off." I instruct him, moving to the button of my own sports coat and undoing iteasily. When I look up, Tripp is watching me with heavy eyes full of confusion. "Bodyheat." I explain.
The less layers between us, the quicker we can warm her.
She's not in danger of hypothermia, obviously, but watching her entire body shake, this is the best I can think to do, so I do it, shrugging out of the jacket and letting it fall to the floor without ceremony. I wrap an arm around her and pull her toward me, giving Tripp the chance to shrug out of his own coat as well. But Tripp doesn't stop at his coat— he moves to the buttons on his shirt next, and I don't stop him as he undoes them with deft fingers.
My mouth is dry as I watch him, and when he drops that too, and sits before us with his torso bare, I think I might choke on my own tongue. He doesn't pull her back to him, leaning over to wrap her between us instead, caging her between us with his arms braced overtop of mine. Tripp keeps his head tucked against the top of hers, his lips pressed against her skull, and I know he must be breathing her in... not the smell of the beer, but her shampoo.
I don't know how long we stay like that, with her pressed between us, but eventually she stops shaking, her body relaxing. She lets out a sigh, and I take it as tentative permission to move away from her... not that I want to.
"Thank you." She says quietly, glancing first to me, and then to Tripp. I hear her gulp when she takes in his naked torso, and we both seem to take the minute to appreciate his physique. Tripp won the genetic lottery, and Marley seems to notice as much as she eyes him. Lucky bastard doesn't even have to try to look like that.
"How do you feel?" Tripp asks, his eyes full of concern as he searches her face.
Marley thinks for a moment. "Confused." She laughs, but it's a hollow sound. "I've never been accused of being a witch before."
"What were you doing out there?" I demand.
"I just... needed some air." She shakes her head. "I didn't expect all that.”
"Drunk bastard." Tripp swears, anger cutting through his words as he wires his jaw. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with that." I watch him over the top of her head as he swallows, his throat working. "Did he hurt you?"
