Page 33 of Creature's Vengeance
“Blair,” I whispered, gutted by her soft cries as I left the room and entered the hall, carrying her away from the fucking dead asshole who tried to take her from me. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you again.”
I meant that. If Maddog got pissed about it, he could kiss my ass. My girl needed me. She was fucking traumatized after being attacked in my room.
My clubhouse. My room. The place I swore she’d be safe.
I fucking failed her.
We both did.
It didn’t make me feel better.
Blair leaned back, sniffling as she swiped across her cheeks. “You saved me twice, Balen.”
I did. It never occurred to me not to help. That wasn’t who I was or the kind of man my father raised me to be. You didn’t puss out when shit got hard, and when someone was in trouble, you always tried to lend a hand.
“I’d do it again.”
“I know you would.” The corners of her lips twitched with an almost smile. Any humor quickly faded. “Not many would do what you did.”
“That’s who I am.”
“Exactly.” Her soft hands rested against my face. “I don’t care if you’re a badass who rides a motorcycle or if you have to step outside the law to get things done on occasion.” One of her palms lowered to rest over my heart, the warmth sinking into my skin. “I care about what’s here.” She lightly tapped the spot with her finger. “You’re a good man, Balen.”
Good?
The scoff inside my head almost made me laugh.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I’m guessing you like that,” I teased her.
Sure, it might have been the wrong time. She freaked out after I had to shoot her attacker. I saw her retreat deep inside herself, and it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want her ever to feel that afraid again. But I sensed she needed to talk this out, and I had questions of my own that had to be answered.
I descended the stairs, taking Blair to one of the empty rooms we planned to turn into a billiards and rec area. Maddog had plans to demolish a couple of the walls and open it up on the first floor. There would be the bar, the kitchen, a common area with couches, end tables, a few big screen televisions mounted on the walls, the bathrooms, a dining area big enough to accommodate a large group, and the rec room.
When we entered, I carried her to a table and placed her on a chair. I grabbed one for myself and scooted close, enclosing her hand as I threaded our fingers together.
There wasn’t any other seating because we tossed all the old, stained couches and other unusable furniture, keeping as much original wood as we could. Much of it needed to be polished, and it wouldn’t take much to be restored. Beautiful grains, too, like mahogany and cherry. When we finished, we’d have a fucking badass clubhouse.
I turned her wrist over, smoothing my thumb over the scar. Both wrists carried the same puffy raised marks, proof she’d slashed them. Deep. I could tell.
“Why?” I softly asked, lifting my gaze to meet the haunted look in her sky-blue eyes.
“There was a time when the darkness closed in,” she whispered, “and it almost took me.”
I fucking understood better than she would ever fathom.
We know the darkness. We can protect her.
Yes, I agreed.
“You lost someone close to you, didn’t you?”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Because,” I swallowed, “I can feel that pain and hear it in your voice. My mother was murdered when I was thirteen.”
