Page 12 of The Revenge Plan (Forbidden Descendants 1)

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Wick

If someone had tried to tell me I’d end up in bed with Topher Nicholl’s girlfriend before the day was over, I would’ve laughed in their face.

Then again, this wasn’t quite the situation I would’ve pictured either. I’m sure I would’ve envisioned a scene that involved a hell of a lot fewer clothes, absolutely no tears, and considerably more sweaty-hot groping that took place nowhere near my sister’s dorm room. But here we were, sprawled across Izzy’s bed where I’d carried Haven Gamble—both of us completely clothed—after she’d passed out cold from having a complete, traumatic meltdown in my arms.

I swear, I’d never seen anyone cry that hard before. She wasn’t even the open-weeper, let-it-all-out-for-the-world-to-see sort. She’d curled up tight inside herself and burrowed against me as if trying to hide the pain and contain every single tear inside her until they’d simply ripped themselves free, emotionally shredding her apart in the process.

I couldn’t blame her for falling comatose afterward; it had drained and exhausted me just to watch. She must feel zapped of all energy and sensation right now. I was a little numb and shell-shocked myself.

Okay, maybe not quite that numb. I could still feel every soft, warm curve that was limply draped across my body. She was just as lovely and perfect as I’d always figured she’d be. And, God, she smelled good.

I buried my nose in her hair, inhaling deeply as I tried to identify the scent. I had no idea what kind of shampoo she used, but it was unlike anything I’d ever drawn into me before. It was something powdery and musky with hints of flower, but I couldn’t tell you what kind of flower. It just smelled…good.

A long shudder gripped her, so I pulled her a little closer and stroked her sweet-scented hair, murmuring gentle sounds until she calmed again.

She had stopped crying a good ten minutes ago, but little involuntary aftershocks would occasionally seize her.

Each one of them broke my heart.

Whatever Nicholl had done, it had straight-out fucked her up. Big-time. Made me want to track the bastard down and beat him senseless. But right now, she seemed to need me here, especially when she flinched suddenly and sucked in a breath as if coming awake from a bad dream before she clutched my shirt sleeve for dear life.

So I remained where I was. For her.

“Shh.” I pressed my cheek to the top of her head and slowly swayed her back and forth. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s over now. Nothing else is going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

That seemed to settle her. Her body went lax, except for her hand which continued to hold on tight to my shirt, making sure I wouldn’t escape.

I knew it didn’t mean anything; she probably wasn’t even awake and had no idea what she was doing, but feeling wanted like this got to me. I moved my nose along her hair until my lips just barely rested at the dip in her temple. I wanted to kiss her there, sweetly, but that felt more like a selfish longing than a comforting reassurance, so I closed my eyes and refrained.

When the lock in the door sounded, I realized I’d been twirling a piece of her hair around my finger, and I guiltily pulled it free just before my sister swept through the entrance.

Izzy paused, obviously surprised to discover we’d hijacked her bed. Then she shook her head and stepped the rest of the way inside before rushing the door shut behind her.

“He still out there?” I asked.

I’d never given Topher Nicholl the opportunity to meet my sister, but she definitely knew what he looked like. So there would’ve been no reason for him to harass her if he were still in the building and she just so happened to cross his path, ergo I hadn’t been too concerned about sending her out as a scout to reconnoiter the area, looking for him.

Izzy blew out a breath and nodded intently. “Yeah.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Fuck.”

“He’s pacing the foyer in the front entrance, but it gets worse. That wide receiver guy on the team: number eighteen…”

“DeShone?”

She pointed at me. “Yes. Him. He’s waiting in the stairwell at one end of the hall. Then the center on the team, Tyson, or whatever—”

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“Tyrell,” I supplied.

“Whatever. He’s in the stairwell at the other end of the hall, and I swear there’s a tight end out in the back parking lot, keeping watch there.”

“Son of a bitch,” I hissed, shaking my head. “He really wants to find her, doesn’t he?”

He’d recruited half the team to help him keep eyes on the place.

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