Page 3 of Cherished

Today, she’s sitting on that little wrought-iron balcony again, reading. She’s always reading, actually. It makes me smile to think about. I’ve never seen her doing anything crazy, or throwing a party, or getting drunk, or even going out at night. She just sits and reads, looking absolutely gorgeous.

I see her leave with a heavy backpack with “NYU” stenciled on it, so I assume she’s a student. Other times, I watch her walk down the block to the coffee shop on the corner for hours before she comes back. I used to think it was where she was studying or something. But then it clicked that she worked there.

Her long blonde hair tumbles loose in the summer breeze. She pushes it back from her face, but she never stops reading, which makes me smile. I want to know what she’s reading. Hell, I want to know her damn name. But it’s more than that now. After weeks of watching her, I want more than her name and choice of books. I wantallof her.

My desire flames insides of me. My pulse beats faster, and my face reddens.

There’s actually one thing I saw. A week ago, she left the building looking more done up than usual. She didn’t have her backpack, and she didn’t go to the coffee shop. I knew what that meant, and I cursed the lucky fucker that was taking her out. Not that much later, she came home, with this fuckingguy.

I remember feeling rage and burning jealousy. My gorgeous balcony angel had a guy home with her. Except, she didn’t. Sheshook his handand then went to go inside. That’s when the little fucker got uppity. He tried to grab her. He tried to push his way inside. I wanted to fucking kill him with my bare hands. Eventually, thank God, a pizza guy on a bike stopped and got him to back off so she could get inside. I ordered a pie from that shop that very night and tipped that same delivery kid a grand.

Across the street and down a few stories, she closes her book. I frown from my place in the shadows of the trees. I hate when she goes back inside. Sometimes, I can still see her if her curtains are pulled open on the big pre-war windows. Today is one such day. She slips inside, and I crouch low in the hedges. I watch her walk to her kitchen and put a kettle on.

I’m still watching her when something catches my eyes. I drop my gaze to the front door of her building, and they narrow to a scowl. The little fucker from the other night is back. He’s down there yelling into his phone and gesturing wildly. I quickly look back up at her windows, and growl. She’s on the phone, yelling right back and shaking her head. I don’t like where this is going.

I look back at the asshole. But this time, my stomach drops. Someone exits the building, and the little prick darts inside before the door can lock him out. I have a very, very bad feeling about this.

I growl loudly, and I start to pace. I feel like a caged animal. Every second that ticks by, I know he could be getting closer to her. She’s still yelling at her phone when she suddenly glances up in shock. She stares at the apartment door, and I hiss. I know it’s him at the door, and I know this is trouble.

Fuck it.

I know the consequences. I know what I could lose here. But I push all of that aside. I dash through my penthouse and open the front door. I step out, and I clench. It’s the first step out of this rooftop penthouse I’ve had in a year.

I go for the elevator, but then I change my mind. I take the maintenance stairs instead and run down them three at a time. All I can think of is that asshole putting his hands on her, and it makes me rage. I crash out into the service entrance alley. I yank the hood of my sweatshirt up and duck low. I charge across the street, dodging cars and actually hurdling the hood of one before I get to her building.

Someone else is leaving, and I charge past them inside. I take these stairs three at a time, too. I have to guess which hall goes to the front face of the building, and I realize I don’t even know which apartment is hers. But then, I hear a scream. I charge at the door, and it barely puts up any fight at all before it crashes in off the hinges.

He’s already here. He and my angel both turn to look at me with wide eyes. His face pales. Hers reddens.

“You,” I snarl. I storm across the small apartment and grab the little fucker. He just makes a gasping little peep sound when my huge hands grip the collar of his t-shirt. I turn, and I drag his punk ass across the floor and out the door.

“Hey! Hey man!” he yells. It’s like he’s suddenly realized what’s happening to him. “What the fuck are you doing, man?!”

Wordlessly, I punch the button for the elevator. The doors slide open, and I throw him in head-first with a crash. “If I ever see you again, it’ll be the window next time.” My voice sounds like crushed up nails, and his face turns even whiter. “Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeahwhat,” I snarl.

“Yes sir!” He chokes out and backs away from me. “Who the hell are you?”

“If I ever see you again or hear that you’ve contacted her?” I squat down and let my eyes burn into his. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” I jam the door button for the lobby and step out of the elevator. The doors close on his terrified face, and I whirl back to her apartment.

I walk in to see her shivering. Instantly, the rage from before melts away, and a fierce need to protect takes over. She looks up at me with wide eyes when I move towards her.

“He…”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” I growl. “Not ever.”

I look around at her place. The suit of freaking armor next to the bathroom door is an odd touch. So are the woven tapestries of monks and castles that look like they’re a thousand fucking years old. This girl is what, nineteen? Twenty? Shouldn’t she have posters of rock bands or some basic shit like a piece of driftwood with “live laugh love” written on it?

I frown. I’m not sure what to do next. I’m risking everything being here, out of my penthouse jail. Should I put the door back up? Offer to get her something?

“What if he comes back?” she says in a hushed whisper. She looks so frail and innocent, like a little bird that needs protection from the storm. She looks like this city could eat her alive, and the thought makes me furious.

“He won’t.”

“But if he does?”

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