Page 6 of Axel

Gemma stands slowly. I’m unsure if it’s because she’s a little shaken or hurting. God fucking help me if it’s the latter.

“Everything okay?” I ask, taking a few steps closer.

She wobbles when she puts weight on her left side. I reach out, placing my hand on her hip to steady her. Gemma hisses at the contact and inhales sharply, turning away from me.

What the fuck?

“Did I hurt you?” I murmur, not wanting to scare her more than she already is.

“No, sorry, just, uh…” Gemma looks down, her fiery red hair hanging over the left side of her face like a curtain. “Just a little sore today,” she finishes, wrapping her arms around her torso in a protective hold.

She looks so small, so heartbreakingly vulnerable. I wish I knew what to say to get her to trust me, but I’m at a loss for words.

Moving on instinct, I raise my hands in front of me, palms out, so she knows I’m not a threat. “You’re okay, Gemma,” I say softly. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. Do you know that?”

Still not lifting her head, Gemma whispers, “I… don’t know what it means to be safe. But whatever I feel around you is safer than I’ve been in a long time.”

Jesus, this woman is killing me. Would it send her into a panic attack if I scooped her up in my arms and carried her off to my apartment behind the clubhouse?

“You can talk to me,” I encourage. “I can help. The Savage Saints can help. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Please, please trust me. Let me in. Let me help,I silently beg.

When I hear her quiet sniffles, I can’t stand not seeing her face anymore. Slowly, so slowly, I reach out and brush her silky red hair out of her face. My gaze immediately lands on the fucking black and blue bruise swelling up her left eye and cheekbone.

I want to curse and scream and hunt down whoever hurt my precious girl, but I swallow my rage and focus on taking care of Gemma.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur, gently cupping her chin and tilting her head so I can examine the damage. Her poor skin is swollen and tender, with purple, blue, and black splashes of color pooling around her eye socket and cheekbone. Gemma’s eyes are filled with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. “What happened?”

Gemma blinks a few times, the eyelid of her left eye almost swollen shut. She nibbles on her bottom lip nervously, breaking eye contact once more.

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” I whisper, dropping my hand from her chin and holding it out for her to take.

She rests her hand in mine, and I notice a set of angry, finger-sized bruises on her forearm as if someone yanked her or dragged her somewhere. The more I learn about Gemma’s homelife, the less I like.

“Gemma–”

Before I can say anything else, she collapses into a pile of tears. I wrap my arms around her, holding her against me and soaking up a river of sadness as she pours out all her pain.

I’m not sure where else she’s hurt, but I gently, so damn gently, cup the back of her neck and tuck her head under my chin. She fits perfectly in my embrace. She’s right where she belongs, here in my arms, where I can protect her from the whole fucking world.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper, trailing my fingertips down her spine. “Let it out, sweetheart.”

Gut-wrenching sobs are pulled from the very depths of whatever trauma she’s had to endure. They wrack her curvy little body, sending her into shaking fits. I hold her through it all, wishing I could take her pain away.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry,” she cries, her voice muffled from where her face is buried in my chest.

“Shh, there’s nothing to apologize for,” I soothe. Never thought I was capable of saying tender things, but Gemma is pulling out all sorts of surprises from me. Fuck if I’m not going to keep her and cherish her forever. But first, I need her to trust me.

“I’m a mess,” she says with a sniffle. Gemma peels herself off my chest and steps back. I bite back a grunt at the sudden separation. I don’t like it. She should always be in my arms. “I’m… I’m just… I’m no good.”

“No good? What do you mean?”

Her damn phone goes off, and she tenses and shuts down like last time. Not that she was very talkative before, but now I know I won’t get an explanation.

“I have to go,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You can stay. I can help. I can protect–”

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