And as we walk toward the doors a few minutes later, hand in hand, I know that this—Pope, the library, our love—is built to last.
Chapter Twelve
Pope
As we approach her place after making love in the library, my body tenses, instincts kicking in. The streetlight by her sidewalk is out, casting the whole area in shadows. It’s darker here than the rest of the neighborhood, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
She fumbles for her keys, and my patience wears thin. I’m on edge, every sense heightened, already thinking about how easy it would be for someone to lurk here unnoticed. When I huff and yank the door open—unlocked—I don’t even try to hide my frustration. "So much for fucking safety."
She tries to reassure me, talking about how she’ll bring it up with her landlord. But I’m not buying it. My hand tightens into a fist, and the words come out gruffer than I intend. “Maybe you should think about staying at my place.”
The truth is, I don’t want her here. Not in this dark, half-forgotten part of town. Not after what happened with her ex. But as we climb the stairs, I can feel her unease, and it stirs something protective in me—something more. Ruby is mine now, and I protect what’s mine.
At the top of the landing, she’s about to open her door, but I beat her to it, pushing it open with hardly any resistance. And then I see it.
The place is wrecked. Completely torn apart.
“I’m gonna kill him.” The words are a growl, and my temper flares, heart pounding with anger and something darker: the need to protect her. The cushions are slashed, dishes smashed all over the place like someone had a damn field day in here. My blood is boiling.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, her hand flying to cover her mouth as she takes it all in. I don’t even hesitate.
“You’re moving in with me.”
I don’t wait for a response. I’m already in motion, grabbing her hand, pulling her down the hallway. There’s no negotiation. She’s not staying here, not after this. I move through her bedroom, yanking clothes from the dresser and closet, stuffing them into whatever bags I can find. She’s silent behind me, probably in shock, but I’m too worked up to care about anything but getting her out of here.
“Should I call the police?” she asks, her voice small. I stop for a second, look her dead in the eye.
“I’ll take care of it.” I clasp her hand again, not letting go. “Anything else you need here?”
My gaze darts around the room, taking in everything—the little details of the life she’s built here, the pieces of her world that I’m about to rip her from. But she doesn’t argue.
She seems lost in her head, so I snap her out of it. “Hey,” I say, squeezing her hand. “You listen to me. Whoever did this will pay. We’ll call the police to make a record, but this is personal. Nobody fucks with what’s mine.”
I watch as fear flashes in her eyes, and a part of me wonders if she’s realizing just what I’m capable of. But it’s necessary. I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Not while I’m around.
She shakes her head, like she’s trying to push away the thoughts crowding her mind. I see her fingers trembling, and I just want to get her back to my place. Where it’s safe. Where I can keep an eye on her. I don’t trust anyone else to do it.
Without another word, I lead her back down the stairs, both of her heavy bags slung over my shoulder like they weigh nothing. My other hand doesn’t leave hers. It’s a silent promise—I won’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.
We walk quickly, my strides longer than hers, but she keeps pace, her small hand locked in mine as we cross the town square. The library comes into view, and I exhale, a little of the tension leaving my shoulders. My place, my rules. She’ll be safe here, with me.
For now.
But I know better than to think this is over. There’s always something lurking in the shadows, waiting to pull her back. And I’ll be damned if I let that happen again.
“I’m starving,” she finally utters.
“Perfect, let’s grab dinner. I could use a drink too.” I lead her into the only place in town that’s still open–Joe’s Bar. She steps in with me and it’s like time stops. Every head turns, but she’s not looking at them. No, her eyes are on me. She moves like a damn vision. God, the sight of her is enough to make any man’s dick hard, but it’s the way she looks at me—like she knows exactly what’s running through my mind—that sets me on fire.
The dress she’s wearing clings to every curve, swaying just enough around her knees to keep me wanting more.
“Drink, precious?” I ask when we reach the bar.
“Please,” she murmurs, her voice soft and full of promise. Her eyes are dark, filled with the same heat I’m feeling. Tonight, it’s only her and me. The noise, the crowd—it’s all just background. This woman is mine and I’m done proving it.
I nod to the waitress, signaling for another round, but my attention is locked on Ruby as she crosses her legs on the barstool. The hem of her dress rides up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her smooth thighs. I shift again, trying to calm the erection that’s already straining against my jeans. It’s going to be a long night if she keeps looking at me like that. Hell, if I could I’d keep her locked up in my bed and drown her sweet body in orgasms all day long.
“You play?” I ask, nodding toward the pool table. It’s a distraction, but barely.
