Page 58 of Carver’s Crusade

That earns the faintest huff of laughter from her, but it disappears fast.

She turns toward me, fingers twisting together nervously. “Can I stay with you instead?”

Something in my chest tightens.

“You sure?”

Raven nods slowly. “I just…” Her voice softens. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” I close the door behind us. “You can stay with me.”

Her shoulders loosen a fraction at the answer.

My room isn’t complicated. Big king-sized bed against the far wall. Dark dresser beneath the mounted television. Two nightstands cluttered with random shit—loose bills, spare knife, charger cables, old books I never finish reading. It’s functional more than impressive, but Raven’s gaze moves around it like she’s trying to absorb the safety of the space.

“You want me to draw you a bath?” I ask. “Might help you relax.”

Raven hesitates before nodding. “That actually sounds really nice.”

“You got it.”

I head into the bathroom and turn the water on hot. Steam immediately starts curling upward as the tub fills. I adjust the temperature before glancing back toward the bedroom.

“Get comfortable,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”

She gives me a tired nod.

I step into the hallway, pulling the door mostly shut behind me, and nearly run straight into Caitlin carrying folded towels.

“Well,” she says with a knowing look, “you two look like you’ve had a hell of a night.”

“You could say that.”

Concern replaces the teasing in her expression. “How’s Raven doing?”

I drag a hand down my beard. “Not great. I’m drawing her a bath and grabbing her a glass of wine.”

Caitlin’s eyes soften immediately. “Actually, hold on. I’ve got something that might help.”

Before I can ask what she means, she disappears into her and Scar’s room.

I head downstairs toward the bar, grab a bottle of red from behind the counter, and a glass. The clubhouse is quieter than usual tonight, but I still catch snippets of conversation about Tony Martin as I pass through.

Everybody’s waiting for tomorrow’s Church. The tenor of the room can only be described as pissed off.

Good.

When I head back upstairs, Caitlin is leaning against the wall outside my room, holding a small purple sphere.

She lifts it with a grin. “Lavender bath bomb. Trust me.”

I take it from her. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know.” Her smile softens. “Take care of her, Carver.”

Something about the way she says it lands hard in my chest.

“Planning on it.”