Page 50 of Defending Van

“But what about the man … I didn't know …” she said, her wobbling tone close to a wail.

“I'm fine, Makayla. Don’t you worry about me at all. Just a nick, if you were anyone else, you would have been on the ground in cuffs,” Lefty said, appearing beside him.

“I'm sorry,” Makayla said immediately, and remorse was practically wafting off her.

“Never be sorry for protecting yourself,” Lefty told her. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You knew you were being hunted, you saw a man approaching that you didn't know, and you attacked. None of us could be prouder of you,” he said, gesturing to the other men who were circling around them, providing a wall of protection should they be spotted.

Looking at the others, as though unsure whether she could believe the man she’d stabbed, Makayla must have seen that no one blamed her for what she’d done, and respected her for protecting herself, because she relaxed a little in his arms.

“I'm going to take the knife, okay, Makayla,” Trigger told her as he moved closer.

She hesitated, and he could see the fingers clutching the weapon tighten from the way her knuckles blanched, but then he saw her war with herself, and come to the realization that the men with guns were going to be better protection than the small knife. Waiting until she nodded, once she did, Trigger gently uncurled her fingers and took the knife from her.

Sagging deeper into his hold, softness began to unfurl inside him when she rested her head on his shoulder and nuzzled against his neck. This woman amazed him at every turn. The way she survived, the way she fought, the way she’d managed to overcome the horrors of her childhood to be this wonderful, open, caring, compassionate woman.

Was it possible he’d get to keep her in his life?

Could a woman like her ever really fall for a man like him?

Chapter

Eighteen

September 1st

10:36 A.M.

Makayla would have sworn she felt Van’s lips press a kiss to the top of her head. But he wouldn't kiss her, would he? Not Van. Not the man who was so positive he’d done the impossible and learned how to not feel. He wouldn't be so open about displaying any sort of emotion or weakness as he probably saw it, when he had an audience.

Unless …

Was it too much to hope that Van was willing to stop pretending his emotions no longer existed and wanted to learn to connect to them again?

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” he asked, and the endearment made her smile despite the exhaustion and the agony in her torn-up feet.

“Just tired,” she assured him. Then, because she was pretty sure she wasn't going to be able to walk another step for a while, she reluctantly added, “And my feet got a little cut up.”

One of the men shifted slightly, bending down so he could get a look at her feet and then hissed in a breath.

“These are not a little cut up. How were you walking on these, much less running?” the man asked, and it almost sounded like he was … angry at her?

The tone made her feel like she needed to defend herself, so she lifted her head from Van’s shoulder. “Well, I didn't really have any other choice. There was no way he wouldn't send people after me when he realized what I did. I knew I had to find my way to a town or a road or something where I could get access to a phone. The only way to do that was to walk.”

“He’s not angry with you, Makayla, he’s in awe of you,” Van explained.

“Definitely awe,” the man said, offering her a genuine smile. “I'm Grover.”

“Nice to meet you, Grover. Sorry, I'm just … edgy, I guess,” she said, embarrassed now that she realized she’d misinterpreted the man’s intention.

“No need for apologies, Makayla. You're holding it together, and that’s all anyone can ask of you right now,” Grover assured her, and she nodded in thanks, offering a weak and somewhat shaky smile.

“The others are Trigger, who found you, Doc, Brain, Lucky, Oz, and the guy you stabbed is Lefty,” Van said, nodding at the men one by one.

Her gaze lingered on Lefty, who had a hand pressed to his shoulder where she’d stabbed him. Stabbed him. Her stomach churned, and she fought not to throw up, grateful now for the lack of food and the fact she hadn't stopped all morning to drink anything.

“Shh, you're okay, Makayla. He is fine. Are you listening to me?” Van said, a hard tone to his voice that attempted to command her to agree with him.

“I stabbed him. Hurt him, and the other woman, I killed her. I know you said that she willingly worked for him but⁠—”