Page 119 of Direct Action

“You . . . I saw you . . .”

Fuck.

I knew she saw. There was no way she couldn’t have seen, with her front-row vantage point, hanging from a hook while I was dispensing retribution.

“Chloe—”

“I watched,” she interrupted me. “I could’ve closed my eyes, but I watched you. I wanted to see them die. I wanted to watch. Is that . . . that makes me . . .”

“Human, that’s what it makes you. Those men violated you.”

“I was terrified. I wanted to die.”

Her eyes closed. A burn erupted in my chest and seared through, leaving ash and carnage in its wake.

Her eyes slowly opened, then very softly she whispered, “The one who called me his pretty pet. You stabbed him in his neck, and when you did, I smiled.”

She needed to stop telling me this shit before I lost control. I didn’t tell her that. I sat there with Chloe safe in my arms and listened to her tell me everything that happened. By the time she was done, my heart was encased in scar tissue.

And I knew Gavin had heard.

He didn’t make a sound. But the longer she talked, the more the plane’s cabin filled with the fury of a man who loved and adored his sisters. And I knew he was sitting two rows in front of us wishing he’d been the one to dispatch the motherfuckers to hell.

But the pleasure had been all mine.

Chloe was showered. I was showered. Gavin had gone out and picked up subs. We’d eaten. Chloe was mostly silent and watchful. Gavin was mostly enraged, but not more than I was. Now she was in my bed, still awake, waiting for me to finish my call and come to bed.

I’d told her about Poppy.

It was a toss-up—wait until she had some time to wrap her head around what had happened to her or inflict the pain quickly and all at once so she could begin to heal.

I opted for the latter.

She broke down and sobbed. And those were the first tears since she’d woken up. Her nightmare had ended. She was safe. The fear still lingered, but she knew she was safe, so it would fade, and if it didn’t and fucked with her, she knew I’d see her through—she’d said so herself.

But she sobbed for Poppy.

“He’s taking her up to the ranch,” Pete told me.

“He murdered a man in front of her. Is that smart?”

“He killed the man who hurt her in front of her. I know it’s not the same, but Chloe—”

“I get it,” I cut him off, not needing him to finish pointing out I was being a hypocrite.

“And the way he is right now, no way in fuck would I suggest Poppy be anywhere but with him. If anyone so much as looks at her, he goes feral, and she’s burrowing into him like he’s her only lifeline.”

It was good Poppy had Beck as a shield. He’d keep her safe and get her on the right path even at the detriment to his own mental health.

“In a few days we need to talk to him.”

“We will.”

Gavin came into the kitchen with his hair wet and face like thunder.

I needed to talk to him, too, and check his pulse. But that would be in a few days too.

“Is that Pete?” Gavin asked.