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Izzy scooted closer then threw a leg over his lap, straddling him. Her hands went to his face then she laced her fingers behind his head, cradling his skull. He opened his eyes and stared into the eyes of a beautiful woman who held no judgment.
“You’re shaking.” She said the words so low he almost missed it.
He circled her with his arms, hugging her flush against him, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her arms immediately tightened, giving him comfort.
“I finally found the shot-caller here in Tennessee, in the mountains at some rundown bar. My head was so fucked I was going to kill him right there in the parking lot where anyone could have walked out and seen me. And someone did. It was Copper. He said he’d had his eye on me all night because I looked like a volcano ready to erupt, and he suspected I was going to do something stupid.”
“What’d Copper do?” She sifted her hands through his hair, almost unconsciously. Each caress of her fingertips stroked along his wounded soul, healing him. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to draw comfort from another person.
A woman.
And, fuck, if it wasn’t better than the best drug in the world.
“Copper made sure there weren’t eyes on me, then he knocked the guy out cold. We stuffed him in my trunk and drove into the middle of nowhere. He demanded I tell him my story in return for his saving my ass.”
“So you told him.”
He nodded, her soft skin brushing over his face. “I spilled every last ugly detail.”
Still playing with his hair, she lightly ran her nails over his scalp, eliciting a deep shiver from him. “And then? Did Copper talk you out of killing him?”
Jig lifted his head and stared at her. Izzy now knew things about him that no one else knew. Things that could put not only him, but his president, away for the rest of their lives. Yet he trusted her completely. She’d never tell a soul his story. He felt that in his bones and saw it in her compassionate gaze. Most women would run screaming in fear after listening to his story. Who wanted a man that admitted to spending nearly a year of their life on a murderous revenge mission? But Izzy didn’t even flinch. She was unique. An independent fighter who understood that violence was sometimes the way.
“Then Copper watched me kill him, helped me bury the body, and I prospected with the club.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
IN EVERY LIFE, there are snippets of time so significant their mark brands a person’s heart, mind, and soul. Typically, those moments are the extremes of positivity or negativity. Falling in love, achieving a dream, death of a loved one, epic failure.
At some point, almost everyone experiences those very same moments. Books are written, careers spent, and studies are performed to dissect, learn from, and advise people on how to handle their emotions and survive those very powerful times.
Then there are moments so unique, so out of the realm of ordinary experience, that there are no scripts, no playbooks or instruction manuals on how to handle them. Those experiences carve away at a person, exposing raw nerves and a bleeding heart.
Jig’s confessions, his pain, and catastrophic heartbreak reached inside Izzy and touched a place she didn’t even know existed. Platitudes wouldn’t help. When her mother died, everyone she knew hit her with cliché on top of cliché.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
I understand what you’re going through.
Time will heal your pain.
Bullshit.
She wasn’t going to offer empty phrases to Jig.
Never had Izzy considered herself much of a nurturer. She certainly wasn’t the one friends ran to when they needed a shoulder to cry on, but she found herself needing to relieve Jig’s suffering. Needing to be the one to bring some light into the all-consuming darkness he’d lived in for years.
As she stared into his tortured eyes, her insides twisted with pain for this man. He’d endured more in one fated night than anyone should in their entire life. If she had the capability, she’d take every single ounce of his pain and suffering away from him. She’d even endure it herself to keep him from the torture.
How did she tell him what he’d done with his life was okay? How did she let him know she could accept who he was and what he’d become after tragedy blasted a hole in his life?
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” she said, sliding her hands up and down his arms.
“You’re the first besides Copper.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “Why? I couldn’t have been the first to ask. What made you tell me?” Their voices were hushed, and Izzy was afraid speaking at a higher volume would break the spell of trust and acceptance surrounding them.
