Page 23 of Twisted Tate

“Look at me.”

I can’t. I’m spiraling. My chest is too tight and I can feel their hands on me.

“Reese.” His voice cuts through the panic. “Look at me. Now.”

I force my eyes to his.

“My father is sending Talons in the opposite direction.” His gaze holds mine, fierce and steady. “He knows I’m working on a plan. He’s buying me time. And even if he wasn’t—even if every Talon showed up at that door right now—I’m not letting them take you.”

“You can’t—” My voice breaks. “They’ll find us. My father, the Council—”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“You should. This could destroy you. Your family. Everything.”

“Then it destroys me.” He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s not talking about burning his entire life to the ground. “You’re not going back to that house. You’re not going back to your father. You’re not going anywhere near Michael Collier. That’s not fucking happening.”

I stare at him. The words don’t make sense.

“Why are you doing this? You never answered me.” My words come out broken. “You could hand me over right now. None of this would be your problem. Why won’t you—”

“Because you’re mine to protect now.”

The words hit me square in the chest.

“You don’t know it yet.” His voice drops low and rough. “You don’t understand it yet. Fuck, I don’t either. But you are. No one will fucking touch you. So no, Reese. I’m not giving you back. Not to your father. Not to the Talons. Not to anyone.”

My eyes are burning. This man just told me he’s willing to destroy everything to keep me safe.

“You’re insane.” But I still want his words to be true. I want it more than I’ve ever dared to want anything in my life.

“Probably.” His mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “But I meant every word. So get used to it.”

The tears start before I can stop them.

Ten years ago, I was a scared little girl who had to survive alone. Ten years of accepting that no one was coming to save me. And now this dangerous, terrifying man is telling me he’ll burn the world down before he lets anyone hurt me again.

“Fuck.” I press my hands to my face. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually—”

“Get over here.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”

“That wasn’t a request.” His voice drops harder. “Get. Over. Here.”

My body moves before my brain catches up. I crawl across the couch, and he hauls me against his chest, one hand fisting in my wet hair, the other gripping my hip, holding me against him.

“You don’t apologize to me,” he growls against my temple. “Not for this. Not ever.”

I’m crying harder now, ugly sobs shaking my whole body. His grip is warm and possessive—but it feels like the opposite of everything I’ve ever known.

But even as he holds me, the panic builds. I can’t push their faces away when I think about what happens if they find me. Tate is only one man, and what if something happens to him, and he gets hurt because of me.

I look at Tate and try to make his face take the place of the ones that haunt me.

My chest gets tight. I can’t breathe right.

My hand moves toward my mouth.