Page 57

His hand finds mine, fingers wrapping gently around my wrist, a stark contrast to the tension humming in his muscles. He turns his face into my palm, pressing his lips against the gauze, and I feel his breath shudder against my fingertips.

“I almost lost you,” he says, his voice a raw whisper against my skin. “When I saw you on that floor… Trix, I almost⁠—”

“You didn’t.” I step closer, until our bodies almost touch, feeling the rapid hammer of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. “You found me. Both times. You were there.”

His free hand cradles the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair with exquisite care, avoiding the spot where the man grabbed me. He leans down, resting his forehead against mine, and a shudder runs through his entire body. I close my eyes and just breathe him in—sweat, blood, and the scent that means I’m home.

The clubhouse sounds fade around us. The chatter, the clinking glasses, the fridge’s hum—all of it dissolves until there’s only this: his breath mingling with mine, his heartbeat pounding against my chest, the undeniable reality of his body pressed against me.

“I need you to understand something,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough and low. “What happened in there, what I did, it wasn’t⁠—”

“I know.” My hand flattens on his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt. “You don’t have to explain. I know you, Carter. All of you.”

His expression cracks, not all at once but in pieces, the way a man looks when he’s been holding something too long and finally just stops. His arms tighten around me, pulling me so close it makes my ribs ache. I bury my face in his neck, feeling the rumble of his voice.

“They’re going to pay,” he vows, the words a promise etched in iron. “All of them. Caldwell, his men, anyone involved. I’ll burn it all down before letting anyone near you again.”

I don’t argue, don’t urge caution, or ask him to think it through. I know what I see in his eyes, it’s the same thing that fueled me when I fought back. It’s not rational, not strategic. It’s the primal need to protect what’s ours, and I feel it too.

“Okay,” I whisper into his skin.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the look on his face makes my chest ache with something beyond words. Love, yes, but also a fear so deep it could destroy him. He knows he’d die before losing this.

“Come home with me,” he says, not asking but stating, wrapped in the gravity of a man who’s lost too much today. “Our home. Let me put you to bed, sit with you, make sure you’re still breathing every five minutes.”

Despite everything, the blood, the bruises, the exhaustion, I feel a smile tug at my lips. “That sounds…”

“Ridiculous?”

“Perfect.” I kiss the underside of his jaw, feeling the stubble scrape my lips. “Take me home, Carter.”

His hold on me tightens, tension melting from his shoulders as his rigid control softens. He turns, pressing his lips to my temple with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting.

“Greyson,” he calls, his voice carrying across the room. “I’m taking her home. Matthew’s got the intel. I’ll call in the morning.”

Greyson appears from the hallway, unreadable, his clear blue eyes measuring us. “The safe house is ready if you need it. South side, off the grid. Kane knows where.”

Carter nods. “We’ll be at my place.”

“With a perimeter watch,” my father adds, materializing beside Greyson. His eyes find mine, and there’s something in his look, relief, pride, and a fierce love that shows as fury that makes my throat tighten. “Already called in the boys. Two shifts, twelve hours each. Nobody gets close without us knowing.”

Carter’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping under his skin. He glances from my father to Greyson, and I see the conflict in his eyes—the instinct of a man used to handle threats alone warring with the truth that he can’t win this one by himself.

“Thank you,” he finally says, the words visibly costing him.

My father clasps Carter’s shoulder, a silent bond between men who don’t need many words, then turns to me.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” His voice is gruff, but his eyes are soft in a way I’ve only seen a handful of times. “Listen to Carter. Let us handle this.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

My mother rises, pressing a kiss to my forehead with a gentleness that stings my eyes. “Call me. Anytime. Even if it’s three in the morning.”

“I will.”

Mia stands too, hesitating at the edge of our circle, hands twisting together. “Can I—I mean, would it help if I⁠—”

“You’ve helped already,” I assure her, and mean it. The tea, her fierce protectiveness, the way she looked at me like I was worth fighting for, it all matters. “Thank you, Mia.”