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He clamps a hand around my wrist, so tightly it stings.
“It could be dangerous for you, Pax,” he says so low I barely hear him. “What if they attacked you, too?”
I still. “Who are you talking about? Just talk to me.”
“Elliot and Oliver. They’re...from my past.”
The world has stilled, too. Time has stopped. The only thing moving is the dust dancing in the light from the lamp. “What do you mean?”
“Corey said I should tell you, but I didn’t want you to run.” His hand tightens more around my wrist and I yelp. Immediately he loosens his hold. “You scare me, Pax.”
“I scare you?” My mouth is hanging open, my mind a whirlwind.
His lips twitch in an almost smile, and a drop of blood beads and rolls slowly down his chin. “I feel too much when it comes to you. I want you too much.”
“So you ran away from me instead?”
He hangs his head. “I guess I…” He draws a shuddering breath. “I did. Didn’t think you’d stick around if you found out.”
“Found out what, Riot?”
Jesus, what can be so bad that he wouldn’t tell me?
“About the illegal fight club. I worked there. I was one of the Hellfire Fighters.”
Relief floods me. This is what he meant? “I know.”
“You know? How the hell would you know that?” He grunts, grimaces in pain and releases my wrist in favor of wrapping his arm around his ribs again. “Ow, fuck.”
My heart hurts to see him in pain. Don’t know what to do. “I suspected it. Then I Googled the Hellfire Fighters and found your name. Well, Riot Callahan. Not many guys called Riot out there. And there was a photo. Grainy, but I was sure it was you. Unless you have a twin brother you haven’t told me about.”
He shakes his head, his gray eyes dark. “And now?” he whispers.
“Now…” I touch his arm, slide my hand up, grip his solid biceps. “I’m going to find some dinner for us, put a cold compress on your face, and meet the boys. Dexter and Batman.”
Whom I haven’t seen. I wonder if they’re scared and hiding somewhere.
He stares at me. “That’s it?”
“No, not only. I’ll help you shower and put you in bed.” I slide my hand up his chest to his face, rest it on his good cheek, his stubble tickling my palm. “Like you did for me.”
He bends his head. “Won’t you ask me about the fight club? Why I left? Why I was beaten up?”
“No.” I smooth my fingers over his cheekbone, try not to look at the other, injured side of his face. “I won’t ask you. You will tell me when you’re good and ready.”
His breath hitches once. “Pax…”
“I trust you. You gave that back to me, took away my fear, and whatever happened back then, I’m sure it’s not your fault.”
He looks stricken, shaken. “How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re a good guy.”
And if I doubted it for a second there, now that doubt is gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Riot
