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“Yes, Clover,” he affirmed, his voice grave. “They won’t ever hurt you or anyone else again.” His grip on my waist tightened, his presence almost stifling.
My mind was a whirl of emotions. Fear. Shock. Relief. Gratitude. Dread. I was shocked by the brutal justice that had been dealt, yet a part of me breathed easier knowing those men wouldn’t be a threat anymore.
Tears pricked at my eyes, the events of the past twenty-four hours finally catching up to me. I collapsed against Declan, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. His arms enveloped me, holding me close against his solid frame.
“It’s okay, Wildflower,” he murmured into my hair, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in my mind. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
Declan’s calmness amidst the storm was baffling. He was the eye of the hurricane, a beacon of control and resolution. The realization that he’d gone to such lengths to protect me made my head spin. His actions were extreme, but in his dark, twisted way, he’d taken care of me.
“Declan . . . ,” I stuttered, my voice barely a whisper. He was a murderer. He had taken lives. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to rip through my ribcage. “This is bad.”
“Clover,” his voice rang out, a warning and a challenge. “Do you wish I’d let them go? Allowed them to continue their lives as if nothing happened?”
“No, but . . .” I could barely form a coherent thought, my mind reeling.
“Do you trust in a justice system that turns a blind eye to women like you?” His words were heavy, piercing, relentless.
“But that doesn’t justify . . .” I tried to argue, but my voice failed me.
“Sometimes, Clover,” he said, his voice chillingly calm. “Sometimes, you have to take matters into your own hands.”
A surge of fear consumed me, my breaths coming short and fast. Panic swept over me like a tidal wave. He had killed people. Declan, the one who’d saved me, was a cold-blooded murderer.
“No!” I screamed, the word ripping through the silence like a gunshot. The walls of the RV felt claustrophobic, closing in on me. “You killed them! You . . .”
His voice was a steady drum, unwavering amidst my storm of terror. The revelation that he’d willingly stained his hands with blood to protect me was too much to bear. It was horrifying.
The contrast was stark. His calm composure against my confusion and shock. His acceptance of his actions against my disbelief. He had done this in my name. I was safe because he had spilled blood. The lines between savior and murderer were smudged and distorted.
His actions were beyond extreme, beyond comprehension. And yet, in his warped, destructive way, he’d secured my safety. It was a punch to the gut, leaving me winded and scared.
“Listen, Clover,” Declan began quietly. “I had hoped to make this easier for you, to make it less painful. Maybe even keep you safe from the horrors of who I really am and the things I have done. But now I have no choice but to show you just how dark things can get between us.”
“Us?” I asked. There was no us.
His eyes flashed menacingly as he paused, as if considering whether he was ready to fully open himself up to me, for better or for worse.
“Us,” he repeated. “You and me, Clover. Whether you like it or not, we’re connected now.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“There were six men out there, Declan.”
“And now there aren’t.”
“Why?” My voice was a mere breath in the silence. “Why did you do that?”
His answer was instantaneous, resolute. “They touched you, Clover.” His words were sharp, raw. “You came to me, hurt. Ruined. It lit a fire in me, a thirst for blood.”
He leaned in closer, his gaze holding mine hostage. “You walked through my door, and I knew. You were mine to guard, to claim.” He paused, a grim smile curling his lips. “Something in me snapped, seeing you that way. It was rage. Pure, burning rage.” His words hung in the air between us, a confession, a declaration. “I wanted them gone, Clover. Wiped out. No trace left.” His eyes were flinty, unapologetic. “They hurt you, and for that, they paid.”
I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. Holy shit. He killed them? Literally. As inended their fucking lives.
Declan killed them.
“Declan, murder? No, that’s not . . . that can’t be right.” The sane part of me was horrified, but there was power in his words. Vengeance. It was the deepest, darkest part of my soul. The part that felt warmed by his admission. That rapist was dead. He would never hurt me or another person again. I wouldn’t have to wait for a failing court system. I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder. He was dead.
