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His breath is shaky as he tries to calm himself down. I take his hands and press them against my stomach. It’s as if I’ve poured water over a fire. Instantly, he starts to relax, and his breath is less ragged as he stares into my eyes. I keep our joined hands in place, willing him to see what I see.
“I didn’t have a good life, Skye. My mum disappeared when I was three years old and left me with my father. He was convinced I was possessed by evil and he…” His voice cracks, forcing his words to halt. I tighten my grip on his hands, letting him know I’m here for him. It seems to give him enough strength to keep talking. “He did everything he could to beat the devil out of me.”
The horror I feel at his words is impossible to mask. Visions of Rage as a toddler fill my mind and they turn my stomach. How could any parent hurt their baby that way? Mine isn’t even born yet and I feel so protective over her.
“He would burn me, hit me, cut me, anything to release the spirits he thought were possessing me. For days at a time, he would lock me in a room with no window, no light. I would sit in the dark, praying to die.”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have gone through that. Parents are supposed to protect their children.” I don’t want to cry, but tears brim in my eyes and I can’t stop them from falling. All I can think about is how scared he must have been as a little boy listening to that shit from his father.
Rage frees one of his hands from mine to catch the tears as they slide down my cheeks. “Don’t cry for me, Skye. I don’t deserve your tears. My father was sick. He needed help, and rather than getting that for him, I left him to die. The flat was burning, and I locked him in that room where he kept me for years. I secured the front door and tossed the keys. I didn’t call for help or tell anyone. I just left him there to burn.”
I try not to flinch, but I can’t stop my body from reacting. It’s such a visceral image he’s painting.
“And that’s why we can’t be together,” he continues in a flat tone. “Because my father was right about me. I am evil. I could have saved him, but I left him to die horribly, and I don’t feel a second of remorse about that. I wish I’d hurt him more before he died. I wish I’d inflicted the same pain I felt all those years. I wasn’t a monster before him. He put this anger inside me.”
I close my eyes briefly, trying to ground myself in this moment. When I open them, he’s studying me as if he knows I’m going to run, but that’s not what I want to do. I want to gather him in my arms and make all that hurt and pain he felt as a little boy disappear.
“You did what you had to, and whoever you are now is not your fault, Rage. You were shaped into the man you are.”
“A monster,” he confirms. “One that will hurt you.”
“I don’t care,” I say, pressing his hand harder against my stomach. There’s a small curvature there, barely noticeable to anyone else, but I know my body well enough to know it’s the start of my pregnancy beginning to show. Rage hesitates for a moment, as if he’s uncertain if he should step away, but then his fingers splay over my abdomen in a move that feels possessive.
“We need you,” I tell him. “I need you.”
He doesn’t look at me, but instead focuses on his hand on my stomach. I don’t know what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling, but I wish he would talk to me. I understand a little better who the man is now and why, but there is so much more to Rage that I want to discover.
“I’ll be there for you both,” he promises, “but I don’t know if I can be what you want.”
Those bands around my chest tighten. One step forwards, two steps back. Coming here was my greatest chance at survival.
“I don’t want you to be anything but who you are.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
His free hand goes to the back of my neck, so he can pull me closer and press his mouth to mine. This kiss isn’t punishing, but it’s firm and heated.
“You think this is what you want, Skye, but you don’t understand how dangerous I am.”
“You’re not the only one who is dangerous,” I say.
He snorts. “My girl fights when she needs to, but she ain’t a fighter.”
My girl.
I like the sound of that more than I should. Flutters beat against the inside of my stomach. How can this dangerous man who I hardly know give me butterflies?
“For our baby, I am a fighter, Rage.”
His eyes crawl over my face, taking in every inch of me with a torturous slowness. I’ve never felt so undressed while standing fully clothed in front of someone.
“I see that,” he murmurs, and my gaze tracks the movement of his lips, wishing they were pressed against mine.
He grants me that, and I grip him as he kisses me again. I want to get lost in his scorching heat, but his phone beeps and he freezes.
“Fuck.”
