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The Bloodhound lets me go and steps backwards, hands raised over his head. “Easy there, cowboy. She’s not hurt.”
I stagger across the room until I can wrap my arms around Beck’s waist. “I’m fine, Beck. Let’s get out of here.” When I pull my face away, I see the bloody outline of my lips pressed into his shirt.
He clutches me close against his torso and turns so his body stands between me and the Bloodhound. “I’m taking Sloan, and if you or your fucking goons makes a move to stop me, I’ll take you apart one piece at a fucking time.”
Beckett Daniels, angry and enraged, is not a form of Beckett Daniels that is to be messed with. I’d swoon if I wasn’t concussed.
He gently reorients me so that I’m tucked under his arm as he walks me to the door. When we get outside, the air hits my nostrils and I wince.
I’m crying, I realize suddenly. Salty tears mixing with the blood from my lip. The whole world is bleary and blurred.
He cradles me into the passenger seat, then runs around to get behind the wheel. We rip out of the parking lot.
I don’t say anything for a long time. My breathing slows and my body cools to goosebumps everywhere except where theBloodhound hit me. His handprint remains a hot brand against my cheek.
I wonder if it’ll stay that way forever.
We haven’t been driving for long before Beck suddenly wrenches the car over to the side of the road. I look up in terror, certain that something has happened—that the Bloodhound changed his mind about letting us go.
But then Beck looks at me, and I see something in his eyes I’ve waited so long to see.
Love.
Beckett Daniels looks at me and I’m safe.
I know that more than I know anything else in my life.
3
BECK
We aren’t out of my old man’s reach quite yet. But fuck it, I’m stopping anyway. I need to hold her for a second, to feel her body against mine. I can’t wait until we’re safe.
I veer to the side of the road, slam the car into park, then pull her close. I’m weak for her in a way I’ve never been for another woman—because this one is carrying my baby. Touching her, breathing her in—it’s fucking manna from heaven.
I fuse our mouths together. This isn’t a kiss that demands or commands, though. It’s soft and slow, because I don’t know what she’s been through. It’s not time to ask questions yet, either.
My old man is a dangerous prick. He’s the kind of fuck who should be locked away for the rest of his life.
If I have my way, he will be.
The gun in my waistband is no joke. It’s locked and loaded, and if I have to, if he ever comes near her again, I’ll use it. I’ll put a bullet between my old man’s eyes without fucking blinking.
Sloan comes first, though.
She isn’t shaking the way she was when I carried her to the car. The goosebumps on her skin smooth away when I touch them. Sloan curls her fingers into my hair and I hold her face, stroking her cheekbones while my tongue slides against hers.
When she pulls away, she closes her eyes. Her breath is soft as it sighs out of her. “Thank you for saving me.” She opens her eyes and there are tears ready to spill over her lashes.
I nod, but I don’t mention the baby. A part of me wants to see how long it takes her to tell me about it herself.
“I’ll always be here to save you.”
I mean it. Even when she looks at me again, wary now, as if she isn’t buying it, I know I fucking mean it.
I reach to touch her face, but this time, she cowers away until the back of her head hits the window. “Beck…”
The distance in her eyes reminds me of a few things. Yeah, I want to hold her. Yeah, I want to stand between her and any sorry fuck who would ever lay a finger on her.
