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“Hey,” I called out, stopping her.
From behind, I watched as her shoulders lifted and dropped with her deep breath. Then she turned to face me, and I gasped in shock. I was driving by so fast, I was sure I was seeing things, but there she was, standing with bruising and cuts on her face.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt. I moved toward her, collected her cheeks in my palms, and took a good look at the damage.
She tried to look away, but I refused to let her turn away from me.
“What happened to your face?” I asked, my anger exploding through me in a way that left me trembling.
Whoever hurt her, was going to die. I would put my gun between their eyes and pull the trigger without a second thought.
“It’s nothing. Just me being clumsy.” She attempted to wave it away.
“No. Don’t lie to me, Everly. I know what fist marks look like. I’ve had my share. Who did this to you?”
No.
Scratch that idea.
Whoever did it wouldn’t die quick.
I was going to torture them first; then I would blow their fucking brains out.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and moisture gathered in the corners. “Aiken, please. It’s nothing.”
“A name, Everly. Give me a fucking name.” My words were full of venom, whispered, and dangerous.
“I can’t tell you,” she said.
Rage rolled through me, and before I realized what I was doing, I reared back and put my fist through the porch post at my side. Pain spread through my hand as pieces of rotten wood splintered into the air.
“Stop it, Aiken!” she cried.
She covered her face with her hands and bawled.
I had scared her.
Fuck.
I never wanted to scare her.
Reaching out, I pulled her into my arms and held her as she cried into my chest.
“Please, baby,” I whispered, feeling more helpless than I had in my entire life. “Tell me who hurt you,” I said softly, stroking her soft curls.
She shook in my arms, and I knew that whatever happened to her affected her greatly. Her reaction did nothing to soothe my rage, but I knew if I wanted to find out who hurt her, I was going to have to remain calm.
My eyes settled over her brother’s car, and I closed my eyes, praying I wasn’t going to have to kill her brother. “Did your brother do this to you?” I asked.
She looked up at me, her eyes red and dripping with tears. I reached up and ran a finger over the gash above her brow.
“Erik would never,” she said, giving me a little relief.
If I killed her brother, she would never forgive me, and with the way I was feeling at that moment, I was sure I no longer wanted to be separated from her. I couldn’t handle seeing her hurt. I would lose my shit if something happened to her.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Maybe he knew who hurt her and I could persuade him to tell me. Perhaps he would be a man and join me when I beat whoever it was within an inch of their life.
