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She was alive.
“Claire,” I whispered, seeing the wild animal look in her eyes as she raised the toilet tank lid, ready to go another round—or ten—if it was necessary to save her son.
At the sound of her name in my voice, though, all the fight fell out of her as the lid slipped from her hands and cracked on the floor at her feet.
Then she was turning and running into my room, into the closet, and grabbing Judah out of the space, crushing him to her chest as they both cried.
And, fuck, something in me cracked at the sight of them and their fear and their relief.
There was so fucking much to do, people to talk to, measures to take to make sure we were all safe.
But I couldn’t focus on that.
Not with Claire and Judah so upset.
So I took a few precious moments to curl in behind them, wrapping them up, offering them some strength and comfort until, eventually, they both started to pull themselves back together.
I pulled Claire, holding Judah, onto her feet, my hand raising to her face, my thumb teasing across the bruise on her jaw that had darkened.
“I hit him back,” she said, her lower lip trembling, but her chin thrusting up, proud of herself.
“Of course you did,” I agreed, nodding. “You did whatever it took to protect him,” I said, reaching for the back of Judah’s neck, giving it a little rub. “Can I have a couple minutes to go talk to my family?” I asked, hearing their voices downstairs.
To that, Claire nodded.
“We’re just going to sit here,” she said, nodding out toward my bed.
“I won’t be long,” I promised, then turned to make my way out of the room, closing the door behind me, and making my way downstairs.
Several of the guys were standing in the kitchen.
The kitchen where a dinner Claire had clearly, painstakingly prepared, sat cold.
Steak and potatoes and green beans.
Fuck, if something warm didn’t move across my chest at the idea of her cooking for me.
She’d had a night planned for us.
And that fuckhead ruined it.
“Are they okay?” Luca asked, drawing my attention away from the food.
“She went toe-to-toe with Warren,” I told them, watching their faces wince in reaction. “She wanted to draw him away from where she had Judah stashed. She’s… bruised. But she’s okay. Physically, at least,” I added, knowing that this shit wasn’t over for her. She would relive it again and again.
Until this was over.
Until I put a bullet in that bastard’s head.
And ended it once and for all.
“How’s Wade?” I asked, trying to gauge the answer from their faces.
“With Lettie,” Luca said. “She didn’t give us any assurances, so… we just have to pray for the best.”
Fuck.
Two men.
