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I hate seeing the fear in her eyes. I’m a real bastard for not hating the way she desperately clings to me when she’s afraid. I’m a warm-blooded man with a bit of a hero complex when it comes to my Rose. She’s mine to protect above all others. It’s impossible to hate the way she seeks me out for comfort because I want to be her everything. What I do hate is that she has a reason to be scared. I won’t stop until all threats against her are taken care of.
I run my fingers through her hair as she snuggles deeper into my chest as she sleeps. Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind as the conversation I just had with Slade and Daniels runs through my head.
“How did he get her number?”
“We are workin’ on it, boss man,” Slade says with an infuriating calmness.
His ability to be calm at a time like this pisses me the fuck off. I want him to be in just as much of a rage as I am. I want him to feel like disemboweling the prick that thinks he can fuck with Rose. But no, he’s cool as a fucking cucumber while I’m the one coming up with a hundred and one ways to torture Mr. Perfect.
“You aren’t doing enough!” I rage.
“Matthew, man, you’ve got to get your head on straight.” Daniels has the quickest temper of the three of us. The fact that he’s the calm one tells me that I really have flown off the deep end. “We are doing everything we can. We’ve talked to everyone who Rose has come in contact with and called in the few people who aren’t on shift tonight. Our people are loyal. All of them adore Rose. I can’t see anyone purposely hurting her like that.”
Heaving a sigh, I relent. “You’re right. It just feels like he’s one step ahead of us somehow and I don’t like it. That fucker got her number somehow, and if he has that, he knows way more than he should. I’ll be damned if he continues to threaten my girl.”
“We’ll find him,” Kisten says with fierce determination, that inner beast that craves violence peeking out from behind his cool façade.
“What are you guys doing here if you don’t have anything new to report?”
Kisten waves his arms around him at the destruction in the room. “Instead of twiddling our fucking thumbs like a couple idiots, we decided to come clean up the aftermath from Hurricane Rose.”
“Rose is fragile right now,” Slade says with a sad shake of his head. “More than any other girl you’ve taken in in the past. Her hurt runs deep.” His eyes gloss over, and I’m sure he’s remembering how Hannah was when she first came to him. He shakes off whatever thoughts tried to tug him away from the here and now. “I’m in charge of keeping Rose safe. Not just her body but her mind too. Until I can gut the little weasel—make no mistake, Matthew, when I catch up to Grant, it will be fucking painful—I’m going to do my damnedest to protect her from herself. If she wakes up and sees this mess, it’s going to hurt her all over again. She doesn’t need that added stress. Not now. Not ever.”
Rose whines in her sleep, drawing me out of my thoughts and back to what’s really important.
“Shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Those words are truer than she knows. I do have her. I will do anything. Be anything for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ROSE
Strangely enough, things quickly get back to normal after my breakdown. When I woke up the next morning, the mess was completely gone. Kisten started calling me Hurricane Rose in an attempt to lighten the mood around the situation. I didn’t mind because it did make things sound way less serious than they were. I’m balancing on some weird line between a deep depression and blind anger. The slightest bump, and I’m ready to fall off into one state of being or the other.
Hannah barely leaves my side. The last three days, she’s watched me like a hawk. I have no doubt that Matthew is behind that. He probably gets hourly reports on how I’m doing. I hate that he’s so worried about me. I hate being a bother. Every morning I don a mask of calm. I smile when appropriate and respond anytime someone speaks. My insides are a churning mess, but outwardly, I’m good.
Matthew brought me back to the club today for the first time since my little meltdown. It isn’t until Dr. Martinez drops in to check on me that I realize he didn’t bring me with him just to keep me close. I slip a little on that fine line I’m walking letting a little anger filter through.
Of course, the doctor tries to pretend that it’s just a coincidence that she’s here in the middle of the afternoon when she should be at the office. The fact that she’s dressed in scrubs doesn’t do a thing to dissuade me from thinking this is a setup.
“Since I’m here, why don’t I check over your back? See how you’re healing up.”
She’s so nice and sincere that I don’t argue. Matthew leaves us so we have his office to ourselves. She asks me to strip, and I do without hesitation. Cool fingers touch my back and a jolt away.
“Sorry,” Dr. Martinez says quickly.
I shake my head and tell her it’s fine. It’s not her fault that unexpected touches still make me jump.
“You can put your clothes back on. You’ve healed up nicely. Even better than I thought. Are you still using the salve?”
“Yeah. Matthew puts it on me after every bath or shower.”
Once I’m dressed, I face her again, glad to not have her at my back anymore. Paranoia has become an unwelcome friend.
She smiles kindly. “That’s great. Keep doing that, and the scars could completely fade.”
If only the scars on the inside could be treated so easily.
