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His pulse raced and his ears rang, drowning out all the other sounds around him. His vision grew hazy at the edges. Gasping for breath, he turned back to the duplex. Belle’s worried gaze focused on him from behind the window inside. His stomach tipped and his heart sank. This was why things would never work between them. Because sooner or later, he wouldn’t be able to protect her. He’d fail her like he’d done with everyone else, every time it mattered before. Everything was spinning out of control. He couldn’t risk it.
He couldn’t risk her.
Chapter 33
Belle
Raindrops pelted against the roof of her idling car as Belle checked her phone one more time while she sat across the road from Bently’s house.
11 a.m. Belle: Are you okay?
1:30 p.m. Belle: Can I bring you some lunch?
Both texts were marked as read, but he’d not bothered to reply. She glanced at the digital clock. 8:06 p.m.
When they’d discovered the horror outside her house the previous morning, real fear had shimmered back in those cautious blue eyes of his for the first time since she’d known him. He had to be hurting. He wouldn’t ask for help, and he’d pull away. But there was no chance she’d leave him when he needed her. Like it or not, she was in this with him.
She slipped the keys in her pocket and opened her door, glancing around the quiet neighborhood as she got out. Thunder rumbled overhead, the gray storm clouds ominous. She locked her car and jogged over to Bently’s house before knocking with more confidence than she felt. Because there was always a small chance that he’d reject her, now more than ever. But she could do this. She could put herself out there for the only man who had ever truly shown her what it was like to be honestly cared for.
Bently cracked the door open, his dark gaze widening when he met hers. He quickly averted his eyes, seemingly searching the otherwise empty neighborhood.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, opening the door and pulling her inside. He slammed the door shut and flipped the deadbolt. Something dark flashed in his hand as he moved.
Oh my god. It was a gun.
Fear leapt, strangling her chest. Of course he had a gun—he was a police officer. But the fact that he was answering the door with it confirmed her suspicions. The man was terrified and in real danger.
He set the gun on the small table by the door. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.
Her eyes flicked up to his, hidden behind an emotionless mask. The dimness in the entryway only added to the charged air. Lightning flashed, illuminating the vulnerability in his eyes. Anger and fear crashed off him in unsettling waves of unseen energy. She could feel him. Feel the ache of his terror, his worry, his guilt. She blinked, licking her lips. “I was worried about you.”
He scoffed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
The wall was back, erected even stronger between them. Why was he shutting her out again?
Because that’s all he’s ever known.
“You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”
Silence. His shoulders inched higher with tension and his breathing grew ragged.
She pressed on. “I’m sure it’s scary having someone doing this to you. Are you worried it’s the same guy who attacked you?”
“I’m not scared!” he roared as thunder outside boomed.
She flinched at his outburst. Anger boiling over, she snapped. “Then you’re not human! Experiencing anger, fear, happiness, and sadness are all part of having a beating heart.” She pushed her finger against his chest. “Do you think it makes you less of a man to talk about your emotions? To admit you are worried about this?”
He captured her hand in his and backed her into the door, caging her in. “Angel, I want to prove to you just how much of a man I really am so bad it aches.”
His hot breath tickled her tingling lips. Bently’s gaze was dark and needy, like he was on the verge of coming undone. The man was pure chaos, smelling of the unflinching honesty of oak and the depravity of sin. The air hung heavy with anticipation and knowing. She might not be able to take away his pain, but she could be here for him. He needed an outlet. He needed her. More than that, she wanted to show him she trusted him and loved him, enough to give him the thing most precious to her.
“So do it.” Her voice was breathy.
He blinked as if in disbelief.
“Take me upstairs, Bently.”
“I’ll ruin you,” he growled his warning. His grip on her wrist tightened. Lightning flashed, and the lamps flickered. The storm’s energy grew as the wind whipped and whistled through the old house.
