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But it wasn’t me that mattered. It was Caroline Bates, who was now on the back of my bike, arms wrapped around me like she wanted to snap me in half. At a red light, I glanced down at her hands and wrists. They were rubbed raw from rope and sliced up from all the broken glass. Her fingers were trembling, fisting into my shirt as she clutched on for dear life.
The woman was as tough as me, but the intense relief she had to be feeling was only natural. Carloine might’ve gotten out on her own, considering she was damn near an escape artist like her father, but would it have been unscathed? My blood boiled at the sight of that guy stalking toward her with clear, despicable intent. Enemy or not, I would never let a woman be subjected to that.
I rested my hand over hers. She stiffened but didn’t pull away.
By the time we got to Grant’s shop, it was eight at night but it felt like the middle of the ungodly hours.
Every part of me hurt like a bitch. My body felt like one giant bruise, and I probably looked like hell. Caroline definitely did. But I wasn’t stupid enough to tell her that, and surprisingly, neither was Gabriel.
We parked in the garage. Gabriel and Grant made sure neither of us would keel over as I helped Caroline off the bike. Then I went to grab a first-aid kit and some beers. She didn’t protest when I guided her through the house and to the backyard. She collapsed into a chair. I knelt and started stacking firewood to get some warmth into our bones.
Caroline watched my every move, dead-eyed and limp, but when the guys came out, she looked like a caged animal ready to bolt. The mistrust on her face when Grant offered her a beer struck a nerve I didn’t expect. Maybe because I knew what a badass she was, and to see her brought this low because of her own sadistic father? Again, enemy or not, no one deserved this mistreatment.
To my surprise, she glanced at me, almost as if asking for permission. I nodded slightly. She hesitated, then snatched the bottle and chugged it.
Our eyebrows shot all the way up.
“Woman can drink,” Gabriel muttered.
Caroline heard him. She tossed the half-empty bottle on the grass and jerked to her feet, glaring with the fury of God in her piercing blue eyes. “I can drink you under the table five times over, dickhead.”
Gabriel raised his hands in surrender. “Go easy, Bates?—”
“Don’t call me that.”
My brothers and I exchanged looks. It was Grant who was brave enough to dare ask, “What do you want us to call you?”
She didn’t answer immediately, just glaring at each of us, lingering on me. She looked like she was going to bolt—or pass out—whichever came first. Caroline had been held hostage for who knew how long. My guess was at least two days—since we parted ways at the poker den.
A bruise seemed to be forming on her forehead, but her unbound hair covered most of it, thanks to her messy bangs. Something about her hair not being in that tight ponytail was disarming. It made her seem almost not untouchable anymore.
Right now, she wasn’t Walter Bates’s daughter. She was a woman who survived.
“Nothing,” she snapped finally, harsh but edged with exhaustion. Her gaze flicked to the gate enclosing the backyard. Of course she clocked an exit. And she was about to use it.
Faster than I could catch her wrist, Caroline bolted.
“Hey!” Gabriel shouted. “Slow your roll, blondie! At least clean those cuts before you disappear into the night!”
“Fuck off!” she shouted back, throwing the gate open and making it through. “I don’t need your pity, dick lickers.”
I caught up to her before she could get halfway down the path to the front of the house. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Caroline looked at me like I was curdled milk. “Wherever you and yours aren’t.” She sidestepped me and mumbled, “As far from here as I can get.”
I sidestepped and cut her off again with a bark of laughter. “How hard did you hit your head? Just stop and take a breath.”
“Stop?” She laughed bitterly. “I need to keep moving right now. It isn’t safe.”
“Right here might be the safest place in the city, when it comes to being Wolverine-proof.” I shrugged. “You’re not a prisoner, but if you’re smart, you’ll keep your skinny blonde ass right here where we can keep an eye on you. And tend to your shredded arms.”
She seethed through her teeth, which were smeared with blood, and shoved her palms into my chest hard enough to send me back a step. Skinny but mighty.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she growled. “You can’t.” Caroline pointed fingers at Grant and Gabriel. “You can’t. None of your damn club can! So just stay away.”
“Actually,” Gabriel said, despite Grant’s warning shove, “Abel’s a doctor. He can?—”
“Gabe,” I snapped in equal warning, so sharply I made him flinch. “Minimal contact with the club. You two said it yourself. Black Jack will kill us if he finds out.”