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And suddenly, my crush on Lance is so completely overwhelming, it takes all my self-restraint not to step into his arms and make the first move myself.
“Good night,” I squeak, and with stiff limbs, I force myself to turn and enter my bedroom.
Closing the door behind me, I lean my back against the solid wood and listen until I hear his door across the hall close as well. Then, swallowing hard, I head to my bathroom to get ready for bed.
But as I settle into my pillows a short time later, pulling the covers up to my chin, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to watch a movie curled against Lance’s shoulder, to have him carry me like a bride up the stairs. To have him take me to his room and share a bed with me.
The overwhelming sense of longing, the massive hole that punches through my chest at the vivid fairy tale is just too much. I never should have let Lance be my bodyguard. Having him present constantly is probably the worst thing for me because I have absolutely no control over my feelings for him. And I’m at a loss for what to do about it.
I can’t just will them away.
And I sure as hell can’t tell anyone about them.
Groaning in frustration, I roll onto my side, curling into a ball. And as I close my eyes, I know it’s going to be another night of tossing and turning.
Because as soon as my thoughts of Lance finally subside and I drift into oblivion, those cruel brown eyes are waiting for me with a wicked smile.
13
LANCE
Glancing at the bedside alarm clock, I make note of the time: 1:56 a.m. And Quinn’s still restless. They come in fits, her nightmares. And it doesn’t matter how much time passes, they seem to grow worse each night.
Grinding my teeth, I try to reason with myself that she’ll get through it. She’s a strong girl. A woman, really. She just needs time. But I hate the sound of her whimpering pleas. Every night, they rip me to shreds. And at the same time, her cries make my blood boil.
It breaks my heart to think about what happened to her. In truth, I’ve hardly slept since that night because the thought of it plagues me. Those men putting their hands on her.Hurtingher. All to send a message. If they thought it would make us back down, they made a grave mistake.
From Killian’s reports, at least the Italians aren’t getting away with what they did. The Kings have been brutal in our retaliation—none of which I’ve gotten to take part in. And it sets my teeth on edge to know that I didn’t get to watch the life drain from those men’s eyes. I’m not sure if it would have been enoughto satisfy me. But at least then I would know, deep in my soul, that the men who hurt Quinn could never do it again.
Killian saw to that, and I trust my foster brother inherently. He wasn’t about to let those bastards breathe a moment longer than it took to find them. Still, I would have loved to break every bone in their bodies.
Releasing an aggravated sigh. I close my eyes and try to relax, letting Quinn’s soft, troubled murmurs become background noise. With monumental effort, I get my muscles to unwind, my mind to stop perseverating on the traumatized young woman across the hall, and the bloodlust burning in my veins to cool.
I focus on my breaths—in, out, in, out, in…until the dark sense of foreboding that shrouds me seeps away.
“No, please!” Quinn screams, bringing my body upright and adrenaline pounding through my veins. “Let me go! Let me—getoff me!” she shrieks, her voice so desperate and full of genuine terror that I’m struck with the horrible fear that someone might actually be in her room.
Theycouldhave broken in through her window, though anyone getting past the house’s defenses would be a masterful feat, if not impossible.
But as Quinn’s pleas continue to grow more frantic, I have to see for myself.
Springing out of bed, I snatch up a pair of joggers and haul them on as I run.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I fling myself across the hall, wrenching her door open with such force, I nearly take it off its hinges.
Quinn’s cries come to an abrupt halt as I flick the light on, filling the room with a golden glow. And I find her sitting up, her back pressed firmly against her headboard, curled into a tight ball with her knees to her chest.
She’s as white as a sheet, her green eyes as round as dinner plates, and she’s trembling like a leaf as her head swivels frantically to find something—or someone.
“Quinn?” I rasp, my throat tight with anxiety.
Quickly I scan the room for any indication of an intruder. And when I look back at her, our gazes meet.
Then, all at once, she bursts into tears. Burying her face against her knees, she sobs. And my wall of stoic defense crumbles completely. She looks so damn…broken. It just might kill me. Without thinking it through, my feet are carrying me across the room.
I settle onto the corner of her bed, scooping her into my arms. And I gather as much of her up as I can in my desperation to keep her in one piece.
“Are you okay?” I murmur, my heart thundering against my ribs as I continue to search the room. But everything looks perfectly in place. The window is locked. The bathroom empty as far as I can see.