Page 49

“Shh, you’re safe.” I stroke her hair, my fingers combing through the wet lengths. It’s like silk between my fingers, a sharp counterpoint to the hardened calluses on my palm. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Ember’s trembling slowly subsides, her breathing evening out, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she burrows deeper as if trying to disappear into me entirely.
“What happened?” I keep my voice low and gentle. “Talk to me.”
She’s quiet for so long that I think she might not answer. Then, so softly I almost miss it: “I remembered.”
“Remembered, what?”
Ember takes a shuddering breath. “Bruiser. I-I know him. From before.”
Ice forms in the pit of my stomach. “Before the warehouse?”
She nods against my chest. “I was fourteen. He… Never mind what he…”
The implications of those words hit me hard. Rage, hot and vicious, surges through me. My arms tighten around Ember instinctively, as if I can somehow shield her from a past already written.
“Tell me,” I say, my voice a low growl.
And she does. The words spill out of her in a torrent, like a dam breaking. She tells me about the condemned building, the little girl she tried to save, and her choice. My jaw clenches sohard I taste blood, but I force myself to stay silent, to let her speak.
When she finishes, the silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of her revelation. I want to hunt Bruiser down, to make him pay for every moment of pain he’s caused. But Ember needs me here, now.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her head before I can stop myself. “What he did… It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”
Ember shifts in my arms, tilting her face to look at me. Those sea-foam eyes are red-rimmed but dry, filled with a strength that takes my breath away.
“I know,” she says softly. “But knowing doesn’t make it easier.”
I open my mouth to respond, but a knock at the door startles us both.
Aria stands in the doorway, a shopping bag clutched in her hands. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene before her—me shirtless, Ember wrapped in nothing but my T-shirt, the two of us tangled together in the armchair.
Reality crashes back in. I’m her protector, her rescuer, not—whatever this is becoming. I stand abruptly, gently setting Ember on the bed.
“I should go.” I’m suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Let you get dressed.”
I brush past Aria, my skin burning where Ember’s body pressed against mine. In the hallway, I lean against the wall, trying to get my racing heart under control.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I’ve been in countless high-stress situations before. I’ve faced down terrorists and drug lords without breaking a sweat. But this woman—this impossible, beautiful, broken woman—has the power to destroy me completely.
When the door opens, I straighten, schooling my features into what I hope is a neutral expression, but as Ember steps out, all attempts at professionalism crumble.
She’s a vision in simple jeans, her damp hair pulled back in a loose braid, but it’s my shirt, draped over her slender frame, that undoes me. Something primal and possessive roars to life in my chest at the sight.
She didn’t take it off.
“How are you feeling?” My voice is rougher.
Ember’s eyes meet mine, and a flicker of—something passes between us.
“Better,” she says softly. “Thank you. For everything.”
Aria looks between us, a knowing look that makes me squirm. I clear my throat, forcing myself back into professional mode.
“We should talk about what you remembered.” I gesture toward the living room.