Page 21

Demi

My world feels like it’s been shattered into a million pieces. Another sob tears from my chest as I struggle to catch my breath. “H-he-he’s gone.” The words come out stuttered and broken even to my own ears.

“I know, sweetie.” McKenna’s arms tighten around me, but her warmth does nothing to chase away the cold reality.

My dad is dead—gone. Frankie killed him.

I press my face harder against her shoulder, fists clenching at the fabric of her shirt. “Oh God, it hurts so bad.” Like someone has hollowed out my chest with a rusty spoon.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Kenny whispers into my hair, but her voice breaks on the last word. “I hope Klutch kills those bastards. I hope he makes them suffer.”

The fact that he’s probably doing exactly that makes me cry. Guilt crashes over me in waves. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have?—”

“Don’t you dare,” Kenny cuts me off, pulling back to look me in the eyes. Her face is fierce despite the dark purple bruise at her temple. “Those fuckers are getting what they deserve. They were going to rape us, Demi!”

The raw pain in her voice makes me pause. McKenna’s eyes shine with unshed tears, her bottom lip trembling. It hits me then that she’s barely holding it together. She nearly got assaulted too. Because of me. Because I dragged her into this mess.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her this time. “Kenny, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she snaps, eyes narrowed. “It’s not your fault your dad got mixed up with those pigs.”

It was my fault. I was the one complaining about Rookie following me around everywhere. If we hadn't given him the slip, we would have finished our food under the watchful eye of the man Klutch trusted to protect me. We would have been safe.

Shifting on the gurney, I try to find a more comfortable position, and wince as pain shoots through my ribs. Every breath hurts, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

My mind is racing with a million questions that need answers.

Why did Frankie kill my dad? What was he doing back at the apartment if my dad was already dead?

Where is Klutch? What is he doing right now?

Klutch… The look on his face when he saw me on the floor flashes through my mind.

His eyes were cold—detached. And the way he brutally attacked Frankie and Johnny.

It was like watching a stranger take over, someone dangerous and lethal.

As if my thoughts could summon the man himself, the infirmary door slowly swings open. I lift up on my elbow and look over my shoulder. Standing there like a fallen angel is the man who has consumed me body and soul. Klutch eyes lock onto mine before methodically scanning over my injuries.

“Blue,” he says, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end at the haunted look on his face. My eyes track over him, taking in the evidence of what he’s done—blood splattered across his shirt, his bruised and split knuckles, a smear of something dark across his neck.

McKenna slides off the gurney, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m gonna go,” she mumbles, pointing to the door.

Klutch steps aside to let her pass, then approaches the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge.

The mattress creaks under his weight, and I find myself shrinking back instinctively.

I’ve never been scared of him before, but this feels different.

Like something dark is lurking under the surface waiting to strike.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words tumbling out. “I should have listened to you. You were trying to keep me?—”

“They could have hurt you,” he snaps, cutting me off. His jaw clenching so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

I’ve never seen him like this—so tightly wound, so close to the edge. I scoot back a little further, suddenly unsure.

His expression softens just a fraction when he notices my retreat. With a gentleness that contrasts the fury radiating from him, he reaches out and grasps my chin, tilting my face up to examine my split lip and bruised cheek.

“I’d kill them all over again if I could,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing just below the cut on my lip.

Something breaks inside me at his words. All the fear, all the grief, all the guilt comes rushing out in a flood of tears.

“I don’t want this,” I sob, my whole body shaking. “I don’t want to be the reason you hurt people. I don’t want to be the cause of more violence. My dad is dead because of me. Because I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t save him, and now you’re—you’re?—”

“Stop!” Klutch commands, his hands moving to frame my face. “Listen to me, Blue. This isn’t on you. None of it. Your dad made his choices. Frankie made his. And I made mine.”

“But if I hadn’t gone to the apartment?—”

“Then they would have found you somewhere else,” he cuts in, his eyes burning into mine. “Men like that don’t stop. They don’t give up. They would have hunted you down eventually.”

I shake my head, unable to accept his logic through the thick fog of grief and guilt. “I’m afraid of what killing them will do to you.” That it will change him.

“Don’t you get it?” he asks, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “You’re mine, Blue. I’d kill for you. Die for you! That’s what you mean to me.”

I hold his stare and can see the truth in his eyes. This man who is capable of such violence would give his life for mine. That’s not what I want. If anything happened to him…

I open my mouth to say as much when the infirmary door opens again.

Bravo steps back in, medical bag in hand.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, though he doesn’t sound particularly sorry. “I’m about to head back to work and wanted to see if you’d changed your mind about some pain meds.” He quirks a brow.

My brows pinch. Work? I thought everyone worked for the club. “Work?” I ask, voicing my thoughts.

“I’m a doctor over at Memorial. I work swing shift in the Emergency Room.” Memorial Hospital is where Klutch’s mom works. Small world.

Bravo moves to my side, his clinical gaze assessing. “So? Pain meds?” he asks again, checking his watch. He must be in a hurry.

I open my mouth to decline again, but my bossy boyfriend decides to answer for me. “Yes. She needs something.”

I want to argue that I can decide for myself, but the look in Klutch’s eyes stops me dead in my tracks. He needs this. He needs to take care of me right now. After what I’ve been through—what he’s done for me—I surrender and give him that.

“Okay,” I agree softly.

Bravo nods, pulling a small bottle from his bag and shaking two tablets into his palm. “These will help with the pain and help you sleep.”

Klutch reaches for the water pitcher on the side table and fills a glass half full. “Here, baby.”

“Thanks,” I take the glass then grab the pills out of Bravo’s hand. I toss the little white capsules into my mouth and chase them down with the water.

As I hand the glass back to Klutch, the door opens yet again.

Denali steps into the room first, followed closely by Pee Wee who has McKenna curled into his side.

It’s a shame he’s married. The giant of a man and she would have made a cute couple.

Although, judging by the sight of them now, maybe that isn’t entirely out of the question.

“How are you feeling, darlin’?” Denali asks, coming to stand at the foot of my bed.

“Like I got hit by a Mack truck,” I admit, wincing as I shift again.

His mouth turns down in a frown as he looks to Klutch for an answer. “Is it done?”

“They won’t be a problem anymore.

Denali nods his head then turns his full attention on me. “Sorry to hear about your pop, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about your dad,” Pee Wee adds, his voice a deep baritone. “We’ll find him. Give him a proper burial.”

Fresh tears spring to my eyes at his words. “Thank you. All of you,” I whisper.

Klutch stands suddenly, his posture rigid. “She needs rest,” he announces, the statement brooking no room for any arguments.

Denali nods, seeming to understand something in Klutch’s tone that I don’t. “Of course. We’ll talk later.”

As everyone heads out, McKenna gives me one last look over her shoulder. “I’ll check on you in the morning,” she promises.

Once everyone vacates the room, Klutch scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. “Hold onto me, Blue.”

I loop my arms around his neck and rest my head against his shoulder.

“Good girl.”

He carries me out of the infirmary and up the stairs to his room. The clubhouse is quiet, much quieter than usual. I wonder if everyone knows what happened, if they’re giving us space or if they’ve been warned to stay away. Either way I’m grateful.

I expect him to set me down when we get inside the suite, but he doesn’t. He bypasses everything, going straight to his room. As if I’m made of glass, he gently sets me on the end of his bed.

“Klutch?” I eye him carefully.

“Quiet, baby.”

I watch silently as he drops to his knees in front of me. “Lift your arms.”

My arms go up and he carefully lifts my shirt up and over my head. Next to go is my bra and then my shoes, socks and shorts. Every move he makes is clinical.

“I wish I could bring them back and kill them again,” he growls as his eyes rake over the bruises already formed on my skin.

“I’m okay.” We both know it’s a lie, but I can’t bear to hear him talk about killing anyone else. Even if it’s them again.

“Put this on.” He reaches for one of his folded t-shirts on the dresser. Before he can slip it over my head, I grab his wrist.

“Make me forget,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Please. Just for a little while. Make me forget everything but us.”

Klutch freezes, his eyes darkening as they roam over my nearly naked body. “Blue,” he says, his voice strained. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Please,” I beg, desperate to feel something other than this overwhelming grief and guilt. “I need you.”

“I’m not in a state of mind to be gentle,” he warns, his hands clenching at his sides.