Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I just close my eyes and let him peel up the fabric, revealing the angry red scar across my abdomen. It’s jagged and ugly, spread across my stomach in a way that can’t be hidden. The vulnerability of the moment is overwhelming, a raw exposure that leaves me feeling stripped bare. Kael’s breath leaves him in a single exhale. The sound is soft, and it hangs in the air between us.
He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t flinch, but his hands are extra careful as he blots at the fresh blood. His touch is gentle, almost tender, and it sends a shiver through me, a mix of comfort and fear. I can’t look at it. I can’t even look at him. The shame and insecurity bubble up, threatening to drown me in their intensity.
I feel the weight of his gaze, the silent understanding that passes between us, and it’s both terrifying and reassuring. There’s a part of me that wants to hide, to shield myself from the judgment I fear, but another part longs for the acceptance I see in his eyes. It’s a moment suspended in time, filled with unspoken words and emotions that swirl around us, leaving me breathless and exposed.
He traces his thumb over the raised edge of the healed parts. “You’re a fuckin’ warrior, you know that?”
It’s the last thing I expect to hear. I open my eyes, blinking at him, but his expression doesn’t waver. He looks at the wound, then back at my face. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Sable.”
I feel like I’m going to pass out.
His words penetrating right to my core.
He finishes cleaning up the wound, then smooths the shirt back down, letting his hand linger a second. “Don’t ever be ashamed of survivin’.”
I hold my breath, not moving my gaze from his.
He reaches up, tracing his finger down my cheek, and, for a moment, it feels like the world stops.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.
“I know,” he murmurs, sliding his finger to my lips and tracing them.
“This ... this is dangerous.”
“Know that, too, darlin’.”
“It’s not going to stop you, though, is it?”
He shakes his head.
I hold my breath.
He leans in and, for a second, a blissful second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Until the door swings open and a girl appears, her eyes widening. She mutters an apology and rushes away, but the moment is gone.
For now, at least.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, pushing to my feet.
I came way too close then.
I’m afraid next time there will be no stopping us.
GUILT CONSUMES ME.
The entire way back to Gage, I feel horrible.
I didn’t do anything, I know that, but the feelings swirling angrily in my chest are too much to handle. Gage might not be the world’s best husband, but he saved me when no one else did and for that I at least owe him my loyalty.
I shouldn’t have gone to Kael.
Even though everything inside me leads me that way.
It’s wrong.
Arriving back at the club, I climb out of the cab Kael called and tiptoe through the front gates. I don’t even want to know the kind of fee he must have paid for that cab driver, but he did it, without hesitation.
Everything is quiet, and it must be about two in the morning. It doesn’t seem like only hours ago this place was being shot up. Instead, it is deserted and almost like nobody is here. But I know that isn’t true. I saw three bikers appear the moment I got out of the cab, and they only retreated when they saw it was me.
They’re on high alert.
I step into the main house and tiptoe past sprawled out bodies, bikers and girls, most of them naked. A couple is tangled up on the pool table, a bare bum on display for the world to see. The rough sounds of snoring travel through the room. I shake my head, moving forward.
The hallway smells like gunpowder, and I can see they have put large boards where the windows were shattered. I creep down farther until I reach the bedroom where I carefully push the door open. Gage is asleep, sprawled out on top of the sheet like he fell there and simply never moved.
He’s shirtless, his muscled body on display under the dull light of the lamp. There are purpling bruises mapping his ribs and biceps. His hands are laced behind his head, the veins still raised from the events of the night, and the lines around his mouth soften with sleep.
I watch the rise and fall of his breathing, try to fit the feeling in my chest to the man I married. He’s beautiful. I hate how beautiful he is, how even like this, he is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The movement stirs him, but he doesn’t wake. He just shifts, head rolling toward me, lips parted, one arm dropping loose at his side. A heat pools in my belly, guilt moving cleanly through it.