Ana felt her eyes widen as she stared at him. This rough, huge, intimidating biker just spoke what were maybe the most beautiful words she’d ever heard. And they were nothing like she’d ever expected to hear from his sculpted lips.
Well, except for the curse words liberally sprinkled in.
“What was that you said?”
Frowning, he cocked his head. “I just said a lot, so you have to narrow it down for me.”
“Whatever it was that you called me. Was that Spanish?”
He gave her a crooked half smile. “Italian. And I’ll tell you one day, when you’re ready.”
When she was ready? Her eyebrows rose, but she didn’t follow up on his cryptic comment, though her curiosity was killing her. “Logically, I know you’re right. But I still can’t help but feel like an idiot. I let him get in my head, and I believed him. I should have known better.”
He gently squeezed her hand, and her middle immediately clenched in response, making her breath catch. What the hell was this man doing to her? She couldn’t decide if she hated it or if she never wanted it to end.
“Tell me the rest.”
Her eyes flew to his, dread coiling in her belly. “What?”
“How did the verbal abuse and emotional manipulation lead to what I saw in the store earlier?”
The dread rose inside her, nearly choking her. Looking away, she concentrated on her breathing. Sometimes she didn’t know what was worse—the emotional abuse or the physical.
They both still haunted her to this day.
“Are you sure you want to hear all of this?” She forced a shaky smile to her face. “You don’t want to hear my whole life’s story. Besides, what I’ve said is enough to paint the picture, right?”
Bolt narrowed his eyes, fighting to keep the rage boiling inside him from showing. The last thing he wanted to do was scare his mate, but the things she’d already told him about her ex had him vibrating with the need to kill the motherfucker.
He’d give anything if he could go back in time to when he walked into that storeroom. He’d put a bullet in that bastard’s skull instead of a dent.
He needed to get ahold of himself or he was going to lose control of his shifter ability, and that was unacceptable. Not just because Ana didn’t know what he was and it would freak her the fuck out, but more importantly, because he was holding her hand—and the last thing he would ever do was hurt her.
Gripping her hand tighter and trying to ignore the sparks her touch ignited within him, he gazed into her eyes and hoped none of the rage inside him was visible. “I want to know everything about you, Ana. You can tell me this. You can tell me anything.”
“Why?” she whispered, searching his gaze. “Why do you want to know this? Why do you want to know anything about me at all? You don’t know me, and I’ll be gone soon, so what’s the point?”
She wasn’t going anywhere if he had anything to say about it, but he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. “Because maybe I want to get to know you for the time you’re here. And because maybe you need to talk about it. I’d bet my bike that you haven’t yet. Unload it all on me. My shoulders are broad. I can handle it.”
Her eyes dropped, tracing over his shoulders and then down his body before coming back to meet his. He swore he felt her gaze like a physical touch, burning its way over him and through his bloodstream, but he forced himself not to react. It wasn’t the time for that.
Exhaling, she glanced away, and though losing her gaze made him suddenly cold, the way she gripped his hand replaced some of the warmth. She wasn’t letting him go. He might not have her beautiful eyes, but he still had the connection he hadn’t known he could crave.
“Apparently the verbal abuse wasn’t enough for him, because he began hitting me.” She said the words so low, he had to strain to hear them, even with enhanced hearing.
He almost wished he hadn’t once what she said registered, but he clamped down on his anger, clenching his jaw in an attempt to control himself. She needed to tell her story, to get that poison out, he knew that.
But he hated hearing what that bastard had done to her, and he fucking hated the fact that it happened to begin with.
“Of course, the first time it happened, he said he hadn’t meant it. Swore it would never happen again. You know, the usual bullshit that abusers say.” She was quiet for a moment, her expression both pensive and full of self-recrimination. “You know… I knew I shouldn’t, my gut kept whispering not to, but I believed it at first. He’d torn my self esteem down to the point where it was pretty much gone. There was nothing left. So, when he said he was sorry and then in the next breath, said it was my fault, I believed him. How’s that for stupid?
“But it happened again,” she rushed out, before he could scold her for calling herself stupid again. “And again. Always in places where it wouldn’t be visible, until the first time I ended up in the hospital. At that point, I began to understand that it wasn’t really my fault. He’d also isolated me from everyone, and no one thought to check on me, because they were used to me not being around. I didn’t even have control of my money—and I had a lot. Trust fund baby, remember?
“So, I didn’t know how to get out, or where to turn. It sounds like an
