“You fucking better before I put a bullet between your eyes,” the man holding the gun says. “What the fuck do you want with Grayson, and why are you here? Are you an assassin? A paid killer? What? We’ve made a lot of enemies over the years with what we do, so tell me, who the fuck are you?”
Holy hell, these men are scary.
I’ve been face-to-face with scarier.
Loud pounding footsteps coming up the stairs behind me have my shoulders tensing. Great. I’m about to go out into the rain again.
“Woah, what the hell is going on? You guys tell me to go get her and you point a gun to her head?”
“We just watched the news. There is a nationwide search for her. It seems Finley shot and killed two men in Kentucky,” the guy with the gun speaks again.
“What?” the evil in Grayson’s voice has my fear spiking. It slithers around me like a snake, choking me from speaking the truth I wanted to hide forever.
“I can explain.” The words shake with uneven dips and pitches. “I swear. I don’t go around killing people. I have a reason—”
“We have people we love here. My wife is pregnant. If you’re bringing trouble to our home, we deserve to fucking know.” The gun pointed at my head isn’t shaking. It’s level and the man holding it is calm, but raging like a hurricane. “I will shoot you dead, girl. If you’re a threat to me and what’s mine, I’ll kill you.”
“That’s fair,” I say, swallowing. “I’m not a threat. I can explain. Just give me chance.”
“You have a minute, go,” Grayson orders from behind me.
My word isn’t going to be enough. I’m going to have to prove it. I slip off my backpack, and it falls to the ground with a plop. I unbutton my pants, and Grayson gently wraps his hand around my wrist to stop me. “You don’t have to get undressed,” he says softly, his eyes going soft around the edges. “We aren’t those kind of men.”
“I know,” I say. My gut tells me they are the kind of men that protect who they love. They don’t destroy it. “But I’m going to show you what kind of men I’m used to dealing with. It’s the easiest way to explain myself.” I unzip my pants next and kick them to the side. I don’t see standing in my bra and panties a big deal. It’s just like a swimsuit. Granted, I have hateful eyes on me at the moment, so if they kill me, I hope they allow me to put my clothes on beforehand.
I don’t want to die half naked.
With a deep breath, I grab the hem of my shirt and toss it on top of my jeans laying on the floor.
“Shit,” Grayson hisses.
The gun lowers, and the guy with the tattoos clenches his jaw.
“Jesus Christ,” the man with a cast on his leg says, looking away from me.
I have bruises and scratches all over my body, and I turn around, giving them the full affect until I’m face-to-face with Grayson. I spread my thighs, keeping myself strong even if I want to break. The gashes in my thigh are deep. They appear to be more like cuts than scratch marks from fingernails.
“You were raped,” Grayson says with a raw emotion on his face. He goes to reach for me, but then he drops his hand. His face has lost all color and for a second I think he is going to sick.
“No,” I speak the truth. “I almost was raped. Most of the marks are from my stepfather. The fresh bruises are from what happened in Kentucky. They broke into my hotel room and almost succeeded.” I look down my chest where five fingerprints on each breast are clearly visibly where he grabbed me. “I shot them to protect myself, and I got out of there.”
“And your stepfather?” Grayson asks, staring at the bruises on my face with his cinnamon-colored eyes.
“I think he’s dead too. I don’t know. I left him in a pool of blood. I stole his money and my mom’s secret stash, and I came to the only place I thought I would be safe.” I wipe my cheek when a tear falls on it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have deceived you. It was wrong.” I wrap my arms around my chest to cover myself. I don’t like how Grayson is looking at me.
He’s staring at me with lust but pity.
“You came to me because you thought I could keep you safe? You didn’t know me, not really,” he says.
“It was a chance I had to take. You couldn’t be worse than what I’ve been up against.” I bend down to pick up my wet clothes to put them back on, but Grayson stops me.
“Here.” He shucks off his shirt and tugs it over my head, and it falls all the way to my knees.
It’s better than the soaked clothes. Plus, this shirt smells so good, like pine and wilderness. I love the smell of the outdoors. “Thank you,” I whisper. I’m glad I’m not showing my body off to these men anymore. I’m not ashamed of my bruises, but showing them makes me feel more vulnerable and judged.
“Well, if they weren’t dead, I’d say we had a few people to kill,” Grayson says.
My eyes fall to his chest, and I try to look away, I do, but I’ve never seen a man who looks like him before. The guys my age, they look like boys, but Grayson? He’s filled out, muscular, with abs and defined pectorals. He has a dusting of chest hair, not a thick blanket. He’s beautiful. I knew he would be from the picture he sent, even if it was a view from behind. His
