“I can’t let you walk out this door, Callan,” she whispered. “I can’t risk losing you. Not ... to him. Not when he already stole so much from me.”
A crushing pain exploded in his chest, and he stumbled back, his hand rubbing with slow swirls over the ache. “I dinnae ken how to bear it,” he rasped, his lashes thickening as his vision wavered. “I see ye cry, and it breaks me so severely I feel ripped in two. I can stand a dozen men beatin’ me into the ground, but I cannae seem to survive your sufferin’. I cannae sit idly by and watch him walk away. The only control I’ve ever had, I’ve had to fight for. Let me fight this for you, the way I know how.”
“No.” Her voice wavered, but her glare hardened as she stared at him through glassy eyes.
He threw his hands in the air. “Yer makin’ me fight you, and tha’ is the last thing I want.”
Her head shook, and her lips pressed tight. “Then don’t. We can just walk away. I don’t care about him, Callan. I care about you—about us.”
His brow pinched as frustration burned across the ache in his chest. “Knowin’ he hurt you... It stirs a sorrow deeper than anything I’ve ever known, a crushin’ hurt in me I dinnae ken if I’ve the strength to survive. I just...” He blinked at her through a wall of wavering tears. “I love ye so much it hurts, Em’ry.”
“I love you too. And your pain hurts me too, Callan. I wish I could take it away, but I can’t. And you killing him will only make matters worse.”
His hands fisted at his sides, his head bowing between his shoulders. “All my life, people treated me like a weapon. My da used to beat it out of me before I even knew it was in me. Then they paid me to beat bigger men. And then... I became part of his collection, the only good I ever served was in punishin’ others.”
“That’s not true.”
“Aye, it is.” He shoved up his wet sleeve, baring the marks of his kills for her to see. “I slaughtered all of them. Every last one. And I itch to make his mark here.”
“No.”
He met her stare, seeing the relentless determination in her eyes as she pressed her back into the door, flattening her palms to the surface and refusing to move out of his way.
“We will not let the evil define us, Callan. We’re better than that. Stronger. And we have to let it go. We have to accept what happened and rise from the ashes.” Her shirt clung to her curves, drips of rain dropping to the floor. “You’re not that person anymore.”
“Then who am I?” The pain had defined him for so long, letting it go felt like ripping open a partially healed wound. “I dinnae ken how to be anything else.”
She drew in a full breath and let it out with a breathy huff. “You’re mine. And Uma’s. And I’m yours. That’s all you need to be.”
Her ownership did not abrade the tender exterior of him. Rather, it slid into place like a well-worn glove, fitting over every jagged edge like couture armor made specifically for him, for his very soul.
He staggered forward, not stopping until his arms lifted her and her body clung to his. His lips pressed to the cold flesh of her throat, and he breathed her in.
“I’m yours,” he rasped. “And you’re mine.”
Her legs wrapped around his hips and she hugged him tightly. “I won’t let you leave me,” she vowed. “And I’ll never leave you.”
Her lips kissed over his jaw, her hands holding his face as she marked him with frantic possession.
“I need you,” she begged, her lips pressing to his cheeks and eyes. “Now. I need you inside of me. Stay with me.”
He dropped her to the bed, following her down as she pawed at his wet clothes.
“Easy.” He removed his shirt, revealing his weapons. They clattered to the floor in a frenzied rush as he kicked off his boots and peeled away her pants. Their bodies were frozen, and they shivered, their damp, chilled skin needing each other’s warmth to survive.
Her hand closed around him, gripping his hardening flesh with entitled surety. He pushed through the panic and let the soft caress of her fingers whisk away the cruel memories. He trembled with the sense of vulnerable exposure, but she was there, whispering his name, pulling him to the bed, replacing the nightmares with the inevitable pleasure she bestowed.
“I love you,” she rasped, her mouth lowering to his hardened flesh.
Heat engulfed him and his body arched against the bed. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as her hot, wet mouth dragged over him, sucking and pulling. She was after his soul, and he freely surrendered it to her.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, stroking a tight fist up his taut skin as she continued to milk him.
“Yours,” he agreed, his body coiling so tight he feared the pleasure might break him. “Forever yours, leannán.”
She released him, crawling over his legs where muscles bunched and danced. Her body stretched over him, her mouth planting kisses on every expanse of exposed flesh as she straddled him.
She looked into his eyes, and he saw, not a victim of cruelty, but a survivor of adversity, a woman warrior who refused to die on the battlefield and forced herself to rise. His savior who would always come back for him.
He caught her hips, stilling her as she lifted her body over him. “You’re glorious.”
A fragile smile pulled at her kiss provoking lips, and a radiant blush stole over her ivory skin. Her exquisiteness countered his savageness perfectly. Where he was weak, she was strong and vice versa. Together they were whole.
She took him without shame, loved him with pure abandon, and he did the same. They belonged to each other, not because condition or circumstance demanded it, but because they chose to give parts of themselves, the most delicate fragments of all, to the other for safekeeping.
Chapter Forty-One
Saratoga Springs, New York—America
Present day
In the days that followed, they gathered his journals. Callan kept the portions worth keeping and burned the removed entries he ached to forget. It was a cleansing experience for both of them, one that allowed him to unburden his soul, truly giving Emery the chance to hold his hands and soothe all his jagged scars.
His past, his secrets, his sins vanished in the flames, and for the first time in years, the remaining hurt inside of him shifted, making room for love. For the first time in his life, there was more happiness than sorrow, more laughter than tears. The hurt, though enduring, never permanently removed those pleasant emotions. It only temporarily obstructed his ability to feel them. But Emery brought them back.
Apart, they’d been alone, incomplete, broken. Together they were happy and whole.
Blaine took the plea bargain. Two years and six months with good behavior. A fraction of a fraction of a fraction of what he deserved. It should have been an additional five with the proof of her broken hand, but the D.A. seemed reluctant to push—possibly because of his association with Blaine’s hometown.
Emery dinnae want to talk about the case anymore. She only wanted to focus on the future, so that was what they did.
Callan applied for citizenship, and she signed up for a writing class at the local college. Two complicated goals they each feared for their own reasons, but both obstacles they each longed to overcome. Living was meant to be done in the open, and they both decided to no longer hide in fear.
Her house went on the market and sold within two months. He loved seeing her belongings mingled with his, loved the scent of her in his house, the feel of her in his bed. He finally felt like he had a home, a place to be happy, a place to feel safe.
He proposed to her on New Year’s Eve, and they were married January fifth. The winter kept them inside, but they dinnae seem to mind as they found lots of ways to entertain themselves.
The recent blizzard had buried them in three feet of snow, and the roads were closed for a state of emergency, meaning he could drag her up to bed for days if she’d stop lingering by the window.
“Look how pretty it is,” she sighed as he wrapped his arms around he
r, resting his chin on her shoulder.
His fingers slipped into the front of her robe, taking a possessive hold of what he now considered his. He stared at the window, ignoring the downy view, fixated on her reflection in the glass.
“Aye. Stunning.”
Her weight sank into him until the coffee pot beeped, alerting them that it was finished brewing. She was like a beggar in the mornings, waiting by the machine with her empty mug clutched between both hands.
The television chattered on at a low volume, an old set taking up a big chunk of the countertop beside the coffee pot. Emery liked to hear it in the background, claiming it made her mornings less lonesome when she’d lived alone.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek as she swirled a spot of cream in her coffee, then dropped the spoon in his as a way of teasing him. He hung back, content just to watch her move.
She carried her mug to the table where Uma slurped soggy cereal off her spoon. Emery dabbed her mouth with a napkin, acting so much like a mother he ached to see her body ripen with a baby of their own.
“Why don’t you scoot closer, so you don’t have to lift the spoon so far?” She dragged Uma’s chair up to the edge of the table.
He leaned against the counter, watching the pretty picture they made—his girls.
The newscasters prattling from the set about the ongoing snow seemed to mimic the cheery winter feel in the air until something sent a chill down his spine. “In other news, last night, at a New York State correction facility located just outside of Ottsville, inmate Wesley Blaine was found dead. Police are forming an investigation, but have no leads...”
The room stilled and Emery was suddenly beside him. They faced the tiny TV set. Numb. Until her hand closed around his and squeezed.
His mind retraced his steps over the last few days. He hadn’t left her side since the snow started. Yet... He questioned if he’d done it.
With a shaky hand, he twisted the dial and turned up the volume. His fingers tightened around hers, needing an anchor.
“Witnesses at the prison claim they heard screams an hour after lockdown, but when the guards arrived, it was too late. Blaine was serving a sentence for aggravated assault. His cellmate had been temporarily removed from the cell for reasons the police wouldn’t share. Family and state officials are actively investigating the death and calling it a first degree, pre-meditated homicide. The victim’s eyes had been forcibly removed from the sockets before other parts of the body were severed. The mystery remains how the suspect was able to enter and exit the cell without detection or alerting authorities. Stay tuned for a statement from the chief investigator on the...”
He looked at Emery, her face bleached of color and her eyes wide as she watched the screen. His heart jerked about in his chest as he pulled her to face him.
He stared at her, blatantly exposing his lack of secrets for her to see. “It wasnae me, love.”
“I know,” she said, glancing back at the dated television set. “Missing eyes.”
Another chill. He’d felt Innis’s presence since the moment he’d seen that doll, but he never found her, nor had she shown up on any of the cameras he’d hidden.
Glancing over his shoulder at Uma who drank the milk from her cereal bowl, not a care in the world, he wondered if his niece was safe. Emery now knew what happened to Innis, and some of how he’d left her—left Rory. She loved Uma like a daughter and kept a close eye on her safety as well.
“She did it for me,” Emery whispered, her back still to Uma. She swallowed, and a smile teased her lips but lacked the conviction to fully form. Her gaze lifted to him, a spark of awe in her eyes. “She likes me.”
He frowned, but dinnae argue. Perhaps this was Innis’s way of watching over them, perhaps paying them back for taking care of her only child when she was incapable of doing so.
Callan reached forward and shut off the TV. A sense of peace blanketed him as he caught the satisfaction shining in Emery’s eyes. In the end, vengeance had been served.
Her shoulders shifted as she let out a sigh, the small breath a long-awaited exhale she’d held for far too long. Then her full smile came. It was like watching her meld back together before his eyes. But he never saw her as incomplete in any way. To him, she’d always been perfect.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. She sank into him like a lost shell drops to the bottom of the sea, returning to the secret garden where it belonged. She glanced up, and the love in her eyes rocked him.
Their bodies slowly untangled. “Who wants to build a snowman?” she asked, and Uma bounced off her chair, rushing to the door.
Callan smiled, believing everything was as it should be. “I’ll get the shovel. You two get bundled.”
Uma raced out of the kitchen and Emery followed, pausing to look back at him, her smile the absolute sum of all his happiness.
“I love you,” she said, never failing to remind him of the one truth he’d always know.
“I love you more.”
Affection warmed her gaze, as radiant as twilight and as dependable as the dawn. Her eloquence disarmed him, dismantled his mind, and combined all the broken pieces into something whole again. She was the fastening of his world, the hinges of his soul, and the beauty of his life. His Em’ry. His leannán.
THE END
#HURT
www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
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DID YOU KNOW?
The 2016 National Crime Victimization Survey estimated
431,830 sexual assaults and rapes in the United States during 2015
1 in 5 women experience rape or an attempted rape in their lifetime
1 in 71 men experience rape or an attempted rape
Only 34.8% of sexual assaults are reported
(348/1000 cases)
Only 0.6% result in incarceration
(6/1000 cases)
Speak out.
Protect victims, not predators.
Other Books by Lydia Michaels
La Vie en Rose
Breaking Perfect
Blind
Untied
First Comes Love
If I Fall
Something Borrowed
Protégé
Simple Man
The Surrender Trilogy
The McCullough Mountain Series
The Degrees of Separation Trilogy
The Calamity Rayne Series
Hurt
Special Thanks
I would like to thank those that supported me during the creation of this novel. I’ve never been so overwhelmed by such enthusiasm for my work. You all felt this was the exact time for this book to fall into readers’ hands and I couldn’t agree more. But it takes courage to write the truth, especially when it hurts. Thank you for reminding me that difficult words are sometimes necessary, for challenging me to keep it raw so not to diminish the realism, and, above all, thank you for your faith in my work.
To my greatest champions of HURT, Salima Headley, Allyson Young, A.J. Marks, Amo, Pam Godwin, Stephanie Sab, D.D. Lorenzo, and Ms. Good, your encouraging words motivated mine in a way nothing else could. You truly made this an epic experience. And for that and so much more, I thank you.
XO,
Lydia
About the Author
Lydia Michaels is the Award Winning and Bestselling author of over thirty-five contemporary romance novels. Her favorite things are coffee, the Jersey shore during the off-season, snuggling, and unforgettable love stories inspired by real people.
LYDIA IS THE TWO-TIME winner of the 2018 & 2019 Author of the Year Award by Happenings Media, as well as the 2014 Best Author Award from the Courier Times. Her work has been featured in USA Today, Romantic Times Magazine, and more. As the host and founder of the East Coast Author Convention, the Behind the Keys Author Retreat, and Read Between the Wines, she continues to celebrate her growing love for readers and romance novels around the world.
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Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1) Page 37