by Kyle Autumn
Before I can say anything else, she screams in my face. “Then fucking let me go and do your job!”
I shove her harder into the wall to get her to listen. I don’t want to hurt her, but this is the only thing I know to do. “I am doing my job! My job is now to protect you, so fucking quit!”
“I don’t believe you!” she shouts at me.
“I don’t need you to believe me.” I put more pressure on her shoulders, keeping her pinned to the wall. “I just need you to trust me. You did that before. You can still do it. I swear.”
Sooner than she can shout at me again, she hesitates. Something is taking root inside her. Something that tells her she can trust me. I try to telepathically send her memories of the time we’ve spent together so she’ll realize she can believe and trust me. I’ve hurt her, I’ve lied to her, and I’ve done more than she knows—but I’m fighting for her. I need her to know that. With my eyes, I try to scream that at her.
“Trust me, Hanna Lee,” I whisper, using her real name. “Please.”
It’s more genuine emotion than I’ve showed in so long. More than anger, fury, and rage. It’s something I don’t want to name because I’ve never let myself believe I could have it. But this woman has changed me, and I won’t lose her because we met at the wrong time. Fuck that. She’s not going anywhere with him, and I’ll make sure she’s here to stay.
She still doesn’t scream at me, so I take it as a good sign. I start to move away, giving her a little space to let her know I trust her back. It’s a two-way street here, and we won’t win if we don’t stay banded together. When I release her, she doesn’t dart away, which seems like another good sign. And when she does come forward a little, I want to pull her into my arms. Kiss her. Wipe the blood off her face and tell her what she means to me so this piece of shit can’t hurt her anymore.
Behind me, though, Adam chimes in, infecting her with his ever-present poison. “You might want to tell her about those scars she has. Those nice lines all over her body. Where I learned that technique from.”
Dammit. It’s true. I didn’t want to believe it, but it fucking is. And it’ll be the last straw. She thinks I hate those scars on her body because of what she looks like. But I hate them because I’m part of the reason they’re there. It’s the one thing I never wanted her to find out. Let Adam spew his bullshit about how he hired me to catch her. I got her to trust me after that. But after this?
There will be nothing left after this.
Before she reaches me, she freezes her in tracks. Those words have hit her like a ton of bricks, and I’m never going to be able to pick up the pieces.
“Shut the fuck up,” I sneer at him without looking in his direction.
“It’s an interesting story, Zane. I’m sure our precious Willow would love to hear it.”
“I said shut the fuck up!”
My roar startles her. Her only open eye squeezes shut as her whole body jams up. In turn, my heart squeezes and my chest tightens. This new, strange feeling I have for her makes me sick when I’ve hurt her, and all I’ve done—since before I even met her—is hurt her.
God. I’m going to lose her before I ever really had her. Before I knew I needed her. And that pain is crueler than any physical thing Adam could do to me right now.
It’s Sasha all over again, but so much worse.
“You see,” Adam continues, his voice getting closer as he approaches us. Hanna Lee’s eye opens and she stares at me, a tear ready to fall, as he keeps speaking. “Zane here used to catch all of the men who tried to cross me. Then he’d use his unique skillset to get answers. That skillset he taught me—the perfect way to hold a knife, how to slice just right to get the perfect amount of scarring… Everything I know came from him. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Hanna Lee, listen to me,” I beg, my voice raspy and sounding desperate. I need to get through to her. “You think I hate your scars, but I don’t. I never did. I hate how they got there. That they’re there because of—” The rest of the words catch in my throat before I can explain.
It’s never been her scars. It’s been my fault in the matter.
In front of me, Hanna Lee trembles. Her one open eye shoots daggers at me as her hatred spills into the room in waves that threaten to drown me. I’ll let them too. If I’m not fighting for her, there’s nothing to fight for anymore.
She confirms this when she pushes me with everything she has left toward the man who wants to kill us both, her primal growl hitting me square in the chest.
Then she bolts from the room, leaving me stumbling toward Adam.
Who wraps his arm around my neck, his knife at the ready.
But I’m faster. I’ve spent my life in the thick of this shit. I’ve trained for moments like this, whereas Adam has men for this stuff. Men like the ones whose asses I kicked outside. Men like me. He won’t live long enough to regret threatening me with that knife.
When I swing him around to my front, the knife nicks my throat though. A trickle of blood dabbles down my neck as I throw him down onto the floor. Kneeling on this bastard’s chest, I have no regrets as I punch his face over and over and over again until it’s a bloody, mangled mess—worse than what he did to Hanna Lee. This fucker won’t ever see, smell, or eat anything again, and one more punch might be the end of him.
I freeze when I hear Hanna Lee open the drawer of the coffee table though. And when I turn around, she has the gun aimed at both of us.
The wild, crazed look in her eye makes me wonder who she means to shoot. After all of the shit that’s gone down, I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to kill us both. Hell, it’d be a relief if she does that. If she’s not staying with me, then she should just do it. After a taste of her, I’ll never truly live again.
I go to plead my case. To tell her to put the gun down and we’ll end this here and now. To say that Adam will never hurt her again, and to apologize for my role in her mutilation. If I’d known, I never would have done what I did. That’s not a good enough excuse, but it’ll have to do. I have nothing else to give this woman but my life, and that’s exactly what I want to do if she can accept that.
I don’t get a chance to do any of that though. The woman looks me straight in the eye, grins, and positions her finger on the trigger.
And then she pulls it.
24
Hanna Lee
“I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.”
That was a man’s voice. I swear it was. A voice I recognize. But the only man in my life wouldn’t dare to apologize about anything. That’s enough to rouse me from whatever deep sleep I’ve been in.
When I finally come to, beeps sound around me, and something on my face itches. But I can’t lift my hand to scratch it. My arm is so heavy. Everything is so heavy.
I try to shift my body around, but pain lances through me and I moan. Then my name comes from a man’s voice. I don’t know how far away he is, but he’s not far enough away. That much I know. When I try to open my eyes, my lashes stick together. One lid won’t budge no matter how many times I tell my brain to open it. But the other one does a little. Blurry blobs of light peek through though and I can’t make anything out.
I moan again, and then I hear my name for a second time.
That voice. It grates against my skin and sears my heart at the same time. I want to run to it and from it simultaneously.
I need to be able to see.
Thickly, I swallow. My throat feels swollen and sore. Did someone choke me? Did I finally find my voice and scream? My memory is hazy, but with a shaky inhale, I try to remember.
Adam.
I ran away.
He hunted me down at Zane’s house.
And when Zane was about to land the fatal blow…
I pulled the trigger.
That’s all I remember. It’s a total blank after the ear-shattering bang of the gun.
Something touches my hand and I manage to flinch away. That took all of my strength though. I have nothing left, not even when
the man in the room raises his voice and calls for help.
I try to blink my eyes open again. One of them still won’t do anything, and when I put everything I have into lifting my hand to my face, I find out why. There’s a bandage over it.
Oh my god. What happened to my eye? Did Adam finally ruin my face? Did he get fed up enough to stab out one of my eyes? The beeping gets louder as my panic rises.
When someone else comes into the room—a woman with a soft tone—I start to relax. But only a little. Staying alert is the only way I’ll get out of this. Whatever this is.
“Hanna Lee? Do you know where you are?” the woman asks.
Before I can answer, a man says, “Will she be okay? What’s going on?”
“Sir, I’m going to figure that out.” The woman puts a gentle hand on my arm. “Hanna Lee, sweetie. Can you see me?”
I try. I really do, but my eye just won’t clear. It’s open, but all I see are fuzzy shapes and colors. One of them might be Adam though, and who knows what he’s said to this woman.
“Hanna Lee, you’re in the hospital. You were hurt pretty badly,” the woman tells me, which makes my heart race. If I’m in the hospital, there’s no escape. I’m a sitting duck. “But you’re going to be okay. And your husband is here.” She squeezes my arm a little like that’s a comforting thought.
But then the machines beep wildly when my heart pumps out of control as I frantically realize what that means.
My husband, Adam, is here.
I must have shot Zane.
Fuck. This is the end. He’ll kill me now.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay,” the woman coos. “You’re safe here. We’re going to help you.”
No, they’re not. They’re going to get me well enough for Adam to take me back. This woman has no idea the danger I’m in. I have to get out of here.
But the next word makes me freeze.
“Hanna Lee?” Adam says—though something about the way he says it gives me pause. “Hanna Lee? I’m here.” Fingers thread through mine, which makes me flinch and squirm as much as I can—barely.
No. No, I don’t want him touching me. Eyes, open! Vision, come back!
“I told you I’d fight,” he tells me, his voice sounding all wrong.
Is my hearing messed up too?
“God, I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice breaks as something softly lands on my arm. His forehead?
It doesn’t matter. He’s sorry.
Now, after everything he’s done and made me do. After he sliced me up, ruined my body, and filled me with enough rage that I shot the only man who could help me, he’s sorry.
Now, he’s fucking sorry.
That gives me the strength to blink enough to clear my vision, though what I see when everything comes into focus confuses me.
That’s not Adam at all.
And the machines beep wildly for a reason entirely separate from panic.
Hope. Fear. Elation. Relief. Rage.
The whole emotional spectrum runs through me, but the prominent feeling surprises me so much. Because when I can finally clearly see Zane with his forehead on my arm, I’m struck with one emotion more than anything else.
Love.
It shouldn’t be there. I remember everything Adam said about using Zane’s techniques to scar most of my body. I remember the pleasure in his eyes when he told me that tidbit like it’d ruin my fucking life. And maybe it should. Maybe I should hold it against the man who taught my abuser what he knew about abuse. Maybe I should be furious that these scars on my body stem from him. Maybe I should kick the shit out of him for being the man sent to take me down.
But how can I when that same man gave me my life back?
When he’s here, at the hospital with me, looking for the first time like he feels something other than fury and murderous rage?
When he was instrumental in letting me take what I needed when I needed it, even when I didn’t know I needed it?
That gunshot had to have killed Adam. And I wouldn’t have been able to do that without Zane’s help. I’d love to think I would have, but I’m not stupid. I was so fucked up—still am. But without him, I wouldn’t have gotten this far.
And I won’t let Adam ruin another fucking thing in my life. Not as long as I live another day.
I dig deep to find some strength and squeeze his fingers back. That makes him pop his head up and look at me, and if I’m not mistaken, I see tears. My vision isn’t great still, but when light glints off his eyes, I’m pretty sure of what I see.
It’s confirmed when he puts my hand on his cheek and my skin lands on a wet path.
“Fuck, Hanna Lee,” he says, gripping my hand hard in his. “I thought I lost you.”
With a lump in my throat, I almost don’t get the words out. But I manage to say, “You almost did.”
He cracks the first real smile I’ve ever seen on his face. When he leans back, a sling comes into view, but he brings my hand to his mouth before I can ask about it.
Then the woman—my nurse—interrupts the scene. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on,” she says. “But I’m going to get the doctor in to check you out, okay, Hanna Lee?” She puts a careful, gentle hand on my arm. “You still need lots of rest, so take it easy.” Then she gives a pointed glare at Zane and leaves.
Zane watches her go, tipping his head over his shoulder until she’s gone. Then he turns back to me. “You’re gonna be okay.”
I nod a tiny bit. Somehow, I feel it. I know it. Everything’s somehow going to be fine because Adam’s gone. I can tell that’s what he means.
I have one question. “Why did you say…my husband?” I croak out.
He understands what I’m asking. “I had to or they wouldn’t let me see you. And I had to see you. I had to explain that—”
“Don’t,” I quietly say, cutting over him. In a scratchy voice, I continue the best I can. “I don’t care. Let’s…put it behind us.”
He presses my hand to his lips. “Okay. But there’s one more thing I need to tell you.” Tears shine in his eyes some more as I wait for whatever he’s about to say. “I’m proud of you. You took what you needed. No holds barred.” Shaking his head a little, he grins again. “I’m proud. That’s all.”
As I process how much it took for him to say that to me, to open up in that way, moisture wells in my own eyes now. Well, just the one. The other one has to heal along with the rest of my sore, achy, heavy body. But with Adam gone from this world, I for once think I’ll be able to do that.
Scars and all.
With Zane by my side.
Epilogue
Zane
“No,” Hanna Lee tells me. “Not that one.”
I huff out a breath. “For fuck’s sake,” I tell her, trying to tamp down my grumpy asshole mode. It’s still difficult though, even with her. Some habits die hard. “Just take the one you want, then.”
With that, a smile curves her lips and she snatches her first choice from the options on the table.
“Thank fuck. Was that so hard?” I raise an eyebrow at her, but when she just stares at me, it falls and I dissolve into what I normally feel when I look at her.
Pure fucking love.
I don’t know how the fuck that happened to a guy like me, but it did.
It took four weeks for Hanna Lee to recover. Four long, grueling weeks of her feeling disappointed with her progress while also finding a new lightness of being without her abuser hunting her down. I’d love to think her healing had something to do with me, but I won’t take any of the credit for it. I’m just glad I got to be there for it.
That I still get to be here for it.
For her.
Even though she gets on my last nerve sometimes with her indecisiveness, I get it. I know what it took for her to even be here today. So I understand. Even when all she has to decide on is which fucking candy bar she wants when I picked a few up at the store.
At the hospital, she told me how much she missed chocolate. No
w, every time I go to the store, I make sure to grab her some. My woman’s not going without the things she loves if I can help it.
This time, I came back with three different choices. Sometimes though, she can’t make up her mind. She’s still not using to taking what she wants, and I refuse to choose for her. She’ll never learn to be herself and open up if I don’t give her the space to do it.
Just like she’s given me the space to figure myself out in return.
“Want a bite?” she asks as she unwraps the chocolate bar.
Kinda, yeah, I do. But when she sinks her teeth into it, the only thing I want a bite of is her. So I do what I do these days when that urge hits me: I scoop her up and take what I want. Sometimes, it’s the only way to continually remind her that she has to do the same. I lead by example—and I get rewarded handsomely.
What can I say? It works for us.
After jogging us up the stairs, I push through our bedroom door and gently set her on the bed. I pluck the chocolate from her hand, careful to wrap it back up and set it aside for later. Then I wait for her to give me that look with her eyes. The one that says she knows I’ll make her feel like the woman she feels like on the inside. The one that says she wants me to take her.
The moment I get it, I pounce.
But slowly.
“Zane,” she whispers as I gently remove her shirt from her body.
Once I’ve tossed it to the bed, I look her in the eye. “Yeah, Hanna Lee?”
She holds her hand out for me, so I take it. Then she lies back on the bed and I follow, stretching out on top of her and holding myself up with the other arm. “I heard you in the hospital, you know.”
With my lips on her neck, I freeze. “What part?”
“The part where you apologized.” She tilts her head so she can see me, threading her fingers with mine. “I heard you say you were sorry. And I want you to know that I accept that apology.”
Dropping my forehead to her shoulder, I take a deep breath. “Hanna Lee, we don’t—”
“No, we do. We need to talk about it.” After scooting away from me, she sits up in the bed. “I’m all better now. Rarely a day goes by where we’re not naked in here, but you’re holding back. I can feel it.” With a little shove against my shoulder, she says, “Don’t. I can take it.”