Kai’s screams will forever live in my head.
I always thought the next time I’d hear her scream was with me thrusting in her tight cunt. But that will only ever happen in my dreams. I won’t hurt her.
Instead, the scream I heard hit me to my core. I thought someone had broken into the house and was torturing, raping Kai.
My feet have never flown so fast up the stairs, determined to kill the intruder for touching what was mine. But I was met with a door that wouldn’t open. I couldn’t protect her.
I chewed Westcott out big time for allowing Kai to install such locks on the door, even though I knew why he did it, and it was the right move. Then again, I couldn’t stand to not be able to save and protect her from whatever devil was on the other side of the door.
Breaking down the door was easy when I had that much adrenaline and willpower running through my veins.
And then I saw Kai. Alone. No torture was happening, at least not in the present. It was a nightmare.
A nightmare I couldn’t save her from.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How did I let this happen? How did I let her get hurt? And why have I grown so soft as to care for her when I’ve only ever cared about my own survival? This girl threatens my survival more than anything.
I will never forget the agony on her face, and her naked body still bearing every mark the bastard laid on her. It makes me want to return Jarod from the depths of the ocean only to kill him again for hurting her.
Then she found my gun. I wish she would have pulled the trigger and ended my life, but when she turned it on herself, I realized how much more she mattered to me than I was aware. Why do I think her life is worth more than mine?
It made me admit how much I want her, even though I’m fucked up. I’m the worst possible man in the entire world to want her. I thought telling her one bit of the truth would warn her to stay away and hide her body from me. Of course, Kai did no such thing.
And then I did the stupidest thing I’ve done in a while. I decided to sleep on the floor next to her. It’s the middle of the day, but it doesn’t matter. The sun no longer shines in due to the blackout curtains. And my sleep schedule is fucked up. I work more nights than days. I’m used to sleeping in the daylight.
I slept on the ground next to her; it was purgatory. Not just because the hardwood floor is the most uncomfortable place to sleep, even with my pile of blankets, but because I was so near to Kai and couldn’t touch her.
The last time I slept next to her, I got to touch her. I got to feel her cool skin, and it slowed my unsteady heart, cooled my veins, and relaxed me. Being so close, but not being able to press against her was excruciating, even if it was for both our benefits. It’s not something I want to repeat.
But even that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was worrying she might have another nightmare—one I couldn’t save her from.
It’s obvious from spending time with her she doesn’t want to be touched. And I’m happy to oblige. But what if she’s in the middle of a nightmare and it’s the only way to pull her out? Then what would I do?
Thankfully, I don’t have to answer that question, because Kai sleeps undisturbed—whether from my presence or sheer exhaustion.
I watch her sleep. It’s been almost eight hours since I’ve laid down next to her. She’s been asleep the whole time. While I’ve struggled to keep my eyes closed for more than an hour at a time. I don’t need much sleep, I’ve adapted to survive. You don’t get to sleep much when dangerous men with guns are hunting you down. And I’d rather watch her sleep than rest my own eyes.
Kai coils her body tightly into a coil; I’m sure that’s the only thing keeping her remotely warm. I’m desperate to cover her with a blanket to warm her if she doesn’t let me touch her. But I resist.
I try to look past the bruises and scars, but I want to feel every one. I deserve to feel the pain for what I did.
I deserved that pain, not her.
I was the coward.
I chose my life over hers.
If only I could change the outcome.
“Enzo,” she whispers.
My attention draws back to her. I expect her to wake, but she doesn’t. She’s still asleep, dreaming about me.
“Yes, Enzo, like that.”
Wait? Is she having—