Page 137 of Pretty Little Scars

I hear hooves and then Tucker yelling out, but I can’t stop scratching Peter’s face. Blood coats my hands as he’s yanked off me and thrown aside, and then Tucker’s kneeling beside me, his face masked in pure rage and worry and fear.

“Baby? Fuck, your lip. Did he?—”

“No, I fought him off,” I spit out as Tucker helps me to my feet. Tires screech to a halt behind us, and I spin around just as Easton jumps out of the car and runs toward us, his weapon trained on Peter, who’s still crying on the ground.

“I think I gouged one of his eyes out,” I say, but my voice sounds a million miles away, and I can’t catch my breath.

“Good.” Tucker takes my shoulders in his hands. “Look at me, Duchess. Eyes on me. Good girl.”

I’m watching him, and he takes in a deep breath.

“Breathe with me, baby. It’s over now. He can’t hurt you.”

“Never again,” Easton agrees as he slaps handcuffs on Peter.

“She attacked me!”

“I have everything on video, you fucking piece of shit,” Tucker spits out, and when Peter’s gone, Tucker helps me to my feet and folds me in his arms and holds on like he’ll never let go.

I hear Easton return, and I look over to see him standing with his hands balled into fists, his jaw tight.

“I’m going to have to ask you some questions, Darby. And I’ll need that video feed, Tuck.”

“I’ll send it to you,” Tucker replies, but he doesn’t let me go. “And let’s give Darby some time?—”

“I can tell you now,” I interrupt. “I’d rather get it over with.”

And so I do, I go through the whole thing without stuttering, without crying, and when I’m finished, Easton reaches out and pats me on the shoulder, and I don’t flinch away.

“I’m proud of you, Darby,” he says. “You did so fucking good. Peter won’t be bothering you again.”

Easton leaves, and Tucker lets out a breath.

“I watched the whole fucking thing,” he says, “and I swear to God it took ten years off my life. I couldn’t get to you fast enough, and you didn’t know I was coming, and God, Darby.”

“I’m okay.” My breathing is evening out, but now that Peter’s gone and I’ve told Easton everything, I’m starting to shiver.

“He had that whip,” Tucker says, shaking his head. “And fuck, I thought?—”

“Me, too, but he didn’t get the chance to use it.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” He cups my cheek and kisses me hard. “You’re so fucking strong and brave, andChrist, you kicked his ass. I’m so proud.”

“I’m just relieved you got here when you did because I don’t know how long I could have held him off.”

“You destroyed his eye, baby. He was done. You didn’t need me.”

“Yes, I did. I do.” He sweeps me up in his arms and carries me inside, marches through the kitchen to the living room, and sits with me in his lap. “I do need you. Oh God, I’m going to cry, but it’s just because the adrenaline is wearing off.”

“Cry, baby. Do whatever you need to do.”

I don’twantto cry. Jesus, it feels like that’s all I do when I’m with this man, but I can’t stop it. So, the tears come, and my man holds me, murmurs sweet words in my ear, and runs his hand through my hair. And when I’m done, I feel so much better.

I let out a big sigh and pull back to look at my man.

“That scared the shit out of me.”

“Same here,” he agrees and nuzzles my nose. “Are you really okay?”