Page 35 of Storm's Deliverance

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

STORM

It’s beenfive weeks since I was found, five weeks of helicopter parents, brother and club. Five weeks of shutting myself away. I sprawl out on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn, some candy, and a glass of wine beside me, trying to find something to watch. “Right, we will be back tomorrow morning. You need anything, call me or your dad,” Mom says as she walks over to the coffee table, placing her knuckle dusters in her bag.

“Jesus, Mom, where are you going that you need Rusty and Dusty? Dad will be with you. No one will try anything,” I point out.

She stands, pushing her silky black hair from her face. Tonight she’s wearing a black halter neck jumpsuit that hugs her curves. Even now at her age she would have men falling at her feet.

She faces me, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m not worried about anything happening to me. It’s to protect him,” she says, gesturing to Dad, who is wearing a fitted black shirt with his jeans. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and a couple of the buttons are open, exposing his broad chest and tattoos.

“Woman, I do not need protecting,” he argues.

Mom gives him a look. “Unless you’ve taken to hitting women, then yes, you do.”

“I’d never hurt a fucking woman, you know that!” Dad snaps back.

Mom saunters over to him, smiling as she wraps her arms around his neck. “I know, you’re a gentleman, and that’s why women want you. They want what’s mine. I’m just ready to remind them who you belong to,” she states before pressing her lips to his. He deepens the kiss, his hands pulling her closer.

“Okay!” I wince, looking away. “Just go. Have fun, and Mom, don’t get arrested.” I smirk. They break the kiss, and Mom turns, bending to pick up her bag.

“As long as people keep their hands to themselves, we won’t have a problem.” She walks over, kissing the top of my head, with Dad following behind her.

As they approach the front door, someone knocks. I frown. That can’t be my takeout. It’s not due for another thirty minutes, at least. I get to my feet when I hear Mom and Dad talking. As I approach the front door, my feet freeze to the spot, my eyes colliding with Drix.

“Drix is staying over tonight,” Dad states. I snap my gaze to him, my mouth dropping open, ready to protest, but he holds up his hand, stopping me. “No arguments. It’s for my assurance. I want someone here I can trust to look out for you.”

“Then call Enzo,” I counter.

“Enzo is out,” he says.

I sigh. “Well, I’m sure Drix doesn’t want to spend the night babysitting me. I’m sure he has better plans. Can’t you just put a prospect on the door?” I argue.

“You think I would trust a prospect to protect and watch over you? My princess? No. Hendrix is here. Now stop your bitching and suck it up,” he orders firmly, closing the distance as he presses a firm kiss on my temple before forcing me to look athim. “For me, please don’t fight me on this,” he says in a softer tone; a tone that pulls on my heartstrings.

Knowing he needs the assurance that I’m okay, I give a small nod in agreement.

He smiles, kissing my temple again. “Thank you.” He winks before turning back to Mom, taking her hand in his. “We will be back around midday tomorrow. Don’t burn the fucking house down,” he teases, like I’m an incompetent teen. “Dad, I’m twenty-four!” I yell after him, just as the front door shuts, leaving me and Drix standing there in awkward silence. I shift on my feet, looking down at the ground.

“Nice jammies,” he quips.

I look down at my Garfield tank top and shorts before looking at him. I sigh and turn on my heel, leaving him standing there and returning to the comfort of the couch. Angrily eating some popcorn, I hear him follow me, and the couch dips beside me. He reaches over and snatches some. I glare at him. “Hey!” I protest.

He grins that cocky, arrogant grin and winks. “Easy, you got enough to share.”

I huff. “You can go sit in the den if you want. I don’t need you to watch over my every move.”

He shrugs, popping another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Nah, I’m good here. So, what are we going to watch?” he asks, gesturing to the TV with the menu still up.

“I don’t know yet. I was searching for one,” I mutter.

His rich blue eyes slide to mine; they flicker over my face, at the bruises that were slowly fading and the cut on my lip that would leave a scar. I swiftly look away, letting my hair drape, covering his view of my face. I try curling into myself more, but my body still protests in some pain. It’s better but not fully healed.

The gate intercom rings, and I jump. Drix shifts. “Easy,” he says softly, getting to his feet. He reaches inside his waistband, holding his gun as he slowly walks over to the intercom. He looks at the camera. “You order takeout?” he asks. I stare down at my hands, willing my stupid jumpy erratic heart to calm. “Storm?” Drix calls my name, softer, full of concern.

“Er, yeah, I did,” I answer, still keeping my eyes cast down. My cheeks heat from how fucking pathetic I feel. So weak. I hate myself for feeling this way.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t realise Drix is back with a bag of hot Chinese takeout. “You stoned or something?” he quips.