Page 32 of Gunnar

It’s not Gunnar.

The voice is completely foreign; every ounce of my relief dissipates as it’s replaced with terror. A chill runs down my spine as my gaze falls to my hand. My blood turns to ice as my fingers tighten around the pink protea between them.

The world narrows to the unwelcome arms wrapped around my body, making my skin crawl. My lungs seize, and my vision tunnels as he pulls me tighter to him. “Soon, my love.” He murmurs the promise against my ear before letting his hands fall.

I stand frozen for a second before screaming, “Gunnar!” This time, it’s not in panic, it’s absolute terror. Hands grab at me as I inhale the sickly sweet scent of the protea crushed against my chest. The crowd rushes at me again, and I fall, crying out for help. “Gunnar!”

A cry tears through the noise of the crowd, sharp, ragged, and unmistakably Devyn’s. My blood flash-boils, my attention snapping toward the direction of the scream, and I catch a glimpse of her before she’s swallowed away again.

“Devyn!” I roar her name, but the sound is lost in the tumultuous pandemonium.

Years of tactical training, crowd control, and extraction under fire take over, and my body moves before my brain can catch up. Although none of that training and preparation dulls the terror clawing at my throat, the primal panic of hearing her in distress superseding everything. I shove through the sea of people with no regard for courtesy or restraint, my shoulders acting as battering rams and my hands shoving bodies aside with a level of force that borders on violence.

A broad-shouldered, bearded man, holding up his phone to capture the chaos, blocks my path. I don’t give him the opportunity to move. Swinging my arm, my elbow catches him in the face with a satisfying crunch. He falls to the ground, crying about his nose, as I tear past him.

She screams again, and the sound causes my heart to leap into my throat. It’s higher, more desperate, and edged with a terror that makes my vision blur red. “Gunnar!” My name billows over her lips as she seeks a lifeline in a sea of churning people.

The crowd parts just enough for me to see her. She’s on the ground, folded in on herself, and clutching something to her chest. Her face is pale and stricken, accentuated by the harsh glare of phone flashes. The people around her press close. Too close. Their hands reach for her, touching her and violating her personal space in ways that make me murderous.

I violently part the remaining people separating us with a protective roar that rattles from the depths of my soul. When I reach her, I drop to my knees, shoving people away from her before cupping her face.

“Devyn.” My voice is unrecognizable, scraped raw with fear and fury. “Devyn, look at me.”

Her eyes timidly find mine. They’re glassy, and her pupils are blown wide with adrenaline and shock. She’s trembling, shaking so hard that her teeth are chattering. Her hands squeeze tight against her chest, the pink petals of a flower poking through her white-knuckled desperation. “He’s here.” I barely hear her shaky whisper, but that rage that floods my system is so pure and absolutely, I have to close my eyes for a moment to calm myself.

I scoop her into my arms with one fluid motion, and her arm wraps around my neck, clinging to me with sheer desperation, nearly shattering my resolve. Cradled against my chest, her trembling body fits against mine like she is made to be there. I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in, her normally warm, floral scent tainted with the acrid, metallic tang of fear and panic.

“Got you,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

Pulling her tighter, with one arm banded around her back and the other supporting her legs, I rise to my feet. The crowd presses in on us as my eyes dart through the crowd. I’m not just cataloging threats, I’m searching for the predator who dared touch her and give her that fucking flower. I see nothing but fans, all of them excited, opportunistic, and oblivious to the violation that occurred just inches from their outstretched hands.

A blacked-out Suburban screeches to a halt a few feet away. Jagger is behind the wheel, his face grim and focused. He reaches across the passenger seat and shoves the door open. Turning my body and using it as a shield to protect Devyn from the crowd, I move toward the vehicle with a single-minded purpose. I climb in sideways, settling into the seat with Devyn still in my arms and arranging her on my lap like she’s precious cargo. Because she is. She absolutely is. The moment I yank the door shut, Jagger presses the locks and peels away from the curb, with a squeal of tires that drowns out the disappointed roar in our wake.

Locked in the safe confines of the vehicle, Devyn doesn’t let go. Her arm stays wrapped around my neck, with her face buried in the hollow of my throat and breaths coming in short, hitching gasps that gradually slow but don’t stop. She’s trembling—violently and uncontrollably—and I can feel her heartbeat thudding against my chest, rabbit-fast and terrified.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her forehead. Pulling her tight with one hand, I use the other to stroke her hair, smoothing the whiskey-colored waves back from her face, my fingers tangling in the silky threads. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She makes a sound—a sobbed sigh—and wriggles closer, her body curling into mine like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin. I adjust my grip, dragging her impossibly closer, one hand spanning her lower back, the other cradling her head against my shoulder.

The drive back to her house is a blur of streetlights and stop signs. Jagger navigates with grim efficiency, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds to ensure we aren’t being followed. He doesn’t try to talk to me, like he knows I’m not capable of speaking to him at the moment. All my focus is on the woman in my arms.

“Let go,” I insist, firm but gentle, as my fingers brush against hers, still clutching the petals and thistles as they dig through her skin. “Devyn, let go of the flower.”

She vehemently shakes her head, tightening her grip as she denies my request.

“Okay.” I keep my voice soft and steady, addressing her the way I’d speak to a spooked animal or a frightened child. “Okay, you hold it. You hold whatever you need.”

As the miles pass, she relaxes incrementally, nuzzled against me. I comfort her for the entire drive, urging her to slow her breathing and watching as her tremors gradually subside into occasional shudders. When Jagger pulls up before the house and puts the SUV in park, I pop the door open and slide out, with Devyn still cradled against my chest. She makes a noise of protest when the cool night air hits us, burrowing deeper into my neck. I adjust my grip, hitching her higher, making sure she feels secure.

Hawk is waiting in the doorway, his face a mask of professional concern that cracks when he sees her clinging to me as I carry her up the front steps. “Fuck…” The word wafts over his lips.

I nod, once and sharp, pushing past him into the house. I head toward the stairs without breaking stride, the door closing and locking behind us with a solid thunk before the security system beeps. At the end of the hall, I nudge the door open gently with my foot and carry her inside. The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the windows and a small lamp on the nightstand. My boots are a muted thud on the hardwood floors as I cross them to her bed.

I lay her down carefully, pulling back the covers with one hand while supporting her body with the other. Her arms tighten in resistance, not wanting to let go of my neck. She makes a small whimper of distress that tears at my chest. “Shh,” I soothe, untangling her arms with gentle persistence. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She settles against the pillows, her eyes finally opening, fixing on my face with a pleading vulnerability that makes my heart ache. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hip pressed against hers.

“Your shoes.” I keep my voice low and grounded. “Let’s get them off.” I unbuckle the straps of her heels, one at a time, my fingers working the small buckles with surprising dexterity. I remove each shoe carefully, cradling her foot in my palm for a moment before setting the heel on the floor beside the bed, arranging them neatly.