Page 12 of Dark Savior

Tears threatened again at his kindness. I had instincts about people, but my gut told me he was good. That he could be trusted.

And my gut had yet to let me down.

After cleaning up with hand soap and paper towels, I changed my clothes and shoved mine into a plastic bag the guy handed me from behind the counter. The car was hidden when I looked outside, but I could see the glare of headlights creeping down the road.

My heart lurched into my throat, fear thrumming through my veins. What if it was one of the Souls of Grim members searching for me?

“Go sit in the office,” the guy told me as the car began slowing to turn into the gas station. “You’re safe here.”

I believed him.

I slowly opened my tired eyes when a warm, calloused hand cupped my cheek and a thumb stroked over my skin. Callan was looming over me, anger, fear, and worry etched into his dark eyes. My lip trembled, but he shook his head at me—a silent warning to swallow my tears down.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You’re riding with me.”

I let him help me up from the chair, and when I stumbled, he splayed his hand over my ass, holding me to him until my head quit spinning so badly.

“I’m pretty sure I have a concussion,” I warned him as he led me out of the office and to a back door propped open by a brick. “And I’ve got a bloody steel pipe in that car with my prints all over it.”

“The car is being handled,” Callan assured me, his voice still low and soft, which I was grateful for. “You just focus on staying awake so I can get you home, okay?”

Carter was talking to the gas station attendant when we emerged out the backdoor, and he abruptly cut off the conversation, marching over to me immediately. Callan kept his hand on my ass as Carter crushed me in a hug so tight, I felt my bones grinding together. My lungs threatened to pop.

And yet, I never wanted him to let me go.

“Callan is going to drive you home,” Carter told me as he gripped my shoulders and stepped back, running his eyes over me. He took my bag of clothes from me, not even grimacing like he normally would, even though the stench from the bag was enough to make my stomach roil again. “I’m going to take care of everything else here. I want you to focus on resting. We’ll see how you feel in the morning before we dive into everything else.”

“She may have a concussion,” Callan warned him.

“Then keep an eye on her tonight,” Carter told him. “Hospital only if absolutely necessary. She’s being targeted. A hospital is too open and unsecure. Last fucking place I want her.”

Callan nodded once and then led me over to his bike. Gently, he strapped the helmet to my head and then tugged his on. And once we were both on the bike, I wrapped myself tightly around him, sinking into his safety and his heat, letting him thaw the coldness that had begun to settle in my veins.

“Thank you for coming,” I told him before he started the engine.

He dropped his hand and gripped my thigh, giving it a tight squeeze that settled something deep in my core. “I’ll always come for you, kitten. Don’t ever doubt that. Fucking always.”

6

Callan

Rachel slept from the moment I got her in my room until I woke her up for church the next morning. And even then, she hadn’t wanted to get up. Getting her out of bed had been like pulling teeth. I was pretty sure getting a root canal would’ve been less painful and less of a hassle. She already wasn’t a morning person on a good day, but on a bad one, where she felt as bad as she undoubtedly did? It was nearly impossible to get her to do anything.

“Here, kitten,” I murmured, placing a cup of coffee mixed with Kahlua in front of her. She was sitting in my seat at the table, looking worse for wear. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep and crying, and I could tell her head was hurting still. I probably shouldn’t have given her alcohol, but fuck it. She needed something, and pain pills weren’t cutting it, obviously.

I rested my hands on the back of my chair, hovering over her. I could’ve pulled in a chair from the sitting room just outside the chapel, but no. I wanted my presence in this room to be known. I wanted them to see who Rachel now belonged to. And I needed to feel like I was protecting her, even if no one in the club posed an actual threat to her.

She’d been taken. Coming home only to find her missing, her car still at the store up the street, made me feel untethered. I’d never felt so out of control. And then when she’d called her brother and he’d told me where we could find her, I’d been the first out the door, uncaring of protocol. My woman needed me.

Then seeing her in another man’s clothes, too pale for comfort and shaking, even in her sleep, had ripped me apart. Fucking eviscerated me.

She was mine. I was claiming her, which made her my old lady. And the Sons of Grim were going to fucking pay for taking her from me. For snatching her away from me as if they even had the fucking right.

“I need you to tell us what happened,” Carter said, looking at Rachel. “The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can go back to bed.” His expression softened when she turned bloodshot, annoyed eyes on him. “I know you don’t feel well.”

She grimaced. “That’s an understatement,” she muttered, moving the slightest bit to get more comfortable, only for her shoulders to stiffen with pain. Her back was bothering her; she mentioned probably having a bruise there last night, but I hadn’t checked. I’d been focused on getting her to bed. I’d trusted her when she’d said she didn’t have anything broken and any injuries she’d sustained could wait until today.

Even though I now wanted to see what her back looked like, I wouldn’t be checking with everyone in this room, staring at her. Her injuries were private, and I knew she wouldn’t want anyone seeing them. She probably wouldn’t even want me to, but she’d have to get over that.