Page 19 of Chasing Kit

Finally gathering the courage to remove my hands and open my eyes, I slowly sat up in bed and glanced around the room. My stomach lurched with the movement, and I grunted, rubbing it as nausea hit me like a freight train. I stumbled out of bed, my feet catching in the duvet and nearly tripping me, and I ran toward a door I hoped was a bathroom. It was, much to my relief, and I stumbled to the toilet, dumping any remaining traces of food into the bowl.

“I’m never going to drink again,” I muttered, crinkling my nose at the sour taste in my mouth. Fucking never. I cursed the person who created alcohol. Only an idiot would willingly punish themselves like this, and right now, I was king of the idiots.

After vomiting, I rinsed my mouth at the sink, grateful to find an unopened bottle of mouthwash on the counter. The bitter taste was gone, but the queasiness remained. A quick glance registered a quaint beach-themed bathroom—a strange choice for a biker mansion. My only goal was getting back to bed before the floor started tilting again.

I staggered back to the bedroom and paused, surprised to see War on the bed. He was sleeping on his side, his back facing where I’d been sleeping earlier. Fully clothed, he didn’t look comfortable as he shifted and mumbled under his breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, face twitching.

Dreaming.

I huffed a small laugh. I knew what it was like to be caught in a dream, my own mind turning deadlines into monstrous crocodiles. But I had a feeling War’s nightmares were made of something far more real.

Walking toward him, I kept my steps quiet. I sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. He looked so different asleep. The fierceness of his face softened, his lashes gentle against suntanned cheeks. His mouth loosened. While he certainly wasn’t smiling, his permanent frown was gone. He was even more handsome than when he was awake. War was the hottest guy I’d ever seen.

I reached forward, hesitating with my fingers just above his cheek. It was a stupid impulse, this need to touch him, to feel the reality of him so close. My fingertips brushed his skin, barely a tickle. He twitched but didn’t wake up. What horrors did a man like him dream about?

The sight of something on his collarbone caught my eye and I frowned. It was a thin piece of darkened, puckered skin, visible just above his shirt. I hesitated, then reached over to tug his collar down a little more. I didn’t like what I saw. A scar. But not just one. There were more hidden beneath his shirt. In the small amount of skin I’d exposed, his chest seemed littered with marks, and above them hung the silver dog tags I’d suspected was on his chain.

I should stop. It wasn’t my place to snoop. But my fingers were already moving, shifting farther back on the bed. I tentatively hooked them around the bottom of his shirt and raised it to expose his stomach. I gasped. The entire top half of his body was covered in scars of all shapes and sizes. Some looked like deep, profound gashes, enough to have been life-threatening wounds.

My chest ached, and each breath felt like razors in my throat. “What happened to you?” I whispered.

He seized my wrist and spun me across the bed before I could comprehend what was happening, and then he was above me, so large he blocked out the ceiling, hands closing around my throat before I’d stopped moving.

I gasped in agony, the pain intensifying as he clamped down on my neck. I couldn’t breathe. His grip was crushing. His cloudy gaze stared down at me, an unrecognizable anger flooding his face. This wasn’t the War I’d known. That War was composed, holding himself with restraint. This man wanted to kill me.

“War . . . .” I wheezed, slapping his wrists, trying and failing to get him to release me. “It’s Kit.” My vision swam with black dots and my lashes fluttered. This was how I was going to die. Not at the hands of someone who’d conned me, but from War, a man I’d crushed on for years. Christ. What a way to go. “Please.”

War’s stare eyes widened and his gaze became alert. He scrambled off me.

I inhaled greedily, my lungs burning with the sudden rush of air. He’d nearly choked me to death. I groaned, rubbing my raw throat. It fucking hurt. I would have bruises tomorrow. A dark, strange thought surfaced through the pain—that his marks would be on me, a physical sign that he’d had his hands all over me. The idea was terrifying and weirdly, thrilling.

I blinked and slowly sat up, glancing at him.

War’s stare was distant, fixed on his hands as if they were foreign objects. He looked trapped, his brain caught in a memory he couldn’t escape. Maybe it was a flashback. My psychology textbooks had described this—the disassociation, the vacant horror—but seeing it in person was something else entirely.

Carefully, I got to my knees and crawled toward him. “War, are you with me?”

He flashed me a surprised squint as his chest stuttered.

I smiled. “Hi. It’s me. Kit. The pain in the ass you followed to Pleasant Beach.”

His attention lowered to my neck and he inhaled sharply. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay.” I reached out to him, but he winced away from me.

He shot to his feet on the other side of the bed and began to pace, muttering “fuck” like a prayer. He carded his fingers through his short hair, cursing over and over again.

I slowly stood and walked as passively as I could toward him, offering him a kind small smile. “Hey. I’m fine.”

He froze and finally looked in my direction, but he didn’t stare into my eyes, rather at my neck again. “You’re not fine.” His gruff tone was deeper than I was used to hearing from him. “I nearly killed you. Fuck. I nearly fucking killed you. I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.” His breathing deepened. “This is a fucking mess. Your dad should’ve sent someone else.”

“No.” I shook my head, rushing forward to grab his arms. He wrenched free, and lacking the strength to resist, I let him step away. My heart ached for him. “I shouldn’t have been so close to you.” I took a deep breath, massaging the back of my neck. “I saw your scars and curiosity got the better of me. It was my fault.”

He tensed, shoulders stiffening as he stared at me. His silence filled the already quiet room.

“How did you get them?” I whispered, hoping to satisfy my interest and ease the tension. I took a step forward, but he retreated again.

His jaw tightened.