Page 12 of Glorious Sinner

“Ryan,” I whispered. “He’s come back. He’s come back for me.”

3

Tomas

I watched Stephanie crumble before my eyes. The barrier she’d used to keep me and fucking everyone away since she came out of the hospital scattered like rubble at our feet.

Christ, I wanted to pull her into my arms so badly, hold her, comfort her as flashes of memory of how I’d found her on that bathroom floor, bleeding, fucking dying in my arms, invaded my mind. She didn’t want that from me, though. She’d made that clear. She knew I could and would protect her, however.

“You’ve seen him?” I forced past the rage riding me, trying to keep it from my voice. The last fucking thing I wanted was to scare her even more.

She shook her head, trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. “H-he left me gifts—chocolates, a rose, a note.” She drew in a ragged breath. “A text. He’s been watching me at the club. It was him, I know it was.” She shook harder. “You have to believe me, Tomas. You have to…”

Fuck it. I tugged her into my arms, unable to keep my distance any damn longer. She froze and I fucking hated it. I didn’t want to let her go. “I believe you, Angel.”

She relaxed a little in my arms and I had to work at keeping my breathing even. Some would see it as insignificant, but to me it was goddamn monumental. I rubbed slow circles on her back, not sure how to comfort her but wanting her to stay right the hell where she was. I hadn’t done a lot of it, comforting others, in my life. The last time was a year ago when I held her against my chest, waiting for an ambulance, telling her she was going to be okay, while I silently prayed that was the truth. I hadn’t done a lot of that either, not since I sat in a church as a small boy and begged God to bring my mother back to me.

To take my father instead.

Stephanie had lived. But that was no thanks to me, and no thanks to God. Where the curvy redhead was concerned, I’d fucked up at every turn.

I breathed her in, taking in the intoxicating scent of her hair, her skin, and silently vowed that she would never be frightened ever again.

I’d almost lost her once, and since that day I’d treaded carefully, so damn carefully. It wasn’t in my nature to hold back, to not go after what I wanted. But I had no damned idea what I was doing where Stephanie was concerned. There was no stronger proof of that than the mess I’d made of things since that day.

“You can stay here,” I said.

I was holding her too tight, but the fear was still riding me. I wanted to pick her up and carry her to my bed, hold her all night, reassure myself that she was safe. Instead, I reluctantly let her go, not wanting to freak her out.

She blinked up at me. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m sure it’s safe,” I said, and I made sure she heard the truth in my words, that there was no room for arguments, not in this.

She didn’t even try, which proved just how terrified she truly was.

The rage burning in me grew even more intense. Ryan had lost his mind if he thought I’d allow him anywhere near her. I’d wanted him dead after what he did to her a year ago. I’d had him hunted down, had made him fucking scream, bleed, but I’d let him live. For Stephanie’s sake, I’d left him breathing. I didn’t want her carrying around that asshole’s death, that weight on her shoulders.

I’d fucked up. I should have buried the peace of shit.

I stared down at her, still working at keeping my breathing even, which wasn’t easy when all I could think about was what could have happened to her. She should have been here with me. She should already be mine. Christ, I fucking hated this.

For a long time I’d been taking what I wanted. I ran my territory without mercy, demanded then earned the respect, the fear I saw in people’s eyes when they looked at me. But I’d never wanted anything as much as I’d wanted Stephanie Gable. As much as I wanted her still. I’d wanted to make her mine since the first time I laid eyes on her, standing in her father’s driveway when I pulled up in my car for my first day of work. But I’d never believed I was good enough for her. So I’d walked away, left her with Ryan, not knowing what a monster he truly was. Thinking, believing, anyone was better than me.

I’d been wrong, so fucking wrong.

And I’d been trying to get through to her, un-fucking-successfully, since she got out of the hospital. She wasn’t business, or territory, or real estate. For once I couldn’t have what I wanted. I couldn’t just take it. And I sure as hell couldn’t force her to want me back, demand she return my feelings. I didn’t want that even if it was possible.

So I’d given her time—never pushed, not once—had waited for her to let me know she was ready for something more. She hadn’t. And after being away for two weeks, missing her, craving her, I’d walked back into that club damn near out of my mind from wanting her, my control shot—and she’d seen it, felt it, and she been scared of me. The intensity of my feelings for her had scared her.

I’d rather give up a limb than that. Never that.

It’d nearly killed me, but I decided to pull away, for both our sakes. Walking away from her and out of that club, knowing I wouldn’t come back the next day, had been the hardest thing I’d done in a long fucking time.

And in doing that, I’d left her unprotected. I’d failed her. Again.

“Tomas?”

Her voice pulled me out of my own head, alerting me to the fact that I’d been standing here fucking staring at her. “Yeah?”