Page 29 of Nomad: Violent Devotion

“I thought killing you would make it easier. But I nearly watched you die.” I grip the chair to stay upright. “I thought you were gone.”

I can still feel his blood on my hands, the panic, the scream for the doctor.

“I’ve seen people die before. Hell, I’ve taken people’s lives and never gave a shit. But the idea of losing you...” My voice is barely a whisper. “I saved you because you stopped being a target. Somewhere in the mess, you became the one thing I was never allowed to want.”

The confession hangs between us, raw and absolutely fucking terrifying.

“I don’t know if it’s guilt or something worse. But I couldn’t let you die.”

Walker lets out a breath. “I believe you.”

It hits me harder than a slap. “You ... do?”

He nods. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since you stitched me up.” Walker sinks into the chair, grimacing.

Bandage, blood, all my doing.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. For the knife. For the lies. For being the fucking hurricane in your life.” Maybe if I keep apologizing, it will make a difference.

Rain slashes the windows, cocooning the farmhouse in darkness and noise. For ages, neither of us speaks. The silence between us isn’t empty, or loaded, or anything I can fight. It’s just worn out. Like we both are.

Walker finally breaks it, voice low, rough as gravel. “We stay here tonight.”

I nod. Too tired to argue, too raw to care.

“Tomorrow, we figure out our next move.”

“The Saints won’t stop looking,” I point out the obvious once more.

He grunts. “Let them fucking try.”

“My father won’t either.” Just to make sure he knows.

He meets my eyes, jaw tight. “He can come himself if he wants a piece.”

“They’ll come after you because of me. Tyrant will want me back to punish me.”

Walker leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes cold as a loaded gun. “No one lays a hand on you. Not the Saints. Not your father. Not anybody. If they want you, they come through me.”

The air is full of barely restrained violence. He doesn’t blink, just reaches across the table, plucks my bike keys from where I dropped them, and slides them into his pocket, like a promise, not a threat.

I glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

He leans back, face twisting as the stitches tug, but his eyes never leave mine. “Making sure you don’t disappear before sunrise.”

“You think I’ll run?”

Walker’s mouth twists, half threat, half something softer he’d kill before naming. “Running’s the only thing you’ve ever trusted. But not tonight.” Thunder rattles the glass. He lets the silence settle, heavy as a loaded gun. “So, I’m taking that option off the table.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

He shrugs, voice low and dangerous. “No. But you’re not leaving unless you want it more than I want you safe.”

I stare at him. Really stare. For the first time in my life, someone’s daring the world to come for me, and I almost believe he could tear it apart.

Outside, thunder rolls over the fields, shaking the windows. Inside, with ghosts pressing in from every corner, I realize the scariest thing of all.

I don’t want to leave. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.