Page 23 of Under Kid’s Protection

“Stop!” she screamed, and the present day slammed into her like a freight train.

Kid flew off the bed. Panting wildly, he held his hands up, palms toward her and backed away from her.

Gasping for breath, she flicked her gaze all around. Her bedroom came into focus. There was no tattoo machine. Mike and Machete weren’t there. She was alone with Kid in her apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Kid said.

Glancing in his direction, she attempted box breathing to calm herself. She inhaled and held it for four seconds before exhaling. Her heart raced like it had the night she’d been tattooed against her will, when Mike had proclaimed her the property of the Bloody Scorpions.

“I’m sorry,” Kid repeated as he lowered his arms.

Sobbing, Carrie scrambled to collect her bedding. Did he see it? Did he know? She needed to cover herself. She wasn’t ready for anyone to discover how they had branded her their house whore. Not even Kid.

14

Kid

Fuck! Goddammit.

Kid had screwed up. He’d gotten greedy. What was he thinking?

He knew exactly what Carrie had been through. He’d witnessed that evening with his own eyes. How could he even attempt a move like that? She didn’t give him permission to go there!

Sure, she’d said lower, but not that low! Didn’t he promise to stay north of the border? Of all the occasions for him to break his word, now was the worst. He didn’t want to be the jackass biker to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said for the millionth time before reaching up and fisting his hair.

She shook as she wailed on the bed. Hiding in a cocoon of blankets, she covered her face. She was frail and weak in that moment. Which she wasn’t. She’d clawed her way out of this state before. He was beyond an asshole to thrust her into this mindset for his own selfish needs.

Helplessness was not a feeling he was accustomed to. Scratching the back of his neck, he racked his brain for something to do to make it better. Water? He could get her a glass of water.

Her phone!

That’s it.

Shuffling so as not to startle her further, he got to her bedside table. Plugged into the charger, he found her cell.

He swiped it off and frowned at the lock screen. Shit. He hadn’t planned for that.

Cautiously, he approached her. “Carrie,” he said.

Sniffling, she peered up at him, but he got the feeling she didn’t see him. The vacantness in her eyes seemed more like she looked through him.

“Here.” He offered her the phone. “Call your therapist.”

From what he understood, she had access to emergency telehealth in the event she experienced a crisis. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure this counted as one. She hadn’t needed that service in the last six months—not until Kid came along and tried to shove his hand into her panties.

Gingerly, trembling, she reached from the sanctity of her covers. Carrie took the phone from him, and he stepped back.

Running his hands up and down his thighs, rage and regret warred within him.

What the hell was wrong with him? How could he be so careless?

He broke his promise to her.

Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, disgusted with himself.

Carrie