Page 70 of Beautiful Scars

"I believe you." I pull out my phone to text Wolf, asking him to check the club's security cameras. "You can come back to the safehouse with me and stay until we figure this out."

"No." Her response is immediate, firm despite her lingering fear. "I can't run every time I get scared. This is my home."

I recognize the hardness in her voice—it's the same tone she gets when she insists on paying for her own breakfast and giving me money for groceries on days I cook for her. It's pointless for me to argue, so I don't.

"Then I'm staying here."

She starts to protest but I cut her off. "It's non-negotiable, Sunny. Someone was here. Until we know who and why, you're not alone."

The silence stretches between us, filled with all the things we don't say about why someone might be watching her. About who it could be and what it means.

Finally, she nods. "The couch is yours. It's going to be uncomfortable though."

"I'm sure I've slept rougher."

"No doubt." She unfolds herself from the couch, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "I'm going to change. There's extra blankets in the hall closet."

I watch her disappear into her bedroom, listening for the click of her lock. Our morning routine has shown me this side of her too—how she needs these small barriers, these moments of complete privacy to feel secure.

While she's gone, I do another sweep of the apartment, checking windows and sight lines. I position myself on the couch where I can see both the door and the hallway leading to her room. My phone buzzes with a response from Wolf—he'll have the camera footage for me by morning.

When Sunny emerges in sleep clothes, her hair damp from a quick shower, she pauses in the hallway. "Thank you, Z."

I meet her eyes, seeing the sincerity behind those simple words. Thank you for coming. For believing me. For staying.

"Anytime," I tell her, and we both know I mean it.

I sit with my arms stretched out on the back of the couch, listening to the quiet sounds of Sunny settling into bed. She was right. The couch isn't very comfortable to sit on and I can't imagine what it'd be like to sleep on. Good thing I have no intention of trying it out. I rest my gun within easy reach on the coffee table.

Every small noise from outside draws my attention—a car door slamming, footsteps on the stairs, the hum of the building's ancient cooling system. I check my phone periodically, but Wolf hasn't sent any updates.

My mind keeps circling back to the scuffs and scratches on her doorframe. Someone was here, watching, waiting. The thought makes my jaw clench. I've seen too much in this life to believe in coincidences. With what went down at the club with Levi there's no way to know who heard 'Angel's' real name or where that information ended up. There's no way to know who's taking an interest in Sunny suddenly or why.

Levi made sure everyone in the place knew she was connected to us. That could make her very valuable to some people. Or it could be completely unrelated to us at all. It could be something as simple as a customer from the club not understanding boundaries.

The hours crawl by. I scroll through work emails, coordinate with Wolf about more issues with the warehouse, anything to stay alert. Around six, I hear Sunny's door open softly. Her footsteps pad down the hallway—I recognize the slight hesitation in her gait, the way she favors her left side when she's tired.

"Can't sleep?" I keep my voice low.

She shakes her head, curling up on the other end of the couch. "The monsters are hungry tonight."

I know better than to offer empty reassurances. Instead, I decide a distraction is in order. I pull up a stupid game Colt installed on my phone. "Want to help me beat this level? I'm stuck."

She slides closer to see the screen, and we spend the next hour taking turns trying to solve increasingly difficult word puzzles. Her commentary gets progressively more sarcastic—and hilarious—as fatigue sets in, making me bite back smiles.

I must doze off at some point because the next thing I know, bright late morning light is filtering through the windows and there's a soft warmth along my side. I freeze, barely daring to breathe.

Sunny is curled up tight against me, her head resting on my shoulder, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her face is completely relaxed in sleep, with all the careful guards she maintains stripped away. She looks younger like this, unburdened by the stress she carries when she’s awake.

I don't move a muscle, afraid to startle her awake, or worse, disturb this moment of pure trust. My chest feels tight watching her breathe deeply, evenly. In all our shared breakfasts and late-night diner runs, this is the first time she's ever truly let her guard down. I'd dismiss it as nothing more than exhaustion on her part, but there's no way she'd let herself be this vulnerable completely on accident. She's too careful for that.

And just when I thought she couldn't get any more beautiful, the edges of her lips curl up in a slight smile and she sighs.

A realization hits me square in the center of my chest—I want this. I want to be this for her. The person she trusts enough to fall asleep with. The one she calls when she's scared. I want to be her safe place. Her safe person.

It's a dangerous want. Between what I do for a living, where my loyalties lie, and her past, there are a lot of sharp edges to navigate. For both of us. But watching her sleeping so peacefully, I know it's already too late for me. Whatever any of this is, I can't stop it.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Carefully, moving with glacier-like slowness, I extract it without disturbing her. A message from Wolf about the security footage. But for now, it can wait. This moment—holding Sunny's complete trust, giving her a few, small moments of real rest—feels too good and too important to disturb.

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