Page 9 of The Vigilant

Mara always said I didn’t know how to be taken care of. One time, she showed me this stupid slideshow on social media about being aparentified daughter.The one who grew up believing it was her role to fix everything and everyone around her. Who had to fill the role of an adult before she even knew how to be a child. The one who hid her own depression for having an absentfather and an unstable mother and told herself it wasn’t that bad because her dad was a hero and her mom was brokenhearted.

Mara warned me that one day, all the martial arts classes in the world wouldn’t be enough to help me hide my anger any longer. And she was right. But then again, the man who killed Mom deserved what I’d done to him.Pig.

Coldness doused my spine, and I packed it down on all the warmth Tynan stoked to life. I needed him to go away—to not care. I needed to be able to focus on finding my childhood best friend. Mara’s life depended on it.

“And I know you like to play the hero like my dad, swooping in to save anyone and everyone in need,” I said, letting just a drop of all the bottled bitterness inside me leach into my voice. Dad was a soldier—a knight,he would tell me until I was old enough to realize what it really meant:a goner.“But if there’s one thing Jon Brant taught me, it’s how to save myself.”

His absence hadn’t given me a choice.

Tynan’s jaw tightened, and he slid the salmon into the fry pan that was spitting oil. Whatever I’d said clearly hit a pain point for him, but he buried it with a speed I found impressive.

“It’s just dinner, Sutton. Saving you from an empty stomach isn’t going to win me any medals,” he said, and then let out a sigh. “But if you don’t want it, then don’t eat it. Don’t worry, I’ve got no plans to shove anything down your throat.”

I sucked in a breath, and he heard it. I saw when he heard it. I saw the whole of him stiffen when he heard how I couldn’t help but run away with the last thing he’d said.

Heat burst into my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from ache. Suddenly, dinner became the least dangerous thing that could happen in the kitchen.

No.

I straightened my spine and tore my eyes away from him—from his tower of muscles and spice and aged sexiness. Thisattraction wasn’t to him, but to the danger of wanting him. To the risk of wanting something off-limits, of wanting someone who was old enough that it should be illegal. This attraction was nothing more than another mark of defiance to prove I wasn’t society’s prey.

“Fine. Make dinner. I’m going to take a bath.”

Chapter Three

Sutton

There was a moment when I swore I was never getting out of the tub. The hot water. The luxurious soap that seemed to take years off my skin. I could’ve stayed for hours—days—soaking in the small pool of heaven if Tynan’s dinner hadn’t smelled so damn good.

I held out for as long as I could, soaking, ordering myself not to think about those last couple of moments in the kitchen, and hoping he’d eat and leave and not witness me prove myself a liar by eating his food. Unfortunately, my stomach reached a point where it threatened to eat me if I didn’t feed it some of what I’d been smelling.

I opened the drain and grabbed my towel, drying myself as the water gurgled lower. Pretty soon, the only thing gurgling was me.Damn, I was hungry.I slipped on the emerald green robe I’d found in one of the bathroom cabinets. The cool silk felt incredible on my skin. Softer than anything I currently owned. And cleaner.

As soon as Tynan left, I was going to wash all my clothes—all ten pieces. Black dress. Black jeans. Black tank. Black tee. Apair of black socks and four pairs of black underwear. I never bothered with bras.

I didn’t need more, but I’d considered borrowing a few things from Mara’s closet in her apartment. Thankfully, I didn’t get that far or the police who’d shown up would’ve accused me of theft as well as breaking and entering. Honestly, I was lucky they didn’t take me straight back to jail. Not that any moment spent in the company of Daws was pleasant, but for all of his horrible personality, he did want things to be better for me; he was just pretty confident I’d self-sabotage before that ever happened.

I wasn’t exactly proving him wrong, but that wasn’t my fault. Mara was missing, and no one would listen. No one cared.Except me.

My stomach grumbled again painfully.

Traitor.

I padded barefoot out of the bedroom, expecting to find Tynan sitting on the couch, done, and waiting to make sure I came out and ate. But no,he was perched at the kitchen counter, intently typing on his phone.Probably explaining where he was to someone else.

Something twisted uncomfortably in my chest. A man like him…he was probably supposed to be cooking dinner for a wife or girlfriend tonight. Instead, he was with me.

I stopped and selfishly gave myself a moment to drink down the sight of him. Fully. Uninhibitedly. The buzzed shadow of dark hair, the ragged bridge of his nose, the hard corner of his jaw, and the prominence of his chin. His thick arms rested on the counter, tattooed with a patchwork of veins and scars, and his shoulders seemed broad enough to bear the entire weight of the world along their stretch and still have room for more.

He let out a groan, one that rivaled even the deepest rumble of his massive Harley, and rubbed the back of his neck.The weight of the world was pretty heavy, even for a man like him.

This time, I noticed the patch stitched to the sleeve of his leather jacket draped behind him. At first, it was because the corner of the patch had come loose, frazzled threads stretching out like fingertips trying to grab back ahold of the emblem and pull it tight. I squinted, itching to put it back to rights, and then saw the word Vigilantesin script above the arrow-pierced shield.Interesting.Even if it was my business to ask about it, before I could, Tynan lowered his phone and his arm, and my attention dropped to the plates on the counter—his plate and the one in front of the empty stool beside him—both covered with foil.

He’d waited for me to eat.

My jaw went slack.

Tynan Bates did nothing as I expected because I never expected small gestures. Why would I expect something I’d never experienced? And how did I stop them? Did I protest someone carrying my bag or cooking me dinner or waiting for me to eat? Being the target of his small gestures was like death by a thousand cuts, each little one not enough of anything, but together…

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