Page 52 of Savior

I narrow my gaze, watching as he fumbles then sways on his feet before disappearing from view. Something is wrong with him.Verywrong.

“Toby, start getting undressed. I’ll be back to run the water in a second.” I follow after Luca, my stride long as I catch up to him in the bedroom. “Wait.” I grab his arm when he doesn’t stop and let go just as fast. My grip on his muscled bicep was a stark reminder of the threat he provides. Of his dangerous abilities.

He turns to look at me, and stumbles. His face is pale, a glimmer of sweat breaking across his brow.

Before I know it I’m latching onto him again, this time trying to keep him upright, the knitted muscle beneath my hands hard and unyielding.

“What’s wrong?” I struggle to keep him standing. “Luca?”

He stares straight through me, his forehead creased. “Shit.”

“I’ll get help.” I make for the door only to be stopped by rough hands gripping my upper arms. I freeze, my panic instantaneous.

I brace for violation. All the horrors Luther bestowed upon me lay out like a smorgasbord as I wait for Luca to make his choice.

“I’m fine. I just moved too quick.” He releases me and fumbles forward to the bed, allowing me to breathe again.

I don’t budge as he slumps onto the mattress, his head hanging, the wisps of his blood-matted hair falling to shroud his eyes.

Bile coats the back of my throat, the nausea coming thick and fast. I didn’t realize how much faith I had in him until those hands gripped me tightly. There wasn’t trust, but there must’ve been something else. Something to make me completely blindsided by his aggressive touch.

“I scared you.” He massages the uninjured side of his head. “Fuck… I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

I remain immobile while I pull myself together.

“Go check on the kid,” he mutters. “I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

I should take his advice. I need distance to think.

It’s his pain and the looming threat of losing the only person I may be able to rely on that makes me stay.

“You need to see a doctor,” I murmur.

“I’ll bounce back in a minute.”

I don’t believe him. Now I’m paying attention I can see his discomfort increase whenever he moves or speaks. It’s only slight, yet always there, following everything he does.

He raises his head, looking up at me through thick lashes. Those eyes are dark, their depth punishing. But it’s his dilated pupils that cause me concern.

I suck in a breath. “You’ve got a concussion.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

The instinct to take him at his word is strong. I want to have faith in him. And I itch to reject the slight glimmer of trust at the same time.

“If you’re not going to see a doctor, you should at least clean your wound.”

“No. I’m—”

“A stubborn man who doesn’t want to destroy his tough-guy status after surviving a bullet to the skull?”

He huffs out a chuckle. “My tough-guy status is the last thing I’m worried about.” He speaks in a lazy drawl, yet the pointedness in his gaze insinuates I’m the focus of his current concern. That I’m all he’s worried about. “Besides, I can’t get a proper look at the side of my head. I don’t even know what I’m up against.”

Is he fishing for connection? For trust?

I suck my lower lip between my teeth, staring at him, trying to see the deception I’m sure he must have hidden. Men don’t help women. They use. Hurt. Abuse.

Goddammit.

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