Page 87 of Beautiful Ruins
I was naked, my underwear gone. Had Marcus . . .
Oh god.
The room spun, chaos and heat and commotion, until I realised that Marcus was pinned beneath Bear, the two of them grappling and rolling, smashing into the coffee table in a splintering heap.
“I can’t breathe. I can’t get him off me. I can still feel him . . .” I rocked back and forth in Rowan’s arms. Panic clawed at my throat, guilt and shame at being seen this way. Exposed and broken. “Did he?—”
Rowan shook his head, nostrils flaring, a silent war raging behind his eyes. “No, Firefly. He didn’t.” Fresh tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, not from fear, but from relief. “I’m so sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left you—Fuck.” His voice cracked, and his grip on the back of my neck tightened like he could keep me there with him.
Just him, in his scent, in his warmth, in his safety.
He was the one thing I could count on, the one thing thatdidn’t hurt, didn’t break. He was the tether to what was still good in me.
It’s the only place I’d ever felt truly safe—when I was with him. Or when I had been with Logan. They were my family. My home.
I gripped onto Rowan’s vest, pressing my forehead to his chest. “Take me home, Ro.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SADIE
The only sound was the soft shuffle of Rowan’s fingers running through my hair.
It was one of those rare moments. Me and Rowan, tangled up on the old tan leather couch in his living room like we had nothing to fear. Just us against the world, the way it was always supposed to be.
“What are you going to do with Marcus?” My voice cracked on his name, almost crumbling.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. I needed him to tell me what I wanted to hear. He didn’t, though. He never did.
He let out a slow, steady breath. “I don’t want you to worry about that, okay. You’re safe here.”
I gripped his shirt, like I could hold him to his word. “Please, Ro. I need to know he won’t come after me again.” I needed to be assured that Marcus wasn’t stronger than Rowan—stronger than us.
Rowan sighed, his shoulders heavy. What I was asking of him was more than just blood on his hands. That might havebeen selfish, but I couldn’t see any other way to get rid of Marcus for good.
“He won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of my head.
“Do you promise?” I barely got the words out, barely got them past the tightness in my chest. “I can’t go through that again.”
He nodded once. “Promise.” He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed each one of my knuckles, a lingering touch that was gentle and unhurried, the opposite of everything I expected him to be. “Just answer one question.” His eyes darted between mine.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“He’s the reason you came home. How long?”
I understood the meaning of his question. How long had I let Marcus take his fists to me, is what he wanted to know.
“Two years,” I whispered, my chest caving in at the admission.
Rowan sucked in a breath, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “Jesus, Sades.” He pulled me tighter against his body. “You won’t have to worry about him now.”
The warmth of him and his word gave me the permission to breathe. And I knew right then and there that Marcus would never hurt me again.
A knock at the door tore through the fragile sense of safety I’d wrapped myself in since Rowan had brought me home two hours beforehand.
My body jerked against his, and his grip around my shoulders tightened, his muscles going taut. The sudden tension in his arms mirrored the panic bubbling up my throat. The ceiling fan hummed overhead, suddenly too loud, matching the thrum of my pulse.
I glanced up at Rowan, eyes wide with the same silent questions. Who the hell was it? And how screwed were we?
