Page 99 of Because I Liked A Boy
And I broke. All the steel I’d built crumbled, and the truth ripped out of me. “He hit me again. He—he said Penny’s getting married—she didn’t even know—”
Liam’s chest heaved, fury burning through his features. “Bastard.” The word was venom. Then he yanked me into him, my forehead crashing into his chest, his arms caging me in so tightly the world couldn’t touch me.
I sobbed into him, shaking. “I tried to take her, Liam. He had her dragged away—”
“You’re safe now,” he murmured against my hair, his voice fraying but still steady enough to anchor me. “I’ve got you, Bella. He’ll never touch you again. Not while I’m breathing.”
The promise was reckless, impossible, and I clung to it anyway, fisting his shirt, letting myself collapse fully against him.
He held me tighter, his own breath stuttering against the top of my head. And for the first time all night, the suffocating air eased just enough to let me breathe.
He didn’t let me argue. One arm stayed firm around me as he steered me toward his car, opening the door like I’d shatter if he let go. Maybe I would.
The second I sank into the seat, the engine roared to life, and he tore away from the curb hard enough that the tires screeched. His knuckles were white on the wheel, his jaw tight enough to crack.
Shame prickled under my skin. Liam shouldn’t have had to come for me—not after everything I’d done to him, not after vanishing for months without a word. Fury tangled with it, hot and raw, directed at the man whose blood I carried and who would never stop trying to break me. And beneath all of it, like a splinter I couldn’t dig out, Hunter’s ghost pulsed. His betrayal. His touch. The way he’d once promised I’d never face this alone, only to leave me standing in the wreckage. The silence in the car wasn’t empty; it was crowded with every ghost I couldn’t escape.
Finally, his voice cut through it, rough and low. “You are never to go back there alone again. Do you hear me, Isabella?”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I had to see her.”
His gaze flicked, fury flashing, before it snapped back to the road. “You nearly got yourself killed. That man your father he doesn’t just hit. He destroys. And I swear to God, if he touches you again—” He broke off, jaw grinding.
“He already did,” I whispered.
Liam’s grip on the wheel twitched, and for a second I thought he’d turn usback around. But he didn’t. He just pressed harder on the accelerator, the city blurring until we pulled into a quiet street I remembered all too well.
His building loomed above us, brick and steel. He killed the engine, then turned to me, his voice softer but still edged with fire. “Until this is done, you stay here. With me. No arguments.”
I nodded, too tired to fight, too broken to pretend I didn’t need him.
Inside, the flat smelled like him—cedar, coffee, ink. He guided me straight to the kitchen, flicking on the light. It buzzed to life, spotlighting every bruise I couldn’t hide. His gaze locked on my cheek, something in him twisting.
“Sit.” His voice was iron.
He hovered for a moment, his hand lifting like he might reach for me, fingers twitching inches from my cheek. But he stopped himself, jaw tightening, and turned instead to the freezer. The hesitation said more than words—how badly he wanted to comfort me, how carefully he was holding himself back. When he returned with the wrapped peas, his touch was steady, but I could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressed into that gentleness.
I dropped onto the stool. He pressed the makeshift ice pack to my cheek, eyes never leaving mine. “You shouldn’t have had to face him alone,” he muttered.
“I’ve always faced him alone.”
“Not anymore.” His words were sharp, certain, unshakable.
We stayed there me trembling, him anchoring me with nothing but his presence and for the first time in seven months, I let myself believe I wasn’t entirely alone.
I pressed the peas harder against my cheek. “He said he’s marrying her off.”
Liam stilled. His head snapped up. “What?”
“Penelope.” Her name cracked my voice. “Sixteen next month. He’s lined up some Cartwright boy—eighteen, rich, respectable. A deal. Not a choice. She didn’t even know until he said it in front of me. Like she was nothing.”
Rage poured off him like heat, volcanic and wild. He swore under his breath, pacing once, then braced his hands against the counter, knuckles white. “She’s not nothing. And neither are you. Do you understand me?”
Tears stung, but I nodded.
“You’re staying here. For as long as you need.” His voice was steel. “A night, a week, forever—I don’t care. My spare room’s yours. No more going back there alone. Not ever again.”
Something in me cracked at the certainty, at how he made it sound so simple. Safe.
