Page 54 of Lacey's Fight

Leave.

He should leave.

Before he made things worse.

“B-Drake.” That Lacey said his name in a hiccupping sob and almost blew their cover by using his real name made everything else flee his mind but an all-consuming need to soothe her pain.

He was across the room and by her side in less than a second. First thing he did was pull her pants back up, covering her so the guards with him could no longer see her nakedness.

She’d been violated enough tonight without being on show for men who would do to her the same thing her abductor had done without a second thought.

As he scooped an arm under her legs to cradle her so her weight no longer hung off her arms, their eyes met. Her pain, fear, and humiliation were evident, but there was something else. Something he didn’t have a chance to name because the room was filling with more people.

“Cut her down,” he growled, keeping his gaze on Lacey. When he moved his other arm to support her back, she cried out, and he growled again. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Just my back,” she whispered. Although her eyes shimmered with unshed tears none of them spilled out. Ben could tell she was hovering on the edge, precariously close to falling apart, but her strength and determination were still holding firm.

For now.

Wish he could say the same about his own.

The urge to smash something, destroy it, preferably the man who had hurt Lacey, was so strong he struggled to resist.

Probably the only thing holding him back was Lacey’s slight weight resting in his arms.

She needed him.

When Jemima had needed him, he wasn’t there for her. How could he leave Lacey to go and seek vengeance when she needed him here, with her?

“Anywhere else?” he asked.

“No.” Lacey’s voice was soft, not at all like the sassy woman he knew her to be.

One of Amelia Kutcher’s guards grabbed Lacey’s arms as he prepared to cut the ropes binding her, and Ben found himself growling again.

This man wasn’t the one who had kidnapped Lacey and hurt her, but no one touched what was his.

Lacey wasn’t his but … for now she was.

“Drake,” Lacey’s voice while still soft, held a soothing quality. “He’s just cutting me down.”

Didn’t matter. Anyone putting their hands on her for any reason only turned his blood pressure up a couple of notches.

Watching him somewhat cautiously, the man barely grasped her forearms this time as he quickly cut through the ropes, letting Lacey’s arms drop as he took a step back putting distance between them.

Her pained gasp as her abused arms were released and blood flow returned had him throwing a glare at the man who’d cut her free as though he were personally responsible for her pain.

Pain he was struggling to cope with.

He knew what had happened in this room, knew exactly how badly he had failed her, and it was driving him insane.

“Drake, I … need to get out of here,” Lacey’s whispered voice shoved him into action, and cradling her close, he stormed out of the room. He didn’t stop moving until he had her back in the house and up in their room where he laid her gently down on the bed on her side so there was no pressure on the wounds marring her back.

Afraid of giving her a moment to dwell on what had happened in case she fell apart—because if she did, he knew he would follow suit—he hurried straight into the bathroom, gathering supplies before returning. Pulling up a chair beside the bed, he reached out and scooped up one of her hands.

The skin around her wrist was red and torn, bleeding sluggishly, and he wanted to soothe that pain, take it from her.

But he couldn’t.

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