Page 34 of Striker
“No, but I could’ve done better.” He kissed her forehead. “Now tell me what happened. I’m sorry I cut you off on the phone. I just couldn’t fucking hear you tell me everything without being with you.”
She closed her eyes and hung on to him for a minute longer, finding the strength to relive the scariest moments of her life. Scarier than being taken from the parking lot. Scarier than being beaten and threatened with being sold.
Because just minutes ago, her life had tangled with death. Had almost been lost. “I was in the bath,” she said tiredly. Just Atlas’s presence was enough to let her body rest. To give in to the exhaustion and shock that she’d fought so hard to keep at bay.
His other hand stroked the top of her thigh, urging her on. For a flicker of a second, she remembered her fantasy. How she’d come at the thought of these hands, his mouth, and all of him deep inside her.
But then it fell away, not staying long enough to even heat her cheeks. His breath was slow and steady, but the tension of his arm around her told her he needed her to continue.
“I was about to get out when I heard a floorboard creak, then the doorknob turned. I just . . . froze. God. I froze. I don’t know if those few seconds would’ve made a difference at all. I had no weapon near me. No time to make a call.”
She closed her eyes, wishing the whole thing would disappear from her memory. But it wouldn’t.
It’d live there until the day she died.
“What happened, baby?” Atlas urged softly, hating every tortured line etching her pretty face.
Watery eyes found his. “He rushed into the bathroom. I screamed, but he grabbed my throat. He saw me naked and— He said?—”
Atlas straightened, shifting her to face him. “Did he fucking touch you?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She shook her head. “No. He said it was too bad my death needed to look like an accident.”
Rage turned his vision fuzzy. “Then what happened?”
She lowered her gaze to his chest. Impatience made his breath fast, but he’d let her do this on her own time if it killed him.
Absently, she brought her fingers to the ink on his neck and gently traced the lines that disappeared beneath his shirt.
He brushed her hair over her shoulder.
Swallowing, she met his eyes. Raw fear made her skin pale, accentuating the fading bruises he’d do anything to erase. Red streaks covered her neck. He placed a hand on her hip and moved his thumb in slow circles over her sweater to calm her as much as himself.
“He pushed me under the water. Tried to drown me.”
His fingers flexed on her slight hip but he kept his face blank—or so he hoped.
“How did you get away?” he finally asked.
She shook her head. “Everything happened so fast. I was losing consciousness. He had his hands around my throat—” She brought her fingers to her neck. “And I knew I had seconds to do something. I managed to kick him in the face and break his hold on me. Once I got up, I fought him until . . .”
A tremor shook her shoulders.
“Until what?”
“I pushed him into the tub and threw the phone charger into the water. It was plugged in.” Her voice was small, ashamed even.
Appreciation burned in his heart. “Jesus.” He pulled her to his chest. “You did the right thing, Mol. Okay? Don’t doubt that. You’re so goddamn brave.”
She curled tighter to him. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”
He brushed his lips over her cheek. “You’re in shock. You went through so much and I’m sorry you were alone. I’m here now and you’re safe. No one will come near you again.”
She wiped her palm over her cheeks.
“Molly, you did nothing wrong.” Hell, it’d been years since he first killed someone. Still, he hadn’t been as innocent as her. As fucking pure. “Saving yourself or someone else isn’t something to feel bad about. Ever.”
She nodded against his neck but didn’t say anything. He held her for several minutes, then shifted to retrieve his phone. “I’ve gotta let Rogue and Viper know I’ve found you.”
