Page 118 of Micah

Savage.

Homicidal.

Those all fit.

Because if I'd found those bastards hurting her?

I don't know if the men I’d laid out on the floor of The Watering Hole would've walked away.

And I don't particularly like the answer that gives me.

So I bury it.

Deep.

She deserves comfort.

Not the darkness living inside my head.

“It didn't go bad, Sloane.”

My voice comes out lower than I intended. Steadier.

“I was there.”

I take one step toward her.

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

The promise isn't dramatic.

It isn't a line.

It's a fact.

One I've already carved into stone somewhere inside myself.

She's close enough now that I can see the tiny freckles scattered across her nose.

Close enough that I catch the faint scent of my soap lingering on her skin.

Close enough that resisting the urge to touch her becomes impossible.

Slowly...

Carefully...

I settle my hands on her hips.

Not to hold her in place.

Just to reassure myself she's really here.

Warm.

Safe.

Real.