Page 36 of Storm's Deliverance

I turn my attention to him. “No, I’m not!” I snap.

“Just wondered why you have enough food here to survive an apocalypse.” He smirks.

“Are you saying I’m fat for having this much food?” I counter.

His lips twitch again, his eyes sparking with amusement as he shakes his head back and forth. “I would never be so fucking stupid to ever call a woman fat.” He shrugs. “Plus, I think all women are beautiful,” he says as he reaches into the bag, pulling out the cartons of food, placing them on the coffee table before grabbing hold of it and dragging it closer to us. “I’m going to get a beer,” he says, standing.

My eyes follow his retreating back before looking at the amount of food I ordered. He had a point. I had ordered all of my favourite things, which was a lot. I shrug and open a carton of chow mein and begin eating.

He comes back, not saying a word, and sits beside me. After grabbing himself a carton, he starts eating, or at least attempts to eat with the chopsticks. Every time he manages to get a vegetable or a piece of chicken, he drops it again. I can’t help it. I start laughing.

“You can’t use chopsticks?” I ask through my laughter.

He smiles. “No. Are you shaming me for it?” he asks teasingly.

I shake my head no, just as he tries to pick up another piece of chicken, only for it to ping across the coffee table. I throw my head back and roar with laughter, watching this tattooed tough biker fumble with a measly pair of chopsticks.

“Damn, think I will just grab a fork from the kitchen.” He chuckles, walking away.

The hours pass, and I decided to torture him with a Bridget Jones marathon. He didn’t protest or complain once. Just stayed sat relaxed beside me, even laughing at certain parts of the films.

A loud, long yawn escapes me, and Drix gets the blanket off the back of the couch and places a pillow on his lap, gesturing for me to lie down. I pause, looking from him to the pillow.

“Just fucking lie down. Get out of your head. You are safe with me, you know this,” he says firmly. I nod, knowing he’s right, and force myself to lie down, my body stiff and tense. His fingers trail lightly through my hair. I flinch and he pauses. “Just relax. It’s just me, BB,” he assures me.

I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, reminding my stupid mind that he’s not Zeke. I’m safe, and I have no reason to be scared. No reason to feel fear with him. I feel my body slowly relax muscle by muscle. As his fingers stroke through my hair, my eyes become heavier and heavier as I drift off to sleep.

I crawl, my fingers gripping on the rug as I try so desperately to get away, to drag myself out of this room, but it’s no use. As his foot slams down on my body, pain explodes, and I cry out, instinctively curling my body in on itself, trying to protect myself. The next blow comes, his fist this time, slamming into the side of my cheek as he looms over me, snarling hatred comments. Spital forms at the corners of his mouth like a rabid animal, his gaze dark; so dark he almost looks unhuman. A monster; nothing like the man I love. Theroom shifts as if I’m under water, the sound of his voice muffled. I beg, I cry, I plead.

“Please, please stop. Please!” He doesn’t. He just hits me again and again until I can no longer cry.

“Storm,” a deep voice calls out, breaking through, surrounding me. I look around, but I can’t see who is calling me. Another blow hits, and I cry out again, but my cries are weaker. Nothing more than a whimper. “Storm!” The voice is louder. “Storm!” Again and again my name is called. An echo, a chant, drawing me in over and over.

My eyes spring open, gasping for air. Strong arms are holding me, and I fight, trying to get them off me. “Storm, BB. Shhh.”

“Drix?” I rasp, my throat like razor blades. He holds me in his arms, my head on his chest, cradling me, stroking my hair. A dream, not a nightmare, locked in and enduring that hell all over again. No escaping him, not even in sleep. My body trembles, shaking.

“Shit, Storm,” Drix murmurs. I feel him shift, draping a blanket around us, still holding me tight. The rhythmic beat of his heart soothes me, his scent a reminder I’m safe. He has me. He presses a kiss to the top of my head.

Lifting my head, I look up into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, my bottom lip trembling. I never wanted him to see me like this.

He lightly strokes his coarse thumb in soothing circles across my cheek. I close my eyes, briefly letting the tears fall. “No, Storm. No more. No more tears for that son of a bitch,” he urges as he swipes them away.

I open my tear-brimmed eyes, looking up at him. “They’re not for him. They’re for me.”

He swallows, his jaw ticking. “Then that stops, too. No more feeling sorry for yourself, no more allowing what happened tomould how you are and what you feel. You are the strongest woman I know. You need to use all your strength to find her again. Fight it, fight the memory of him. He’s gone, and as soon as we find him, he’s dead,” he says through gritted teeth. “No one. I mean no one will ever fucking hurt you again. Do you understand me?” he growls with such anger and determination. I nod, blinking back the remainder of my tears. He presses his lips to my temple, lingering for a moment, before pulling me close to him again, resting my chest in the crook of his neck. I sigh, breathing him in as his fingers deliberately stroke up and down my back. “Good girl. You are a fighter, a fucking warrior. We just need to remind you of that.”

We remain in silence, and soon I fall back into a dreamless sleep. No nightmares. Just beautiful blissful sleep.