Give Me a Reason (Redemption Hills 1)

He might try to keep the conversations he had with his brothers hidden, but in the low murmurings, I heard the terrifying words.

The threats of retribution I knew they would make good on.

Sickness coiled in my stomach when I thought back to what I’d accidentally overheard when I’d gotten into his car after church last Sunday. The way Trent had jolted when he’d realized I was there, his mouth pressed into a grim line as he lied and told me he wasn’t talking to anyone when I’d heard it plain as day.

And with all the chatter? It wasn’t hard to figure out who it had been.

Gage’s mother.

And he’d threatened her.

I trembled when I thought of it. My own hate that burned and boiled as I stared at the child’s sweet face.

How could someone be so awful to put him in danger? So selfish? So unkind?

Her own son?

It made me want to fight, too. Lash out. Protect.

But I didn’t know how to do that when Trent was keeping me at arm’s length. Behind that wall he’d built like a hedge of protection that shut me out from the most significant parts of him. Where I felt him withdrawing with the strain. With his worry. With his belief that he was a darkness in my life rather than the light that flooded me every time he came into the room.

But the truth was, I’d rather stand in his darkness and see him for what he was than to flounder in his shadows.

“Come on, we’d better get dinner started.”

I hefted Gage up from under the arms, swinging him around, and landing him on his feet. He squealed and laughed and filled the vacant places of my heart.

The front door shut, and I could hear Jud’s motorcycle start.

Trent sauntered in through the archway. Hard as stone and as beautiful as could be. He walked straight over and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

Eyes dropping closed, I relished in the sensation, this man who thought he wasn’t capable of giving me his love cherishing me.

Thirty

Eden

My arms curled tighter around Trent’s waist as he slowed and eased his bike into the Absolution parking lot. I was doing my best to keep my nerves at bay but pulling into the lot for the first time after the incident had them igniting anew.

Night hovered over the earth like a curtain, a swath of black that pressed down on the blue neon lights that glowed with the promise of indulgence and revelry from the enormous brick building.

The club was packed. More people than ever were standing in a long line at the front door.

A big band I’d never heard of were playing tonight.

Apparently, it’d been in the works for months, tickets pushed to max capacity, and extra security and staff had been brought in to accommodate.

Trent had wanted to cancel it, especially since the band was from LA. I’d convinced him he couldn’t. This was his livelihood. What he’d built. Two weeks had passed, and we had to start to move on with our lives, but I guessed when you’d been running for the entirety of yours, it was hard to do.

Even though I knew we had to do this, I felt myself clinging to him so tightly. So tightly I could feel the ferocity ripple through his tense, rigid muscles. So close that I could feel every curve, line, and intonation. Sense the ruthless edge that had carved his spirit into blades.

Tonight, the aura radiating from the menacing man had turned malignant.

Malevolent.

Ready to strike at any moment.

He eased the gurgling mass of metal around to the side lot, and I tried to keep my heart from sprinting away with the bolts of fear that flashed through my mind.

With the images that took hold.

Blinks of the horrific message that had been left.

Trent guided his bike backward until he was parked beside Kult and Milo’s motorcycles. Normally, he’d leave his bike at the front and make an entrance, but he wasn’t taking any risks.

He killed the engine. In an instant, my ears were filled with a drone of voices and the thudding bass that echoed from inside.

Trent pressed his hands over mine.

Reassurance. For him or me, I wasn’t sure.

All I knew was it was a promise that he would never allow anything or anyone to harm me.

And I just kept praying it wouldn’t be him. Because that hollow space inside had transformed and shifted and reformed. Refitted to the shape of him.

I’d known after Trent Lawson I would never be the same. What I hadn’t expected was for him to write himself on my soul. For him to become the beat of my heart and the blood in my veins.

He unwound my hands that were locked against his stomach and helped me off. He followed, rising to his full, obliterating height, covering me in shadow.