Vik (Shot Callers 2)

He told me not to speak, and I didn’t want to push my luck, so I simply nodded.

Vik stepped out of the car, walked around to the passenger side, and helped me out with a gentle hand. And when our fingers locked, I looked down at the place where our hands connected, and my stomach twisted. Even though he was raging mad, he handled me with care. And the love I felt for him lifted to a level I didn’t know possible.

He took his time walking me upstairs, ushering me into the bathroom, leaving me with fresh towels, and picking out some comfortable clothes for me to wear. Reaching into the stall, he turned on the hot water until the spray steamed, then adjusted it with cold to get to the right temperature before making his way over to my weak, standing form by the sink. Clinically, he undressed me, carefully assessing my body as if he were an antiques dealer and I was a seven-hundred-year-old vase. The large bruise on my hip was a deep shade of purple, lined with a yellowish-green. And as Vik’s eyes came to rest on the spot, his expression dimmed. I found myself covering the bruise with my hand in a weak attempt to calm him. It really did look worse than it was. After a moment of thick, suffocating silence enveloping us, he stood, took my elbow, and walked me into the stall, staying until I moved under the spray, soaking my body in relaxing warmth.

He sounded weary when he said, “Take your time, but keep the door open. If you need me, just call out. I’ll be back up in a few minutes with food.” From my place in the shower, I watched him hesitate by the door. The words sounded as though they stuck in his throat. “Knowing where you were, who you were with, had me insane.” The following words had the same effect on my own. “Would have torn down walls with my bare hands. Would have mauled, maimed, and murdered. For you, I’d have started wars.” He lifted a hand and lightly tapped his knuckle on the doorframe, refusing to look back. “Would have done anything to see you home safe.”

My heartbeat elevated. My chest simultaneously softened, then tightened painfully.

And then I was alone.

Then, and only then, did I turn and lift my face into the spray and let it wash away the tears that demanded to be freed.

As promised, he was waiting for me when I got out. Showered and freshly dressed, I peered at him from the open doorway for a long moment before I stepped into my room and approached with caution.

On my dresser was a tray with two sandwiches, a cut-up apple, a bottle of water, and a can of soda. My stomach rumbled loudly, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Vik’s gaze snap over to me. Knowing it would make him settle, I went over to the tray and picked up a sandwich. I bit into it, and the moment I registered what it was, the food turned to ash in my mouth.

It was peanut butter and jelly. The exact sandwich Roam had made in my kitchen the same day he took me from the safety of my own home.

I decided right then that I hated PB & J forevermore.

My stomach turned as I placed the sandwich down and reached for an apple slice. It was sweet and crisp, and after a moment, I found myself ravenous, eating the entire thing in record time. I opened the bottle of water, sipped at it, then chanced a glance at Vik.

He was staring at my stomach, causing it to clench.

Testing the waters, I began with, “How mad are you?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Vik returned a curt, “What do you think?”

So, I pulled out the big guns, speaking calmly as possible. “You’re upset with me, and that’s fine, warranted even, but I’d like to remind you that two days ago, I was taken from my home by a psychopath with a raging hard-on for you, and I haven’t blamed you once, and I won’t, because although you were the technical cause, I know it wasn’t your fault. So, if you think you can spare me a second, I will try to explain myself in the best way I can.”

Well, that worked.

I glanced up at him through my lashes submissively and watched him lose his fight, his arms falling to his sides. We stood there looking at each other with varying degrees of apology and regret.

My sigh was tired. I leaned my butt on the edge of the dresser and shrugged. “It wasn’t planned. I mean, you know that. You were there.” I took a second. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” he bit out. “When were you going to tell me?”