Protect Me (Broken Heroes 2)

I realize we, once again, didn’t use a condom, and my mind shifts to the secret down the hall.

When will Xander tell his brother about his son? How long will I have to keep this secret from Damon?

Damon’s touch pulls me from my thoughts as he wraps me up in the towel, pulling me into his chest. As he starts to dry me off, I thank the good Lord for delivering a man to me who I consider to be one the best alive. My eyes comb his well-defined upper body, his shoulders and the cords of muscles in his throat. His biceps flex, and my core clenches. My gaze slips lower over his abdomen and down to his V. His muscles tighten with every move he makes, and I can’t stop the urge I have to reach out and touch him. I want to feel him under my fingertips.

I trace his pecs, enjoying how smooth and warm his skin feels and how hard the muscle is beneath it. It’s so small, I almost miss it, but when my fingers go back over the same patch of skin, I notice a small blemish—an abnormality on an almost perfect surface.

“What’s this?” I trace the small indentation, becoming aware Damon is done drying me off and now staring down at me as I feel him up.

“It’s a bullet wound,” Damon says, as if it’s obvious I’d know that.

“Yeah. I gathered that it was a wound. Why? Who shot you?” I have a fierce need to protect Damon—which is strange since he can kill with his bare hands. I love him, and the thought of someone shooting or hurting him bothers me a lot.

He tosses the towel over his shoulders, pads out of the bathroom, brushing past me, and I worry he may not give me an answer.

As fast as my legs allow, I follow behind him, watching as he walks to his dresser and pulls out a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.

“Here, you can sleep in these. I forgot to bring the luggage inside, and I don’t want to go back out to get it.” He gives me a soft smile. “Hope that’s okay.”

I narrow my gaze. “Who shot you, Damon?”

His eyes darken. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear the dirty details about my family, baby. We’re a seriously fucked up crowd, and I intend to keep you as far away from it all as I can.”

For as long as I’ve known Damon, I’ve been a pushover. I’ve allowed him to sweep things under the rug, but if I’m going to marry him and make it through a life with him, then I’m going to need to tighten my backbone. I’m going to need to say what I want to, when I want to.

“It’s a little late to save me from the gory details. I know things now. Things that can’t be unseen or unheard.” I soften my voice. “And I know it’s in the past—a past that doesn’t include me—but I am part of your life now, and if you’re seriously going to marry me, I’ll be part of your future for a long time. I want to protect you like you protect me. I want to hear about your problems…your fears. I want to be your equal. So, dammit, just tell me.”

When my eyes meet Damon’s. I expect to see anger, maybe even fury, but there’s humor in his gaze and smile.

“I don’t know how you do it, Keira, but you make me fucking want you more and more every day. It’s sickening and terrifies the fuck out of me.”

His response warms my heart and makes me smile. I cross the room and get dressed in the items he set out, waiting impatiently for him to tell me. I have to roll the boxers more than a couple times to get them to stay on my waist, and when I pull on his shirt, it lands at my knees. I feel and look like I’ve been swallowed by cotton.

When I settle onto the mattress, Damon sits beside me and reaches for my hand—like he needs to be touching me in some way to tell me this story. I don’t mind. His touch is comforting, kind, and I love that he’s finally showing me his different sides. He reminds of a kaleidoscope. I see a different shape and color every time I look, and then they become clearer.

“My dad shot me. That scar is from the bullet. It was the same night Xander shot him.”

Damon’s gaze seems far away, and I wonder if he’s thinking back to that night.

“Actually, it was the reason Xander shot him. My father tried to kill me. He wanted Xander to do it. When by brother refused, my dad shot me instead. It’s a good thing he’s a lousy shot. If not, I’m sure I wouldn’t be here today.” He grins, but it makes me feel sick. I’m sure he’s smiling to lessen the blow, but it doesn’t. Unfortunately, he can’t protect me from all the bad in this world.