She cried harder, feeling stupid for not being able to control herself. He gave her another reassuring smile. “You’re safe here with me. You stay as long as you need. Even when I get your car up and running—you don’t want to leave, you don’t have to.”
Her vision was wavering, blurry from her tears. She had to tell him about Landon, about possibly killing the asshole. He would probably change his mind, rescind his offer, but he needed to know.
“Scars,” she said softly and watched as his body tightened slightly. “You need to know about who I’m running from. And why.” He still kept his hand on hers but added a little pressure. “I’m running from a man. Landon. My stepbrother.”
Hannah went on to tell Scars about it all, not bothering to leave any details out. He was helping her and deserved to know the truth, that she couldn’t go back, that she’d hurt Landon and didn’t know if he was even alive. She told him everything, and the whole time, he sat there quietly and listened, not judging her, not showing any emotion.
And when she was finished, when she took a deep breath in, she waited for him to kick her out.
But he gave her hand another light squeeze, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his big arms over his chest. “If that motherfucker is alive, Hannah, if he comes after you… finds you here,” he said and shook his head slowly, this dark, dangerous look crossing his face, “I can guarantee you he'll regret it.” He leaned forward, his forearms now on the table as he stared into her eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. They don’t know what I’m capable of, but I think it’s best if you know the lengths I’d go to keep someone close to me safe.”10God, he wanted her. So much. More than he ever wanted anything else in this fucking world.
He went into his bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes before heading back out and into the bathroom. He watched her as she sat in front of the fire, a book she found on the shelf, something about an underwater adventure. He didn't know half the little knickknacks that were around the cabin. They were things other members had brought up over the years. But she seemed engrossed in the story, and that made him smile.
“I’m going to rinse off,” he said gruffly from the opening of the hallway. She glanced up and gave him a smile, and he felt his heart kick up in his chest. She nodded slowly, and he forced himself to turn and leave her sitting there when it was the last thing he wanted to do.
After he told her all about himself when they sat at the table this morning, he expected her to want to leave right away. He told her shit he hadn’t told anyone outside his circle. He wanted her to know how dangerous he was—not to frighten her, but to reassure her that he could protect her.
Robberies.
Killings.
Any and all illegal shit he’d done in his lifetime to survive.
It was who Scars was.
He told her about the MC, how the Vicious Bastards were dangerous, violent, and he’d mirrored his club after himself.
And the whole time, she sat there and listened, no judgement on her face. And when he was done, expecting to see fear coming from her, she’d been the one to reach out and hold his hand in her tiny one. And right then and there, he felt something strong and fierce shift in his body. His heart started beating for the first time.
It was painful. It made him feel alive when he hadn't known he’d been dead.
He headed into the bathroom and shut the door needing a fucking shower to try to get rid of the arousal he felt, or at the very least tame the hell out of this bastard.
But he knew it wouldn’t work. Him jerking off to the thought of her would no doubt make things worse, make him need her even more. His damn body knew it wasn’t the real thing and wouldn’t be fucking tricked into being sated.
He cranked the shower on, shucked off his clothes, and stepped inside the stall. First, he had the water frigid, but when that didn’t help, he cranked the heat up. Steam from the scalding water filled the room, and he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
The sting of the water felt like needles on his flesh, but he welcomed the discomfort. His dick was hard as steel, and he felt like a filthy asshole because of it, because of the images bouncing around in his head where Hannah was concerned. She was scared, had been hurt, not just from the accident, but from the person she ran from, yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her.