“Colton,” I whisper, as he drags his fingers through my hair, luxuriating in the motion.
“Yes?” he growls.
“It’s a long shot, but I think I might know who attacked you tonight and burnt your gyms. I mean, at the very least, it’s worth looking into.”
He pulls back, regarding me with a confused flicker in his eyes.
“Tell me,” he says.Chapter NineColtonI have my arm wrapped around her, feeling the sultriness of her body blazing through her tank top, forcing myself to look out the window every few moments, looking at the shimmering night-black water so I don’t lose myself in the proximity of her perfection.
We glide over the bridge toward my penthouse in the city, where Kat will stay for the night before we figure out just what the fuck is going on.
I’ve already checked with my security detail at the estate, confirming that Scrappy and Maxwell are safe.
Mom and Dad, too, are safe, with their own personal security detail watching over them, as they have been for the entirety of their trip.
Now, I move my fingers through Kat’s hair, savoring the way she shivers softly. I remember the look in her eyes when I told her the insane truth, that she was mine, that she’d always been mine.
The look was of goddamn recognition, as though she’s been waiting all her life for this just as much as I have.
But we were interrupted before she had a chance to tell me what she meant when she said, “I think I might know who attacked you tonight.”
The cavalry arrived, and here we are, in the armored car driving to our fortress.
“We’re sound-proofed back here,” I tell her. “This is one of the vehicles we use for high-profile celebrities and royalty. Sometimes they want their privacy.” I nod at the screen separating us from the driver. “But if you prefer to wait until we’re at the safe house, I understand.”
She glances at me, biting her lip, adorable and cute and sassy and strong and human, a thousand words wouldn’t be enough to describe everything Kat is, everything she means to m.
She’s mine.
Fuck.
It feels good to know that she doesn’t think I’m insane.
Or at least that she’s riding the same wave of insanity.
She lets go of her lip and shifts closer to me, laying her head against my shoulder. I stroke my hand over her shoulder and grip her firmly.
“You’ll always be safe with me,” I say, a husky possessive note in my voice. “He can’t hurt you, whoever he is.”
I feel a cord of tension capture her. It relaxes a moment later and she laughs shakily.
“His name is Omar,” she whispers.
Already, I hate him. I hate everything about the motherfucker.
Because of the fear I hear quivering in her voice.
“My parents died when I was nine in a house fire. I think I told you that. Anyway, after that, I went to an orphanage and I was okay for a few years. Of course, I was bullied for the pretensions Mom had left me with. But other than that, I was fine. Then, when I was around fifteen, Omar Lank took over the orphanage and … And he tried things, Colton.”
My blood stills and turns icy.
I picture a heavy boot crushing his face.
I picture a steel knuckle-duster shattering his teeth.
I picture a shotgun barrel laid beneath his chin and my finger caressing the trigger.
“He tried things,” I growl.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “At first I thought he wanted to be my friend. I was confused—but then he cornered me one day and his hands, they went wandering. Luckily, somebody interrupted us, and he had to stop. From that day on, I tried my best not to be caught alone, which was a challenge but not impossible. But then he began to get more intense. He began to tell me he loved me. We were meant to be together. All this crazy stuff. I mean, I was a kid, and he was saying this stuff, this big gruff man, this big scary bogeyman, he seemed to me at the time.
“I ran when I was sixteen years old. I fled to the streets because I knew he had contacts in the system and he could find me. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Before I ran, I stole some money from him while he was taking a nap, but he woke up, and...well, he chased me, Colton. He chased me with a freaking machete and started roaring at me that he’d never forget. He’d kill me. I belonged to him.”
“He was wrong,” I snarl. “Because you belong to me.”
She blinks away a tear and leans up, her lips finding mine in brief brushing contact.
“I belong to you,” she whispers with a dreamlike tenor. “It feels so freaking good to say that.”
“What happened then?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “Well, nothing to do with him. I lived on the streets. I lived in fear. I begged and stole and did what I had to do to survive. Somewhere along the way, I met the most perfect doggie you can imagine. No offense to Scrappy. I found him curled up in the remains of a car tire that was all rusted out, so I named him Rusty. He was a Jack Russel crossed with a Chihuahua and his white fur was all marked with the brown rust. Anyway, he became my closest friend, hell, my only friend … and then I woke up one day in a halfway house and he was gone.”