Managed (VIP 2)

I can only blink up at him before he grabs me close and hauls me up in his arms.

I will not swoon.

But my head falls to his shoulder. And I cling. Because he is a wall against the world. My wall. He moves through the crowd without pause, and they get out of his way, instinctively knowing he will mow them down if they don’t.

One snarling look at security has them hustling us to a door that leads to a quiet, dark hall. Compared to the bright heat of the lights and noise of chaos outside, it’s like a balm to my tense body. I sag further into Gabriel’s hold.

He doesn’t stop but marches along, muttering under his breath. It’s a stream of pissed off motherfuckers and bloody stupid and son of a bitch mixed with other choice words. I let his low growls flow over me like warm hands.

My heart is still racing, and I’m shivering. I don’t want to. I want to be strong. But the adrenaline is wearing off, and I’ve no place to go but down.

The side of my face throbs like a heartbeat, pain punching out in all directions. I think about Thompson elbowing me and whimper despite my anger.

Gabriel’s arms squeeze around me. “Hush, now. I’ve got you.”

We enter Kill John’s dressing room, and the guys are instantly up and surrounding us.

“What the fuck was that shit? What happened to Sophie?” Jax says, peering at me. “You all right, honey?”

“It is bloody apparent that she is not,” Gabriel snaps at him as he pushes past and sets me down on a chair.

“Fuck. That was a disaster,” Killian mutters. “Shit crowd control. We should have pulled you in with us, Sophie.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” I say weakly as Gabriel kneels before me, his gaze darting over my face. “You would have been mobbed.”

“They wouldn’t have hurt us.” Rye looks sick, his golden complexion pasty as his gaze lingers on me.

“You don’t know that.”

Gabriel scowls and thumbs aside a lock of my hair. “Got you good, chatty girl.” Anger radiates over his frame. “You’re bleeding.”

“Here.” Whip hands him a first aid kit and gives me a smile. “Babe, you stick with us from now on, right?”

My lip wobbles. “Right.”

“I want to go back there and kick some ass,” Brenna mutters. She’s lost her glasses, and her hair is mussed. I hadn’t even noticed her in the scuffle. She hands me a cold compress. “Those fuckwads.”

From behind her, Libby watches with wide eyes, as does Jules. They’re all watching, sadly looking at my face. I duck my head.

“All right,” Gabriel says in a firm tone. “Let’s give Sophie some room. Go about your business.”

No one argues, though Jax gives my shoulder a squeeze before leaving.

With Gabriel’s body blocking everyone’s view, it’s almost as if we’re alone. He opens a disinfectant wipe and, with a frown, gently dabs at the bottom of my eye socket. It burns, but I keep still.

His voice is soft when he finally speaks. “I could kill him.”

“You going to jail over human garbage would be a travesty. And a wasted effort.”

The cool cloth runs along my bruised face. “No, it wouldn’t.”

I clutch his wide wrist, feel the rapid thrum of his pulse just below the surface. And his eyes meet mine, all dark with rage. It softens my heart, even though I have to be the rational one here. “No retaliation, sunshine. Promise me.”

When he doesn’t answer, I stroke the skin of his wrist with my thumb. “Please, Gabriel. For me.”

His lips flatten until they’re edged in white, but he nods, his gaze sliding back to my eye. With careful touches, he cleans me up and then smears a layer of Vaseline over the cut. “Keep putting this on until that heals. It will help prevent scarring.”

He hands me the tube of Vaseline and holds the ice pack to my face.

“You an expert on dealing with contusions?” I joke. I have to joke or I’ll cry.

He stares back at me, his expression solemn. “Yes.”

My hand settles over his, ready to take up the job of keeping the compress in place, but he doesn’t let go. His thumb edges out, strokes my face, rasping over the corner of my lip. “Whip is correct. No more going out on your own.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

He looks pointedly at my face.

“A fucked-up fluke,” I retort.

Again, the tip of his thumb caresses my cheek, touches my lips. His lids lower a fraction as he inhales sharply. “You asked a favor of me. This is mine. Don’t make me worry about this happening again.” He holds my gaze, and the emotion there is a punch to the system. “Please. I won’t be able to function properly.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Tears well in my eyes. Stupid tears. I start to tremble, everything crashing all at once. “I was scared.”