Vow to Protect (Vow To Protect 1)

He plops on the edge of the bed, grabs my shoulders in his huge hands, and gently eases me back onto the mound of pillows. I let him guide me since I have no choice.

“Who the fuck else would be sitting beside his own damn bed?” he grouses while he adjusts the covers around me again, then checks the line on my IV. I trace the path of it to the back of my hand. Then his words filter through some of the haze.

Own? Bed? I clutch the covers and drag them up to my chest. I’m wearing someone’s black dress shirt, but still… “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

For a moment, I fear he won’t answer me since he won’t even look at me. Not that I’m eager to put myself under his intense gaze. When he finally does shift those dark eyes to mine, I flinch. Oh yeah, I forgot just how heavy the weight of his regard is.

“Tell me what you remember,” he says. It’s nothing short of an order. The tiny part of me that wants to rebel against a man giving me orders doesn’t stir. I want to please him, the same way I have since I met him.

I clear my throat, only now realizing how dry and scratchy it feels. So I whisper because he’s looking at me like he won’t wait forever. “I came to see you. Rose was covering the house so I could sneak out. I asked you to…” It comes back in a flash—me asking him to kill Sal and him making the offer under the condition of well…me. A hot flush hits my neck and cheeks. I can’t believe I stripped naked for him or, worse, that I liked it.

He gently tilts my chin up to force our gazes together again. “Asked me to?”

“Kill my fiancé,” I whisper.

The very corner of his lips tilts up, and I can’t not look at them. It’s as if that tiny corner is proof I gave him what he wants, and for some reason, I want more of that tiny smile, more of a smile period. I want him to look at me like he did at the party that first time we met. I know I shouldn’t, not while I’m engaged to Sal, but he was never my choice.

I’m still staring at his lips when he asks his next question. “What else do you remember?”

Everything in my head feels hazy. Like a dream. “Not much. We spoke, and I went home, but after that, I can’t remember anything until I woke up just now.”

“Nothing?”

Something in his voice worries me. Obviously, I should be able to remember something else than what I’ve told him. Or why bother questioning me. “Why are you asking? What else am I supposed to remember?”

I scan his face, waiting for a sign of what he’s looking for. After years in my house under my father and then Sal, I’ve gotten very good at reading people’s every twitch. Sometimes it was the only thing between me and Sal cornering me in a hallway and leaving bruises on my skin as punishment for being unable to touch me the way he wants.

He stands with his back to me, but I can’t help but notice the rigid line of his spine and the hard set of his shoulders. He’s angry, and I don’t know why.

“Tell me what I should remember, and I can try. Let me try, please.” I don’t know why I’m begging him, but something inside me is telling me he might be my only chance at safety. I can’t lose it.

His hands clench along his thighs, and I shrink back into the pillows. I know how my father’s hands feel on me and how Sal’s hands feel on me. So far, Adrian hasn’t hurt me, so I don’t know what to brace for or what to expect when he strikes out.

When his arm flies out, I clench up, turning my face away to protect it. The sound of glass breaking makes me flinch more, and I huddle into the pillows, trying to use the covers as some kind of meager protection.

When everything is quiet, I slowly blink my eyes open and risk a glance toward him. He’s standing at the side of the bed, his eyes angry, his mouth set in a grim line. When he speaks, his tone is soft and gentle. “Look at you. Why are you cowering away from me?”

I whisper immediately. “You’re angry.”

“So?”

“I just…don’t want to get hit anymore.” I know I sound defeated, and I hate the thread of it in my voice, especially in front of him.

He sinks slowly onto the bed, his hips almost against my knees. “I don’t fucking hit women, Val. And I would never ever hurt you.”

I assimilate that information. My father never pretended he was a good man. Lord knows Sal prided himself on the way he overpowered and demeaned women. Adrian telling me he won’t hurt me makes me want to believe him so badly my chest aches.