Armored Hearts (The Town of Pearl 7)

“That means no sneaking on to one of the house phones and calling.” Fenton pointed a finger at her as he placed a plate of eggs and toast down on the counter in front of her.

“Bacon is almost done,” he added in a grumpy tone.

“Like I would do that?”

“You’d get us all killed, sweetheart,” Fenton added and gave her the once-over.

Instantly her nipples tingled and she gripped a fistful of her shirt and held the material tight. He stared at her. His green eyes made her think a thousand things, and none of them were anything she wanted to face. She felt on edge, interested in him despite his attitude. Or maybe it was curiosity. Either way, she needed to gain her strength and start showing how strong she really was and not weak. She just wished her body would cooperate. She leaned back, ignored the pain, and stared Fenton in the eyes.

“What exactly are your credentials?” she asked with an attitude, and this time she let her eyes roam over his body.

Fenton lifted his shirt, exposing the Glock on his waist just as Ford raised his hand as if he would answer her question.

She was shocked to see the gun. It affected her more than his tight, tan abs. But she was even more shocked to react to it the way she did.

The flashback was instant, sending a chill over her flesh, making her feel rigid and cold. The room spun, and she grabbed the edge of the granite island. The blunt strike of cold, hard metal. The cursing and carrying on as spittle hit her face. Iakov had held a similar looking weapon against her head as one of the other guys kicked her.

She clenched her eyes closed and held a hand to her head, turning away and sliding off the stool. The smell of the van. The sweat and men’s cologne filled her senses.

“India?” Grey steadied her, the concern in his voice apparent as she pulled away and sat back down but wouldn’t look at Fenton.

She didn’t want to see the gun. She wondered how something so similar could cause such a reaction in her. Her body shook and the fear seemed to overwhelm her as flashbacks of her attack hit her mind. India heard nothing the men said to her. The images were stronger, louder, clear and sharp in her mind.

She felt Grey’s hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it off.

“Put it away. Just put it away, please,” she said without looking at Fenton.

“Jesus. What the fuck, Fenton?” Ford reprimanded and then came over to India.

“He put it away. He wouldn’t use it on you, India. Fenton is just a bit rough around the edges,” Grey tried consoling.

“Was that a Glock? Are you guys part of a mafia, too?” she asked.

“No. We’re retired Special Forces. We do freelance work as hunters, protectors, like in your case. We’ve known Silas for years. Why would you think we were mafia?” Ford questioned her.

She rubbed her

temple and kept her eyes closed, willing herself to not think about the pain she’d felt when the barrel of the gun was wedged against her head. She was bruised there. She tried to force the memories away. They were so vivid. She was thinking that her life had been normal, happy, typical until that moment when two men jumped out, grabbed her, threw her into the van, and sped off as they closed the door and restrained her.

She inhaled deeply, her breathing almost too rapid and foreign for her to think it belonged to her. Their scent filled her nostrils and she had to force herself to remember that it was different than Iakov’s and the men that assaulted her. She covered her mouth and nose to will the scents and sensations away. The cologne and masculinity as hands caressed up and down her arms and another set held her shoulders made her feel desperate and out of control. She wanted to run but her body couldn’t do that. India felt the gentle touch to her cheek and then a mumbled curse.

She blinked her eyes, realizing they were filled with tears and embarrassment shook her. She didn’t want to show fear in front of these men. In front of anyone ever again. Grey’s hazel eyes held hers. The masculinity of his hold and the sincerity in his voice told every inch of her body and her gut that she was safe and he was one of the good guys.

“One of the men who took you, did he hold a gun like that to your head?” Grey asked.

She heard the mumbled curses, the scraping of a stool as the legs moved against the flooring. Her heart pounded in her chest, in her ears, as Grey’s deep, authoritative voice surrounded her.

How did he figure that out? Who were these men?

She gulped and pulled away from him. She had to be strong. Iakov and Andrei couldn’t get to her here. Why would they? She needed to move on and just forget what happened.

As her body started to come down from the fearful moment, like some anxiety attack or something, she moved away from Grey. Slowly the pounding and echoing in her ears and head became more bearable and she eased herself closer to the seat. She couldn’t accept comfort, physical protection from men she didn’t know. Not from men who were some sort of soldiers, hired protectors, or even killers themselves.

She slid onto the stool, her body aching from the bruises.

“I don’t want these to get cold,” she said and burrowed over the dish of eggs, scooping some onto the fork. The metal clattered against the side of the dish she was shaking so damn hard. Her hand shook as she tried to act unaffected and normal when she was feeling anything but normal. Grey covered her hand with his own. She wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re safe here. I promise you.”