Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3)

Though he’d certainly not had a very favorable impression of Sterling from their first meeting, he’d been wrong. It appeared that Sterling was a good man and that he’d been good to Gracie. But Sterling had made it clear that he and Gracie were just friends. Nothing more. Not that Sterling hadn’t been interested. He’d admitted as much. But Gracie had shut him down, and yet they had become friends.

She seemed to trust him, yet she hadn’t allowed more than friendship, which told Zack that she likely hadn’t ever gotten that far with anyone else.

That knowledge should have given him satisfaction, but all he felt was hollow regret that she’d never had anyone to show her tenderness and?. . .?love.

He wanted to be that man. He wanted it more than he wanted to breathe. But unless he could somehow offer Gracie tangible proof of his innocence and not just his word, he knew in his heart that he’d lose her all over again.

At that thought he went rigid, his jaw clenching to the point of nearly breaking his teeth. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen again. Murderous rage swelled within him and his mind was consumed with revenge. Justice. For Gracie. Truth for himself. Freedom. For them both. So that maybe—maybe—they could move past this. Together.

The soft strands of her hair that were wrapped around his fingers slipped from his grasp as he formed a rigid fist. He knew what had to be done. He wanted to seek vengeance. For Gracie. For them both. His thoughts were consumed with violence and making the pieces of shit who’d hurt his Gracie pray for death.

He’d make them confess every sordid detail of their sickening attack on a girl who legally was still a child. And then their wives could decide whether they wanted to remain married to a rapist or ever trust them with their own daughters.

His pulse thudded at his temples and he forced himself to calm his raging thoughts of retribution. Just for now. He lay his cheek atop Gracie’s head and pulled her a little closer to him.

“I love you, Gracie,” he whispered. “And if I ever hope to make you love me again, there’s something I must do. I have to leave you for a while, but I’ll be back. I swear.”

He turned his cheek, sliding it against her hair just enough so he could press his lips to her forehead. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, capturing the feel of her, soft and warm and so very precious.

He would carry this memory of her in his arms, when, for just one exquisite moment in time, everything was good and perfect. It would be all that sustained him until justice was served and he came back to her with the answers they both desperately needed—and deserved. Because while Gracie was the biggest victim in this tragedy, they were both victim to something all encompassing and completely life changing. And it would take time—and understanding from them both—to possibly right past wrongs and to move forward from a past that would haunt them both for the rest of their lives.





TWENTY-FOUR


GRACIE awoke with a heavy sense of lethargy. Her limbs felt heavy and slack and it took much effort to even turn over in bed. She felt exhausted, like she had lead in her veins, and her reflexes were dull and sluggish. It was as if she’d been drugged or heavily sedated.

She wrinkled her nose trying to remember if she’d taken any of the medication the doctor had prescribed when she’d been discharged, but no, she hadn’t had a chance. As soon as she and Zack had arrived at this place, things had been thrown into turmoil.

She went still as memories began sliding back into place, like pieces to a puzzle. Snapping together at a speed that momentarily disoriented her. Then some of the fuzziness dissipated and the fog lifted, revealing with painful clarity all that had transpired the night before.

Her hand tentatively reached out and she turned, wondering if Zack was still beside her in the bed. She didn’t remember him taking her to bed after her debilitating panic attack, but at some point in the night she’d briefly roused only to find herself firmly nestled against his body, his arms surrounding her like a protective wall. It had felt . . . nice. For the first time in years, she’d felt safe. And how screwed up was that? Nothing had been resolved. Nothing had changed. Or had it?

All her hand encountered was a bare space. Not even an indention or warmth to indicate that he’d recently vacated the bed. She frowned and was puzzled at the instant surge of disappointment upon finding him gone. All she wanted was to be next to him again, his arms around her, to experience just for a moment the reassurance that nothing could ever hurt her again.

But he had been the one who hurt her the most.

She couldn’t be swayed by words, no matter how persuasively they’d been rendered. But . . . what if . . . No, she wouldn’t go there. Her gift was infallible—when she still possessed the ability to read minds. But that was gone along with her innocence and belief in good.

She hadn’t been mistaken. There was no way all three rapists would have identical recollections of the same event.