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.”
He sucks in a breath, and his forehead rests against mine. His free hand goes to the back of my neck, holding me there, steady, solid.
“So was I,” he whispers, shocking me enough that I flinch.
Misinterpreting my surprise for pain, he hisses out a curse. His fingers give me a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe, Sophie. This will never happen again.”
“I know.” I take a shaky breath as I close my eyes and breath in his scent. “You keep your people safe.”
“I look out for my people.” His lips ghost over my unmarred cheek, the touch so light I might have imagined it. Only I didn’t. I feel it to my toes. It hums along my skin even as he pulls back slightly to look me in the eye. “I protect what’s mine.”
* * *
Gabriel
* * *
It takes me too bloody long to get away. Too long, holding in the rage, breathing like a normal man, talking like a calm one. By the time I head out into the back alley, my hands are shaking so badly, I can barely open the door.
Warm, muggy air slaps heavy against my skin. I draw in a breath, smell the sour stench of garbage and the musky fug of wet cobbles. Doesn’t matter. I breathe in again, slow, long. Dizziness threatens, and I lean against the slimy back wall of the theater.
My suit will be ruined. People will notice.
I don’t sodding care. Not anymore.
Staring up at the bleak, orange light flickering by the door, I wonder who the hell I am now. Scottie is crumbling. The cracks of his venerable armor are appearing over my weary body. And Gabriel? Only one person calls me that name anymore. Only one person makes me feel like a man of tender flesh and not a cold machine. And I let her down.
The image of Sophie’s battered face fills my mind. The way that fucking cockwomble bashed her with his elbow. Twice. Before I could get to her.
My heart beats so hard, my shirt trembles. Again, I am short of breath, struggling to get enough in my tight lungs. The ground beneath me tilts and rolls. I’m going to be sick.
Two rapid steps have me hunched over a rubbish bin. I retch until there’s nothing left. Until my throat burns.
Fuck, I hate that it takes me an eternity to stand straight, and that even when I do, my head throbs, feels both too heavy and too light. I hate that my hand still shakes as I take the silk handkerchief from my breast pocket to wipe my mouth.
Warm wetness rolls along my lip. The white silk handkerchief is stained crimson. Another nosebleed. My fingers go cold. I think of Mum when she faded—the dizziness, fainting spells, nose bleeds.
Another wave of cold washes through me.