Roarke was as tall as Kilter and just as muscular, but while Kilter had the look of a Highland Scot, Roarke was more of the handsome English gentleman.
His defined features were strained and tired. There were dark lines under his almond-shaped eyes and the corners of his mouth drew down.
“Roarke, what are you doing here?”
“Come.” He tugged me away from the gate and into the shadows of an oak tree and pressed me up against the tree trunk. He leaned into me, one arm stretched over my head, palm on the trunk, the other at my hip. “I thought… fuck, I thought you were dead.” His hand moved from my hip to my face and he cupped my cheek.
I shifted my head to the side to avoid his touch and his arm lowered.
He sighed. “Ben told me what happened and—”
I gasped, stomach churning. “Ben’s alive?”
“Was. He was burned pretty badly from the blast and had a stab wound, but he was breathing and conscious when I found him. I finished him off, didn’t want to chance that piece of crap living.” Roarke killed Ben? I didn’t understand. They had worked together. Well, somewhat together. “Anton is dead, Rayne. I saw his body. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“Yeah,” I said, lowering my eyes from his. I tried to block out the emotions Roarke being here brought with him, but they crashed into me like hail.
“I tracked the Scars here, but the place has been locked down tight. I only saw you once in the garden with one of the Scars.”
“Kilter.” An ache hit my chest and I looked toward the gate. Had they hurt him? Should I go back? Would Roarke let me?
“Are you running away from them? Did they hurt you?”
I shook my head, strands of hair falling in front of my face. “No. They were nice.” Roarke had always been kind to me, but he never helped me get out of there. He was a reminder of what my husband made us do. A reminder of the pain.
“Come with me,” Roarke said.
Why had he watched Anton use me like that? Why didn’t he stop what was happening? He was a Grit and was powerful enough.
The gate squeaked and we both tensed and turned.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He pushed back from the tree and stepped in front of me, blocking me with his body.
I shifted right and moved to stand beside him. His arm shot out in front of me. Roarke may have been kind to me, but he was also deadly. Everyone had been nervous of him at the compound, even Ben.
A woman stood ten feet away with one hand close to her hip while the other held a gun pointed at Roarke. She had smooth, sun-tanned skin and her hair was a jagged mess of strands, choppy looking. Anton would’ve hated that.
“Now, this is interesting. What’s a Grit doing outside a Scars’ house? Death wish?” The woman’s eyes shifted to me and she half-smiled. “I’m Delara.” Anstice had mentioned her. Her attention turned back to Roarke and she jerked the gun to the right. “Move away from her.”
Roarke didn’t move and his hands curled into fists.
Oh, God, he’d kill her. A gun wouldn’t stop him. I’d heard horror stories from Anton about Roarke’s kills. His ruthlessness. Anton had always controlled him, but now he was on his own and I was uncertain what he’d do.
I touched Roarke’s arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath, but he kept his eyes focused on Delara. “Roarke, please. Go. I don’t want her hurt. Please.”
He glanced at me, mouth tight and deep lines between his eyes as he scowled. Then he ran his hand through his walnut-brown hair, which hung just over his ears. His eyes locked on me and, the moment he gave in, they softened. “I’ll walk away because you’re asking me to.”
“Smart move, Grit,” Delara said.
Roarke’s eyes shot to her and his tone was harsh and graveled as he said, “I find out she’s harmed in any way I will come after each and every one of you.”
Delara raised her brows and cocked her hip as she shoved her gun in the back of her jeans. “We don’t hurt innocent people, asshole. Only Grit’s do that.”
Roarke glared and I held my breath, praying he’d let it go. Then he said to me, “Will you consider what I asked, Rayne?”
Go with him? Belong to another man? No. Never.
I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t the right time to tell him no.
He slid his hand down my arm to my hand, placing a piece of paper in my palm and closing my fingers around it. “If you ever need me.” He leaned forward, head tilted, and kissed my forehead. Then he stepped away, hands dropping from me, and faced Delara. He bowed his head. “A pleasure.” Then he casually walked away.
I stepped to the side and sagged back against the wall.
“Charming, isn’t he?” Delara said. “A Grit’s greatest asset, but I assume you already know that.”
I nodded. Roarke had been the only Grit at the compound, although I didn’t know if he was the only Grit who worked for my husband.