I look toward the hallway for what feels like the tenth time in the last five minutes. Emerson has been gone for too long, but I’m trying not to crowd her.
I’ve pushed her a lot tonight, more than I probably should have, but she makes me fucking crazy. I’m only going to push her further the moment we get in the limo to go home, so there’s no sense in holding back now.
Emerson is mine, and nothing she says or does is going to change that. There’s nowhere she can run, nowhere she can hide that I won’t find her, so why hide how utterly obsessed I am with her?
I meet Storm’s eyes across the room where he’s sitting at the table with my family and the poor son of a bitch who was meant to sit in my seat, but I couldn’t handle another man sitting next to my woman, especially now I know she isn’t wearing anything under her dress.
Even from afar, I can see my brother asking me why I haven’t gone to check on her yet, and honestly, I don’t have an answer. Before I can think better of it, I’m striding across the ballroom to check on Emerson. As I get closer to the hallway, something in my gut tells me there’s something wrong, and my walk quickly turns into a run.
I’m vaguely aware of Storm behind me as I approach the door of the women’s bathroom, the sound of a struggle only making me move faster. The door’s locked when I reach it, and without missing a beat, I slam my entire body into the door, the lock giving way under my weight.
The sight in front of me has my stomach churning and a blinding rage crossing my vision. Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’ve drawn my gun from the back of my pants and there’s a bullet in the back of the asshole who dared put his hands on my woman’s head.
He crumples to the ground a moment later and I should feel relieved, but I don’t. Once his body is removed from the equation, the new image only serves to break my heart.
Emerson is pressed against the tiled wall. Her entire body shakes violently, her dress is pushed up around her ass, torn and tattered. My precious girl sobs so hard I’m almost worried she’s going to hurt herself.
“I’ll take care of this. You take care of your girl,” Storm says quietly, but I’m way ahead of him.
I approach Emerson slowly, not wanting to startle her after what she’s just been through. I pull her body back into mine, holding her against me as I carefully push her dress back down. It’s torn, and it doesn’t cover much, but there will be a swarm of people in here any minute now, the clean-up crew Storm is organizing, she doesn’t need anyone staring at her.
“It’s okay, sweet girl. I’ve got you.” I barely force the words out through the lump in my throat. “I’ve got you.” It doesn’t matter how I feel right now, because it’s nothing compared to what has just happened to her. I’m too scared to ask how far it went, but I know I’ll have to. The dead guy has his dick out, and her dress was around her waist, it’s possible he violated her, and if that’s the case, he got off too easy. He deserved a slower, more painful death for putting his hands on what belongs to me.
Emerson relaxes into my hold, and a moment later, she’s limp in my arms. It’s probably for the best. She doesn’t need to see the clean-up crew take the monster that put his hands on her away.
“Get her out of here. Wynter is outside. She’s going to check her over, check if she needs to go to the hospital. If not, take her home.” Storm is in work mode. He’s calling the shots even though this is usually my job. Taking care of dead bodies is my bread and butter, but he steps into the role without hesitation so I can take care of my woman.
I hold her tight against my chest as I walk through the doorway, my sister standing on the other side. Her eyes drop to Emerson in my arms, closing them for a moment to get her bearings before starting toward a room down the hallway.
“I can check her over myself,” I growl. I’ve never felt threatened by my siblings before, but I don’t appreciate the idea that I can’t take care of what’s mine, that I need someone else to do it for me.
Wynter pushes the door open to an empty office and points to the couch across the room. “I’m not implying you can’t take care of her, Rayne. But if he…” She swallows thickly. “If he raped her and you’re the one that checks her, you’re going to lose your fucking mind, and while I know you would never knowingly hurt her, I’m not willing to risk it.”
“He didn’t.” A small voice fills my ears and when I look down, my eyes lock with Emerson’s. The usually vibrant green is dull, but her words fill me with such relief I almost buckle before I can sit on the couch with her in my lap.
Wynter crouches in front of us, her face soft as I position Emerson across my lap. “Are you hurt?” my sister asks gently.
Emerson shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. “No. Not really. I tried to make a run for it, but I didn’t disarm him for as long as I thought and he slammed me into the wall. I hit my head, but not that bad.”
I tighten my hold around her, cursing myself for letting her out of my sight. It went against everything I believed in, but I was trying to compromise, trying to allow her to keep some of her independence even though everything inside me wanted to squash it, wanted her to rely on me, to not be able to breathe without me.
Wynter’s eyes meet mine for a moment and I know she sees the barely contained anger under the surface. The only reason I’m not losing my shit right now is because Emerson is in my arms, and she needs me. “Do you know who the guy was?”
Emerson buries her face into my neck and I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to stop myself from handing my girl off to my sister, finding some voodoo priest who can bring someone back from the dead, just so I can kill the motherfucker again, except this time much more painfully.
“He worked for Russo,” she whispered. “He said that he was sent to collect me, that Angelo was angry I quit the club. But then he was saying he was sure Angelo wouldn’t mind if he sampled the product.” She blanched.
“It’s okay, sweet girl. No one is going to hurt you. Angelo Russo is not going to get his grubby hands on you, okay?” I say the words into her hair, hoping her scent will keep me grounded. I have a temper. And when I say I have a temper, I don’t mean I get mad. No, when I snap, I black out for periods of time until someone can bring me back again, and I can’t afford for Emerson to see me like that.
She nods. “I want to go home, but I need to be here, but my dress is ruined.” A loud sob breaks from her chest and for the first time in my fucking life, I feel helpless. There’s nothing I can do to numb the pain, nothing I can do to take it away, at least not while we’re here. I need to get her home, get that motherfucker’s blood off her, and then I need to take care of her the only way I know how.
“I’ll make sure the gala goes off without a hitch.” Wynter smiles softly. “Snow and I have thrown a bunch of these things, and Mom is a pro. I promise we won’t let it go to shit.”
“My dad.” Emerson tries to sit up, but I hold her in place, not ready to have any distance between us at all.
“Mom is with him. She’s told him that someone attacked you in the bathroom, but she’s keeping him in there so we don’t raise any unwanted attention. We have a handle on this,” Wynter promises.
“He’ll be freaking out,” Emerson whispers.
Wynter nods. “He is. But he knows Rayne is here with you, and that’s calmed him down a lot. It seems your dad trusts dear old big brother here with your safety.” She’s trying to make light of a situation so dark I’m not sure it will ever see the sun.
A small giggle vibrates through Emerson’s chest. “That makes two of us.”
My heart squeezes at her admission. We both know I’m not a good man, but as long as she knows I’ll always be good to her, that’s all the matters.
“I’ve organized for a car to pick you up at the back entrance so we can avoid the paparazzi,” Wynter tells us as Storm slips into the room, his eyes looking over Emerson protectively. They’ve only known each other for a few hours, but I see the familiar look in his eyes. It’s the same way he looks at Wynter and Snow, which means he’s accepting Emerson as part of the family. It’s a damn good thing because I have absolutely no intention of letting her go. She’s it for me. I knew it the moment I locked eyes with her, but the mixture of fear and rage swirling in my gut secures that knowledge.
Sooner or later, Emerson will be a Saint James, and if I have my say, it will be the former.
