Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(32)

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, *. 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.

“Rayne, I know this is overwhelming being with us, but we want to help.” Delara moved in closer and leaned up against the wall beside me. “I was asked to stop you from running, but what I’d like is if you’d listen to what I have to say, then decide.”

“I can’t go where they want to send me. I won’t be locked away again.” Never. Another compound. The memories were too fresh. Too real. I couldn’t. I inched back a step away from her. Then another.

Delara nodded. “Kilter tell you?”

I didn’t say anything, not wanting him to get into more trouble than what I’d already heard.

“Rayne, it’s okay. Kilter fought against the idea and our Taldeburu has changed his mind about a rehab center for you.” I had no idea what Taldeburu meant and I was uncertain if she was breaking down the walls around my mind or saw my confusion in my expression, but she explained. “Waleron is our Taldeburu. The leader of the Scars here in North America.”

Kilter kept his promise and convinced them. “Is he okay? I heard shouting. He sounded so angry.”

She hesitated and my heart pounded. Oh, God, please don’t let him be hurt. “He’s fine.”

I closed my eyes, nodding, and inhaled a long, ragged breath.

“We had an idea. What if you live with me? It’s not much, nothing like this place. It’s an apartment downtown above an art gallery.” She reached out, took my hand, and squeezed. I pulled away. “Rayne, you’re best to be around people who know what you’ve been through. Or at least have an idea. You can stay with me and Waleron will organize someone for you to see. You can get help. We want to help and you don’t have any place to go. I promise, we won’t involve you in Scars’ business and you can get a fresh start.”

“What did Kilter say?”

Delara shifted her feet and her shoulders tensed. “Kilter had to leave.” I gasped, heart slamming into my chest. “He’s safe and unharmed, but he won’t be around for a while.”

Kilter left? He just left? Despite the fact that I had been running away, it hurt that he left.

It was better this way. Maybe he’d known that. I had started to feel something for him and that was dangerous.

A vacant emptiness settled inside me—a familiar black void that had become my solitude and my demise. I had nothing left. And she was right. I had no place to go.

I lowered my head and nodded. “Okay,” I said.