Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(61)

But as much as I could trust someone, I did Kilter. Because he was honest. When he talked to me, it wasn’t with pity or with lies or with sympathy. There was no pretending.

And that was in his kiss—raw and possessive and completely overwhelming. But despite wanting him, I needed to be on my own before I could share myself with anyone else. I wasn’t ready for someone like Kilter. I wasn’t ready for any man.

“I know this isn’t much, but I’m sorry for what happened to you.” I paused. “But it’s taken a long time to get where I am, and one step in the wrong direction is ten steps back.”

He scowled. “You think I’m the wrong f*ckin’ direction?” I didn’t say anything, because he wasn’t exactly the wrong direction, just the wrong time. “That’s complete bullshit, Rayne. You feel what’s between us, too, and you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I didn’t say that. I know you wouldn’t. It’s just you’re… overwhelming, and I don’t need overwhelming.”

“I saved your goddamn life.”

Whoa. I stiffened, glaring at him. “Really? Are we back to that again? I had one * in my life, don’t need another.” The words slipped from my mouth, and the second they did, it was too late. I couldn’t take them back. I saw the shock on his face as his eyes widened then narrowed as his brows lowered.

Shit, he didn’t deserve that. I reached out and put my hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

He was silent, no longer looking at me but out the windshield. His jaw clenched and he gave a single nod before leaning across my lap and throwing open my door.

Shit. “Kilter, I—”

“Don’t,” he barked. “I need time to cool off.”

I’d sensed from the beginning that Kilter’s past issues bordered my own. It was as if he constantly tried to push everyone away—except me. “Kilter, I didn’t mean it like that. I just want you to understand. You disappeared for six months and now you show up and kiss me and—”

“Go inside, Rayne.”

“Kilter—”

His eyes darted to mine and my breath caught in my throat at the anger and hurt blazing.

Shit. There was no excuse for what I’d said. None. But he’d closed down. I sensed the shield around him like a solid brick wall. No matter what I said now, it wouldn’t matter.

I undid my seatbelt and slid from the car. An ache settled in the pit of my stomach as I turned and walked toward the door. Only after I’d stepped inside did Kilter drive off.

I knew behind his crude words, he had a good heart. But right now, I had my own issues to deal with. Having Kilter’s past demons around me would only make my recovery that much harder. Maybe in time, when I was stronger.

I hung the keys on the horseshoe hook beside the door and leaned against the wall, my fingers pressed to my lips.

I hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him.

I’d learned to express myself over the past few months and cope with my emotions. But when it came to Kilter my emotions were all over the place and I didn’t know how to sort them out.

A knock sounded on the door and my heart skipped a beat. Kilter.

I opened the door and was met with piercing eyes and the intense scent of black licorice.





FIND A REASON FOR her to live.

Fuck.

My lips pursed together and teeth ground back and forth as I gently cleaned Abby’s raw, bleeding wrists. I was meticulous with the wounds like I was every morning after she’d passed out from a night of ranting and raving.

I applied the salve and light bandages and started to get up when her voice stopped me.

“Don’t.”

My gaze shot to her. She was awake and looking at me. What the f*ck? She never woke this early in the morning. It was why I looked after her wounds at this time. After so many months, I knew Abby’s schedule like f*ckin’ clockwork.

She woke between ten and eleven, ate—if she could keep it down—then paced, showered, and sat in the corner of the room while I sat on the back porch.

Then she slept for a few more hours before nightfall. That’s when I put the chains back on her. Psycho woman rose at eight or nine.

She reached out and her fingers curled around my wrist. They were childlike, delicate, and gentle, yet I had the scars to prove how damaging they could be.

Her eyes were red-rimmed with black circles beneath and I knew she was in pain. Fuck, I saw it in her eyes. I wanted to pull her into my arms and take it away. I’d do anything to take it away and make it my own.

“Fuck, Abbs, don’t look at me like that.”

She half-smiled then reached up and rested her palm on my cheek. I nearly fell off the edge of the bed onto my ass with the sweet gesture. She hadn’t been this mellow in months, and her touch… it was as if the Abby I once knew was back.

“What’s the date?” she asked.

I frowned at the peculiar question. “What?” Why would she care about the date?

“The date?”

“October third. Why?”

She nodded, turning her head to stare at the ceiling. “It’s time, Damien,” she whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. I should’ve never… I thought I could survive this, but I can’t.”