Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(89)

I want Emma Burke. I always have. And I’m going to fight like hell to make her mine. I know a thing or two about fighting.

The quiet night air and the rasp of the crickets forms a constant hum that almost lulls me to sleep. The sudden rumble of the taxi pulling along her street jolts me awake though. And when Emma steps through the back door, tears pouring from her eyes, her face red and upset, her body convulsing with emotion, I’m rushed with adrenaline.

I sprint to her, and the closer I get, the worse I realize it is. Her cheek is bruised, her dress is torn, the strap on her purse is dangling by a thread.

I want to kill someone.

“Emma!” A breathy shout leaves my chest, and my legs feel like they want to fold under me. Someone hurt her—someone hurt her badly. Her lip quivering, she finally collapses against me, completely falling to pieces against my chest. I hold one arm around her, dig into my pocket, and fish out a crumpled twenty that I throw at the cab driver.

“That’s not enough,” he says, leaning out the window. I flinch toward him, and Emma startles. Thankfully, that move and the look on my face is enough.

“Mother f*cker,” he grumbles, twisting his steering wheel and pulling away fast.

Emma’s still shaking in my arms, and I take this short moment to survey the rest of her. Scratches line her bare arms, and I realize just now that she’s also barefoot.

“Did he do this to you?” I ask.

She’s quiet, her eyes barely open, her tears still coming down like rain.

“Emma, did that Graham guy touch you?” I repeat. I’m trying so hard to keep my voice calm, but I know I sound like a lunatic.

I open my mouth to ask her again, but she finally nods slightly, stuffing her knuckles into her teeth as she lets out an enormous scream that echoes down the street. Sam hears from inside and rushes out to us.

“Miss Burke? Are you all right?”

He eyes me like a protective father, and I like him even more because of it.

“She’s hurt, Sam. We need to call nine-one-one…” I start, but Emma interrupts.

“No!” she screams, clutching my shirt and twisting her head to look at me, shaking her head no. She begs, and I feel like I’m free falling, my stomach sick and my head not sure what’s right or wrong right now.

Emma is all that matters.

“Miss Burke?” Sam asks again, his eyes flitting from her to me.

“No,” she coughs out. “No…please don’t call. I’m…I’m all right. It’s a misunderstanding, and that…that would make things worse. Please…take me inside.”

I breathe in slow, painful air, my lungs burning against the motion because home is the one place Emma needs to go, and I’ve gone and ruined that, too.

“I’m taking you home with me,” I say, her eyes wide on mine. She’s so frightened and in shock. “I don’t want you to be alone, and we can’t…we can’t stay here.”

I swallow hard, not wanting to give her details right now, not wanting to pile on her nightmare with more. She doesn’t ask, but instead lets her head fall forward, nodding in agreement. She’s letting me take control.

“Let’s go inside and get some of your things,” I glance to Sam, silently asking him to let me help with this. Our eyes meet, and I know he’s in my corner.

Sam holds the door open for us, and I walk with her weight against me, my eyes meeting his once more. We follow Sam to the elevator, and he calls a car down for us to step inside. I nod to him once more as the doors slam to a close between us. Emma’s breathing is steady, but every breath is deep and labored, almost like she’s trying to self-soothe, but failing miserably.

“Emma,” I hum her name, cradling her to me. She shivers when I speak, and I shut my eyes wishing I could do more, wishing we were past so many things so I could give her the love she needs right now.

I follow her into her apartment, pausing at the door to her bedroom as her body slips away from mine long enough to grab a small bag. She stuffs handfuls of clothing in, not really paying much attention. I step inside her room finally and push her hands down, holding them still.

“Go get your things in the bathroom. Let me do this. I’ll do it right. I swear,” I say, looking at the stack of thin shirts she’s packed while the weather outside is in the low fifties. She shakes her head okay then moves to the bathroom.

I work quickly, grabbing a few sweaters from her closet, pulling jeans from shelves and emptying her underwear drawer without looking. I don’t know what she wants or needs to be comfortable, so I take a little bit of everything; I can give her my things to stay warm, too.

Knowing Emma, I also grab her backpack, pulling the zipper fully open to slide the books strewn about her desk inside. I stop suddenly though at a familiar sight. My letters are scattered in her bag, some of them in a large envelope, others pushed far into the bag, bent and folded as if she hid them in a hurry. I listen for her in the bathroom and decide to brave a glance at the large envelope containing most of them.

Emma,

From Dad



My body rushes with a wave of panic, but the sound of Emma shutting the medicine cabinet across the hallway jolts me from the numbness that I want to swim in. My letters. Carl—he brought them to her. Emma—she read them. At least…some of them. I stuff her books on top quickly, knowing that when she can, she’ll realize that I saw them.