Show Me the Way (Fight for Me #1)(43)

She glanced at me. Helplessness struck on her features. “It got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran.”

A shot of rage tumbled through my veins. For her as a little girl. Couldn’t imagine it. What if someone treated Frankie like that? “I’m so sorry, Rynna.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it made me stronger. For years, I was too afraid to return. But after my grandmother passed, it finally set in. I lost all those years with her, and I didn’t want to run anymore. I was tired of running from who I am. Even if I still find myself looking over my shoulder, I won’t allow anyone to chase me from my home.”

“You belong here,” I managed.

I could feel her eyes flicker over to me. “I don’t think it’s any mistake you and Frankie were the first people I met.”

Hesitation brimmed around me. I knew what she was saying. What she was asking for. Never had I felt more at war with what I wanted and what I knew was right. I turned right onto our street, the words grating from my tongue. “My life’s a train wreck. One that just seems to go on forever. Every fucking time I think I’m doing something right, it goes to shit.”

“What happened with your company three years ago?” she suddenly asked. Peering over at me, she fiddled with the silky strap on that lust-inducing dress. Like she knew asking it was crossing a line. Pushing me further and willing to do it, anyway. “What Broderick mentioned?”

“Just another time life stabbed me in the back. This time it was my business partner. Asshole nearly destroyed me. He made me look like I was a part of his shady practices, stealing from clients, falsifying documents. I very well might have ended up in jail like he did. I managed to prove I had no clue what kind of bullshit he was pulling back at the office while I was out working my fingers to the bone with the crew. Still nearly lost the company because of it, but somehow I managed to hold it together.”

Hatred pulsed through my veins. Still couldn’t believe the bastard had pulled that shit. It’d nearly knocked me on my ass. The blow was almost as harsh as coming home and finding my wife had left me.

“That’s horrible.”

Nodding, I pulled into her drive. “It was. Pisses me off the fucker just got released. Takes about all I have not to hunt him down.”

She laughed this incredulous sound, honesty gliding onto her face. “You want to hunt yours down and the weak part of me wants to run the other direction.”

“Don’t ever let anyone chase you from what belongs to you, Rynna Dayne.”





18





Rynna





Tension roiled between us. That tether pulled taut. Drawing us closer. I swallowed around it and reached for the latch. He was quick to open his door, jumping out and rounding to my side before I had time to step out of his massive truck. He helped me down, and his hand scorched where he aided me by holding on to my elbow.

“Let me walk you to the door. Last thing I need to be worried about is you here by yourself and some asshole taking advantage of you.”

He quirked this belly-flopping grin that pierced me like an arrow. “Unless of course that asshole is me.”

He barely angled his head to the side. There was something so endearing and self-deprecating about it. Everything about him right then was at odds with the surly, bear of a man I’d met weeks ago, the man exposing himself, layer by layer.

I lifted my chin, both in strength and vulnerability, tossing all the uncertainties and questions out into the open. “Should I be afraid?”

“Yeah, you should be.” His response was hard, but there was no missing the fact his irritation was aimed at himself. He set his palm on the small of my back, helping me through the gravel drive in my heels, an inch behind as we ascended the porch steps.

We crossed the planks. That tension wound higher with each step until we were nothing but needy pants at my door. Slowly, I turned around to face him.

His presence sent a ripple of energy vibrating across the floorboards, the overwhelming sight of him the owner of my breath.

He stood beneath the faint glow of the hurricane lamp that hung outside the door. A sculpture of sinewy muscle and raw strength, forged through years of obvious physical labor. Every inch of him was rugged, from those roughened, callused hands to the crinkles set deep at the edges of his eyes.

The man was a carving of pure, daunting beauty.

“What exactly am I supposed to be afraid of, Rex?” My brow twisted, and my voice quieted with the admission. “Because when I’m around you, the last thing I feel is afraid.”

“I fuck everything up, Rynna, and the only thing I’ve got to offer you is my mess. I can’t do this.”

Restraint rumbled in his chest, the sound so deep I felt it shake the ground beneath my feet.

I gently cupped one side of his rugged face. “I’m not afraid.”

It was a promise.

An appeal.

“You should be,” he grated. “Warned you, my shit doesn’t ever end well.”

“Maybe that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

He groaned and he planted his hands high above my head. The man panted above me, torn, desperate, his nose just brushing mine. “God damn it, Rynna. God damn it.”

I felt the moment he broke. When the thread pulled too tight and this mesmerizing man snapped. His mouth descended on mine.