Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(15)

As if he could hear my thoughts, he switched on the hallway light. “Go on in.”

I fisted my hands and climbed the stairs. “You don’t have to do this. I’m fine, I swear. I’ve handled worse than that on my own before.”

“That’s not right. From what I saw, that was pretty f*cked-up. Someone like you—you should never have to deal with that, let alone anything worse. Ever.” He followed me up the stairs. “And you really shouldn’t try to take on three guys at once.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said, stopping at the second door, which stood at the top of the stairs. It was dark blue, like the walls. “Next time I’ll politely request they come at me one at a time, as good guys should.”

He stopped directly behind me, his hard chest brushing my back. Despite everything I’d been through, I was all too aware of his very being. “There won’t be a next time.”

Annoyance crept up my spine. “What should I have done? Cowered in the corner? Begged for my freedom? My virtue? My life?”

“I don’t know.” He flexed his jaw. “All I know is one girl against three men is not a fight you can possibly win.”

“But I can try,” I argued. “What would you have done if it was you?”

He opened the door, turned the light on, and gestured me inside. “The same damn thing I did when it wasn’t.”

“Exactly,” I said, rubbing my arms and glancing around. He had a couch, a coffee table, a TV, and a table. That’s it. But it was clean. Really clean. I’d expected it to be messy. Not a single thing looked out of place. “So why expect anything different from me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and washed his hands. I followed him, watching the water turn pink from all the blood he washed off. When he was finished, he dried off and then turned to me. The force of his stare made my heart quicken. A silent communication happened between us. Despite his notorious name and his past, he couldn’t stand seeing me get hurt, and no matter what he said, that meant something. He might not think of himself as a hero, but he’d been heroic tonight.

He stepped closer and skimmed his hands down my arms. I shivered but held my ground. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for injuries,” he murmured. His low voice did weird things to my body. “You could be in shock and might not feel the pain.”

I forced back a groan. He might be trying to help, but he was killing me with those light touches of his. He was also making me feel like I mattered to him, but men like him didn’t care about other people. “I’m okay.”

And I was now. Especially here, with him.

“I’ll decide that for myself.” He clutched my hands. “Squeeze my fingers.” I squeezed. “Good.” Kneeling at my feet, he gently ran his hands over my legs, steering clear of my inner thighs. I had shorts on, so his fingers never touched my skin up there, but I could feel his heat straight through the denim. “Everything looks good.”

“That’s because it is.” I cleared my throat. “Your turn.”

He glanced up at me, brows raised. “For what?”

“Care.” I pointed at the couch. “Sit.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.” He stood and walked over to the sofa, glancing over his shoulder at me as he went. “I’m fine, though.”

“You’re less fine than I am. Do you have a first-aid kit?”

He turned and headed for the other room. “Yeah. In the bathroom.”

“No, you sit. I’ll get it.”

He sat and watched as I crossed the room. I turned the light on in the bathroom, doing a quick once-over. It was as clean as the rest of the apartment. Blue walls again, freshly painted. I could still smell the slight scent of paint in the room. Guess I knew what his favorite color was.

“It’s under the sink,” he called out.

I opened the cabinet. A bunch of hydrogen peroxide and some scary-looking needles were under the sink, right next to the first-aid kit. I didn’t want to know what the needles were for. Swallowing, I grabbed the kit, closed the cabinet, and stood up. When I glanced up into the mirror, the image reflected back at me made the contents of my stomach churn. A woman who looked more like a girl, in a bloodstained torn tee. It was the tee that did it, and I didn’t want it on for another second. Didn’t want anyone’s blood on my hands, even if that somebody had been trying to kill me. Setting the kit down, I violently removed my shirt, walked to the kitchen, and shoved it into the garbage.

He still sat on the couch, but he watched me with heated eyes, his fingers gripping his knees. “Heidi, you need to put a shirt on,” he gritted out.

His eyes were dark, and he perched on the edge of the couch as if he was ready to pounce without a moment’s notice. The way he was looking at me, like I was actually his, should have pissed me off, especially on the heels of what had happened just minutes before. On a normal day, I hated dominant men who thought they could control women once those women were “theirs.”

But right now, it didn’t piss me off.

It absolutely didn’t.





CHAPTER 5





LUCAS




I tightened my hands on my knees, fighting the impulse to cross the room and take the rest of her clothes off. I knew why she’d taken her shirt off. Through the open bathroom door, I’d seen the horror on her face when she saw the blood on the fabric. But, damn it, she was wearing only a sheer black bra and a pair of tiny shorts that looked as if they’d been painted on.