Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(12)

I pull her out and into my arms. She struggles a little, her hands pressing against my chest.

“Ax, it’s okay. It’s me.”

Her eyes pop open, and she peers up at me then around the parking lot, her eyes landing on my hand that’s cradling her legs and gripping her thigh. “Why are we at your place, and why are you carrying me?”

“You mean it isn’t obvious?”

She answers with a glare.

“You’re nice and f*cked up, passed out alone. Better I take you home and take advantage of you in private than allow some piece of shit to f*ck you, right?” My teeth grit together as I force back a full-blown angry speech on responsibility.

Her glare tightens and she kicks out of my hold. I allow her to slide from my arms and hold her steady while she finds her balance. She pushes me off. “I’m not that f*cked up, Kill. I’m just tired.”

I step into her space, wanting to grab her and shake the stupid from her brilliant brain. She backs up until she hits my Jeep, her eyes shining with defiance. “I found you in his bed. Alone. You were so out of it I carried you through the party, brought you outside to my car, and drove you home without you even knowing.”

Her mask slips and genuine fear flickers behind her deep blue eyes.

“Let me ask you something.” I clench my fists. “How much do you think you would’ve been able to take before you’d come to, huh? Some *’s fingers? Maybe his mouth? Or do you think it’d take him shoving his dick inside you to wake you up?”

“Shut up!”

“Stop acting like a rebellious teenager and start taking care of yourself!”

“I only had a couple drinks!”

I cringe and step back, shaking my head. “That’s what you always say. Stop lying to me, Ax. Grow the f*ck up.”

She gasps, but tears shine in her eyes. Dammit. I don’t want to make her cry, but she doesn’t understand what would happen to me if something bad happened to her. Not only does she mean more to me than anyone else on the f*cking planet, but I owe Blake and Jonah my life, and they’ve made it clear that when I’m around Axelle she’s my responsibility. Fuck, if anything happened to her on my watch, I’d beg them to beat my ass, not that I’d have to.

“Where’s my purse?” She pats her hips and ass. “My phone?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

She chews her lip. “Mindy.” Her hand rubs at her forehead. “My purse is in Mindy’s car.”

“I didn’t see Mindy there.”

“She’s probably somewhere with Ryder or that football guy.” A groan falls from her lips. “She has my keys too.”

“Come on. You can stay here. Call Mindy and tell her you’re safe and you’ll be home in the morning.”

“Yes, mother.” She stomps past me and I grin at her back.

This woman and her damn mouth.

*





Axelle





Fuck, f*ck, f*ck!

I’m such an idiot. Killian’s right. What I did tonight was irresponsible. I know better! But it’s not like Clifford or any of his friends would take advantage of me…right? A wave of fear crashes over me, causing me to shiver.

“Cold?”

I keep my head down and focus on climbing the stairs to avoid him seeing how embarrassed I am. God, what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up?

He chuckles in that deep way that sends ripples through the air between us and practically caresses my skin. “Stupid question, seein’ as you’re damn near naked,” he mumbles.

I whirl around to face him and immediately freeze at the possessive glint in his expression: half predatory, half crazy, and all kinds of sexy. I’ve been seeing this look more and more lately, and I have to admit it looks incredible on him—all that dark hair, those lips that if they weren’t framed in stubble on that powerful jaw would appear almost feminine.

One thing I’ve always known about Killian is he’s beautiful. Now he’s powerful, big, and burly, but he’s still pretty.

“How can you say that? I’m in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt!”

His eyebrows lift and his eyes dart to my push-up bra.

I growl and continue to stomp up the three flights of stairs to Kill’s apartment. Tapping my foot impatiently until he pulls out his key and lets me in, I push into the pristine space and head straight for the bathroom when it hits me.

“Crap.”

He clicks on a light. “What?”

“I need my purse.” I groan and rub my temples as the beginning of a headache forms. What time is it anyway?

“I have everything you’ll need for a night.” He drops his keys in a small bowl that I know also contains loose change.

My hand absently rubs my lower abdomen. “No, I don’t think you do.”

He looks confused until his eyes track my hand. I expect irritation, maybe even anger, but he simply grabs his keys and turns back to the door. “Take a shower. Help yourself to a T-shirt. I’ll be back.”

“Kill—”

The door closes behind him, and the telltale click of the lock tells me he’s locked me inside for my safety.

My heart practically melts. God, this guy, he’s too perfect, too good. I can’t believe he’s stayed by me as long as he has. I haven’t always been the best friend to him, and yet, he’s never once made me feel like the burden I so clearly am.