Fractured Sky (Tattered & Torn #5)(33)

He turned to look at the mare, taking her in.

“It’s her coloring but more. I looked it up. It means nail or claw in ancient Greek.”

Ramsey nodded slightly. “She clawed her way out of Hell and straight to us.”

Us. As if we were a team. I liked the idea too much.

Ramsey stepped forward and into the glow of the porch lights. “Onyx, it is. I’ll get her name plaque ordered tomorrow.”

I took in the man in front of me, seeing how ladened he was with things for the first time. A duffel over one shoulder. Grocery totes over the other. A box in his arms.

I lifted a brow. “Going camping?”

He shook his head.

“Preparing for the apocalypse?”

He grunted.

“I might need more than non-existent charades to help me guess this one.”

There wasn’t even a flicker of the amusement I could usually drag out of Ramsey.

“I’d like to stay here for a while.”

Energy sparked through my nerve endings. “Here?”

The single word came out more high-pitched than I’d intended as if I were a middle school boy going through puberty and unable to control my voice.

Ramsey leaned against the railing, studying everything about my reaction. “I think it’s smart to be cautious. Someone knows you’re here. That means they’ve been watching.”

My skin itched as if it were too tight for my body, and my fingers picked up a rapid tapping against my thighs. “You have a gate. A security system—”

“One that needs some beefing up. I put a call in to the guy who helped me set it up, but he’s on vacation right now. Let me stay here until we get that sorted.”

A million different emotions warred inside me. I wanted the solitude and freedom I’d fought so hard for. But after today, my nervous system was shot. I was on edge, and the idea of having someone across the hall? It helped.

Just feeling that need for security in the form of another person made me feel weak. Annoyance flickered through me. “Your house is basically a hundred yards away.” There was some tree cover between, but Ramsey would be able to see anyone approaching the front of my cabin.

“More like two hundred.” Ramsey’s gaze met mine, and there were no walls in that moment. He let me see it all. The concern. The care. “I don’t like the idea of you staying alone when someone’s messing with you.”

A riot of emotions flew through me. Disappointment. Anger. Frustration. Relief.

Of course, Ramsey wasn’t here for any other reason than to make sure I was safe. I was so damn tired of only being seen as something to protect. But I was also exhausted. Tired to the bone. And, the truth was, I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

Ramsey moved in closer, dropping a box filled with food onto my porch. “Those wounded eyes kill me.”

I bristled at that. “They aren’t wounded.”

“Like I shoved a knife between your shoulder blades.”

I dug my fingernails into my palms to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. Instead, I kept all emotion from my tone. “I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second. But there’s something to be said for someone watching your back.”

“And who watches yours?”

“Lor. Kai.”

The jealousy that hit me was swift and strong. I wanted him to include me in that tight circle. But wasn’t that what Ramsey was asking of me? For me to let him in? He was knocking. I just had to open the door.

I let out a huff of air. “You leave the toilet seat up one time, and you’re out.”

A laugh burst free from Ramsey. Everything about it was uninhibited. For the first time, he wasn’t holding himself back from me. I felt the vibrations of the sound skate over my skin, and nothing had ever felt better.

Except maybe Ramsey’s hand in mine. The warmth of his palm. Skin that didn’t make me want to crawl out of my own. Heat that comforted.

Ramsey held up a hand. “I solemnly swear never to leave the toilet seat up.”

I nodded and motioned to the box and bags. “Worried you won’t make it back to the main house?”

He looked at me, a bit of hesitancy bleeding into his expression for the first time. “I thought I could make you dinner.”





14





RAMSEY





I’d never felt more like an idiot. I didn’t offer to make women dinner. I hadn’t cooked for anyone but myself since the day I walked out the prison doors and no longer had kitchen duty. Sandwiches for the kids were one thing. This was something else entirely.

Surprise lit Shiloh’s expression, and it made the light blue of her eyes sparkle under the porch lights. “You cook?”

“I get by well enough not to poison us.”

It was more than that. Cooking had become an outlet—a way to unpack the day. To exercise my freedom. I hadn’t chosen what I ate since the age of seven when my mom married that asshole and I lost everything. He dictated every single meal—even what snacks were in the house. Then there was prison, where all I got was food barely fit for rodents.

When I finally got out, free of that man and those walls, food was my first expression of freedom. I ate all the things I’d never been allowed to have. My stepdad had seemed to have a radar for the things I liked and made sure I never had access.