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He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and tilted his head toward the house.
“Big G wants you here. As long as you’re in his life, you’re one of us.”
I shifted in place and adjusted the strap of my backpack. No one fought for me the way Gideon did. Part of me liked it—craved it, starved for it, desperate and hungry to fill my hollow belly with his attention. But another part of me was terrified by it. Why did I deserve his protection? Why did he risk his neck and put his life on the line for a scrawny nobody like me?
A small voice in the back of my mind whispered the answer but I wouldn’t listen.
He loves you.
Fuck, no. No, no, no. I couldn’t look that in the face right now.
Gatling took up his position next to the tree again. He blended so well with the shadows that I could barely see him, even though I knew he was there.
I returned to the house, walking through the front door since there was no reason to sneak around anymore. It seemed I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Crash was in the kitchen, cleaning up the bloody stains on the floor, and the wads of bloody gauze on the kitchen table. He looked green around the gills, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to keep his stomach from rebelling. Tex and Spike were sprawled in the living room, flipping through channels on the television. Kingpin and Credence stood off to one side, talking in low, hushed tones.
Baby Doll and Blackbeard emerged from what I assumed was Gideon’s bedroom.
“Big G is all stitched up,” Blackbeard announced. “He needs to rest, but I doubt he’ll do that.”
“Any serious damage?” Kingpin asked.
Baby Doll shook her head.
“The bullet didn’t hit anything major. He’s lucky.”
“I’d feel better if one or two warm bodies were posted outside,” Blackbeard said. “Gideon refused to take painkillers in case trouble comes knocking twice in one night. He’s on edge, which is understandable.”
“Already done,” Kingpin said. “Gatling, Hot Shot, and Vlad are outside. Tex and Spike will relieve them in a few hours, before sunrise.”
I dropped my backpack by the door and tiptoed toward Gideon’s bedroom. Gingerly, I reached out and pushed his door open a few inches. Thin bars of light streamed through the slats of his blinds. His room was nearly twice as big as mine, with dark sheets, a king size bed, and a life-sized picture of his bike mounted on the wall above his headboard.
Gideon was propped up in bed, his eyes closed, with an unsettling gray pallor to his skin. His shirt was gone, leaving his tattoos and bandages on display. He was barefoot too, but his jeans were still on.
“Don’t lurk in the dark, watching me sleep,” he rasped. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
I smiled a little, relieved to hear his sense of humor was still intact. Gideon slowly opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on me. The hulking shadow of his Glock rested on his nightstand, serving as a potent reminder that he was not a gentle man. But he was gentle with me.
I traced the wood grain of his door frame with my thumbnail.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I whispered.
“Wasn’t asleep.”
He held his hand out and beckoned to me.
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to fly across the room. I hesitated at the edge of his bed, realizing what a personal, intimate moment this was. Allowing me to see him like this, vulnerable and weakened by blood loss.
Gideon shifted forward and hooked a finger into my belt loop with an insistent tug. I crawled into bed beside him. He looped an arm around my waist, nestling me against his body like we were two puzzle pieces who were always destined to fit together.
I ghosted my fingers over the tattoos on his chest, stumbling when I found ridges of scars beneath the ink. One—two—three, four, five.
“Told you I’ve had worse than that broken nose you gave me,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
I frowned. I didn’t like thinking about where he got those scars, or how much pain he must have endured in his lifetime. I didn’t like that a broken nose was the least of his concerns.
“Did you have any luck climbing out the window?” Gideon asked.
I huffed with annoyance. I swear this man could read my damn mind.
