Page 73 of Irrevocably

She’s mine.

Fuck.

You were supposed to leave her, never see her again, not rescue her and take her home with you.

I know, I shouldn’t have. Just as I shouldn’t have killed everyone in that factory. If I’d been thinking straight, I’d have left at least one of the Morettis alive for interrogation, let the chief call an ambulance for his daughter, then stayed with my family to confront the Hellhounds.

But I wasn’t thinking straight.

The Hound and I arrived, and while Lazarus told me to wait for him, I didn’t, and neither did the Hound. We went in and took a look at the scene, discovering Astrid and the chief tied to chairs while a bunch of Morettis stood around watching them being interrogated.

Normally, I would have had a plan. I’d have assessed the scene, figured out an approach before going in guns blazing.

But I saw Astrid tied to her chair, the light above her making her seem so pale and fragile, like a mirage, and I saw the prick with the knife use it on her, cutting the top off one of her delicate fingers. And something exploded in my head, the beast shredding the box and roaring its fury at anyone who dared to hurt her. Anyone who dared touch to her.

I was moving before I could think, mowing them down like wheat as I made for her, going into Terminator mode to take down the people who tortured her, who let her blood drip onto the floor like it meant nothing.

She saw me coming, her eyes pinned to mine, and I could see her relief and her joy. No one looks like that at me when I come for them with a gun in my hand. No one is ever … joyful.

She was, though, melting against me as I untied her and carried away from the people who hurt her.

I wasn’t thinking then, and I’m not thinking now. All I know is that I have to get home to where there’s a full first-aid kit, and as quickly as I can.

She’ll be in pain, and while she likes pain, she won’t like this type.

I glance over to where she’s curled in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, her eyes closed, her bleeding hand held protectively against her chest. She looks so small, so vulnerable, and my chest gets tighter and tighter.

This was my mistake. If I hadn’t killed Angelo Moretti, then perhaps Carlos wouldn’t have seen fit to bring some of his crew to Blackwater, and they wouldn’t have taken Astrid. Then again, perhaps they would have anyway, considering what Moretti was doing just before I interrupted him.

Something heavy sits inside me, a weight pressing against all my vital organs. She could have died. I could have lost her.

Did you ever really have her, though?

For the space of a couple of hours, I did. In the cabin, she went to sleep in my arms, and I imagined for just a moment what it would be like to have someone who was mine. What it would be like to have her.

But I can only imagine it, because I’m not truly free and she’s not truly mine, and I need to remember that. I need to remind myself what happens to people who get dragged into my world, because I’ve seen it before.

They get hurt. They die.

She’s in your world already.

“Is Dad okay?” Astrid asks, her voice thick.

“Yes. We got him out.”

“Good.” She’s silent a moment, then goes on. “He was being blackmailed. That’s how the club gets away with the weapons thing at the port. Dad agreed not to interfere when the club president offered to pay for Mom’s cancer treatment. But then after she died, they needed something else to hold over his head, and that something is me.”

A hot, raw sensation grips me. This is the information I’ve been hunting for, and I didn’t even have to ask her. I didn’t even have to threaten her. She’s just … giving it to me like a gift.

My jaw gets tight and I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white. “That’s why you were taken,” I say. “They wanted that information.”

“Yes,” she says softly. “And they wanted to know about you.”

I grit my teeth. Fucking Moretti. It was Justin, Carlos’s oldest son who was directing Astrid’s torture, and I wasn’t going to start getting into a conversation with him about what Enzo did or didn’t want. I shot him before he had a chance to say anything more, and that was likely a mistake.

But he had a gun to her head, and I couldn’t let that stand.

Still, if it’s Enzo’s hand directing the Morettis, then maybe this is him getting impatient and wanting to move things along. Which makes me wonder if he’s doubting me and my ability.