42. Resa

Chapter 42

Resa

S leeping usually involves a wrestle with my sheets.

Maybe it's alphas I'm fighting in my nightmares, I don't know. I rarely remember what I dream about.

I either can't sleep at all, or I kick all the sheets off me and wake shivering.

Not this morning.

I never wake well-rested, and I never wake with the sheets tucked up to my chin.

I'm mid-stretch, my jaw cracking, when I spot the empty glass beside my bed.

I freeze.

Because that glass? I did not put it there. The bottle of water that I use to take my vitamins and iron each morning, yes. That glass tells me someone was in my room.

I carefully look around me as I mentally process how I feel. Do I feel different, like after my heat and an alpha had?—

No . Not today, Resa. You are not thinking of that today.

I'm half out of bed when a familiar scent hits me: pine, sandalwood and vanilla.

A surprising scent given it belongs to an alpha who has likes to keep to himself.

Blaine .

His scent is faint, probably hours old. But I smell it and I know what it means.

He was here in my room as I slept.

My gaze settles on the knife I keep beside my bottle of water and prenatal vitamins.

If there was ever a stabbing situation, this would be it.

Downstairs, no one is in sight.

I feel awkward in a black fitted sleeveless shift dress that hits my knees. Another addition to my closet that appeared without any prompting.

The quilted flat ballet pumps I stepped into came with a price tag so high I winced and tried not to notice it. I never wore designer clothing before. That wasn't in the budget of a real estate assistant who apparently needed to be micromanaged.

Did it make sense to shower and dress first beforehand? No.

Can I envision stabbing Blaine for sneaking into my room as I slept? Also no.

But a line has been crossed.

What kind of person would I be if I stood for a guy sneaking into my room as I slept?

Not just my room, but omega territory. Supposedly an alpha-free space.

So I stalk down the stairs, knife in my hand, following the murmur of male voices to a door I've only entered twice before.

The meeting room.

I don't bother knocking.

I twist the handle and shove the door open. The first person I spot is Blaine at the table and my eyes narrow. "You?—"

"Resa? Is everything okay?" Garrison interrupts.

Blaine pushes himself to his feet without a word and walks toward me.

I instinctively back up, hate myself for retreating, and force myself to stop. We're outside the meeting room when Blaine pulls the door closed behind him, and it's just us in the hallway.

"You were in my room." I point my knife at him. "What the fuck were you doing in my room?"

I wait for him to tell me he can explain. That he has a perfectly good reason for behavior so creepy I don't know why I'm not already stabbing him.

"I broke a promise," he says, meeting my gaze. "I'm sorry for it, but that doesn't excuse what I did."

I stare at him in disbelief. "So, what, you're seriously going to just stand there and let me stab you?"

"I am."

" Why ?" Again, I demand to know why I'm not putting this knife to good use. I told him I would kick his ass if he ever did something to deserve it. So why the hell am I holding back? "Why were you in my room?"

"Does the reason matter?"

His quiet question confuses me.

The door swings open behind Blaine before I can summon a response. Garrison and Vaughn look from me to Blaine and to the knife I'm pointing at him.

"Did something happen?" Garrison asks.

"Yes, something happened," I snap. "He…"

Touched me?

Raped me?

What?

What do I believe Blaine did to me in my sleep because, try as I might, I struggle to envision him doing any of the awful, stab-worthy things that I can think of?

"Resa?" Vaughn prompts when I don't continue.

"I was in her room last night," Blaine says quietly.

For a long moment, no one responds.

"Doing what exactly?" Garrison asks.

I wait for a mountain of excuses or lies.

"It doesn't matter why, just that I was somewhere I shouldn't have been," Blaine continues, speaking over Vaughn's question. He's still looking at me, and he's still making no move to protect his throat from my knife. "The reason doesn't matter. Resa is well within her rights to be upset."

"Damn right I…" My voice trails off as I spot something over his shoulder that I should have noticed way before now.

Slack-jawed, I step around Blaine, eyes glued to the meeting room they turned into a war room. Messy scrawls and crudely drawn diagrams cover every inch of the whiteboard. Maps and photographs of the inside and outside of the courthouse spill over the conference table.

Then I spot a black duffel.

It's scary how much I've learned from TV and movies, because I'm almost positive I'm looking at a bag full of bullet-proof vests.

"What is that?" I point my knife at the bag.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Garrison says calmly.

"You said it would be a challenge. This—" I gesture at the maps, the photographs, the white mugs stained with coffee, and the bullet-proof vests, "—is significantly more than a challenge."

Garrison's expression is calm. "I like to be prepared."

My eyes flick to the photographs. The many, many photographs of what must be every entrance and exit to the courtroom. When I spot a map pinned to the whiteboard with potential sniper scope points, I realize this was a mistake.

They'll get taken out by a sniper all for me to sit in the witness box and stammer my way through a speech I haven't done nearly enough prep for.

"Resa?"

"You'll be safe," Vaughn assures me. "We've done this once or twice before."

I don't share his confidence. "You mean escort a woman into a courtroom to incriminate some of the most powerful alphas in the city, men who have everything to lose?"

Vaughn is in black. They all are. His expression is calm as he approaches. He lightly clasps the tops of my arms and gives me a reassuring smile. "You'll be safe."

It's not me I'm worried about.

"We've timed our arrival for when the trial is underway. I've been speaking directly with the prosecutor, so no one else knows we're coming. His assistant will meet us in the back hallway and escort us into the courtroom through a side door. No one will know you're giving evidence until we walk you right to the witness box," Garrison says.

"And all of that?" My eyes dip to the bag of bullet-proof vests.

"Is just how we work," Blaine says.

I look at him, remember I still haven't stabbed him for what is undoubtedly a stabbing offence, and turn away again. "Right."

"Blaine will be sticking by you," Garrison says, watching me closely. "He has more bodyguard experience than the rest of us."

I close my eyes, muttering a curse under my breath.

The guy who creeped into my room as I slept last night will be guarding my body from potential snipers today. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

As much as I wanted to take my knife, my dress has no pockets, and it felt like I was asking for trouble if I stuck it in my bra.

Sharing the Hummer's backseat with Blaine, I ask myself what the hell I'm even doing. I'd laugh if I wasn't terrified at the thought of speaking in front of so many people. And I still don't know what I'm going to say.

Outside the courtroom steps, reporters mill around, cameras in their hands, ready to snap late arrivals to the courtroom, but clearly falling asleep on their feet.

As we pass the courthouse, we're just another vehicle on the road. I spot Roman's gray head. He's in a black suit, and no one would think he was anything but just another observer. Garrison said they pulled Roman off another job, so for today at least, I have the entirety of Lucas Security determined to keep me safe.

We pass the front of the courtroom, and Garrison makes a lazy left around the building to the back. He parks in a spot near the back entrance, and gets out first, followed a minute later by Vaughn. After another long minute, they move to the back of the car where Vaughn opens Blaine's door.

Blaine slides out, taking his time to sweep the quiet parking lot. "Resa."

Looks like I'm up.

I get out, keeping my head down as Garrison instructed on the drive here. It's my job to not attract any attention, and it's theirs to ensure I'm invisible until they get me to the witness box.

They flow around me. It's the weirdest feeling to be surrounded like that, to stare at your feet as three men form a tight circle around you and walk you forward.

The door closes slams shut behind me. Frost. Garrison warned me not to be alarmed when he appeared, so I'm not when he suddenly pops up. He must have been watching the parking lot before we arrived.

I couldn't see anything even if I tried. Garrison's shoulders are too big for that. Frost is behind. Vaughn on my left, at the walled side of the courthouse. Blaine is on my right. He's protecting my right, the parking lot side.

I'm almost breathless as we reach the back of the courthouse and enter. Only then do I let myself breathe.

Danger averted.

Inside is safe.

The only people inside are security and ushers, I remind myself.

I don't see a thing. Just squeaky clean, white polished floors under my feet, black-suited deathly quiet men around me as we move through the hallways.

Pop .

Blaine angles his body slightly and says softly, but firmly, "Abort."

And then they propel me back out of the courtroom. I'm looking at Blaine, wondering what the hell is going on when Vaughn says quietly, "Head down, Resa."

I lower my head as questions bubble up in my mind.

Blaine slides back into the Hummer. Frost urges me in, but he doesn't enter, slamming the door after me. Vaughn is already in the passenger seat and Garrison starts the engine and tears out of the parking lot the second my door closes.

And I have no clue why we're leaving at all.

"Blaine?" Garrison quietly asks as he speeds down the road. Vaughn has a gun in his lap, head swiveling from right to left.

"I'm hit," Blaine responds in a calm tone.

I nearly give myself whiplash. " Hit ? By what? I didn't…"

The soft pop.

He has his hand low on his right side. Now that I'm paying attention, his face is paler than it was before. He doesn't look like he's in pain, but when someone says they've been hit, that means shot. Right?

Garrison never takes his eyes off the road as we flow through traffic. "How bad?"

Vaughn tucks his gun somewhere I don't see and twists around.

Blaine is breathing harder now, his voice tense. "It slipped past the vest. The bleeding is getting heavier."

I stare at him, frozen.

"I'm going to need you to scoot over, beautiful," Vaughn says, scaring the shit out of me.

As Garrison speeds through the city, Vaughn squeezes through the front seats and takes my position in the middle, bending to grab something from under the passenger seat. A bright red first aid kit.

He has his back to me, hunched over Blaine so I don't see what he does.

Blaine grunts and Vaughn laughs, "Quit being a baby. It's just a scratch."

Before I can snap at him that a bullet is hardly a scratch, my eyes lock on Garrison's in the rearview mirror. He subtly shakes his head. I close my mouth.

Vaughn's back is tense. More than it was a second ago.

I was getting ready to stab Blaine before. The thought of losing him… of him dying is like someone jammed a fist in my throat and I can't breathe.

He can't die. I'm allowed to kill him. Just me. No one else.

I curl my fingers into fists, nails cutting into my palms as Vaughn quietly works to stop Blaine's bleeding.

No one can kill him.

Not Blaine. He's not allowed to die.