9. nine

Rolling over on the couch, I lift my watch from the coffee table to check the time.

02:00 a.m.

The soft cries and whimpers coming from my room at the back of my apartment have stopped me from falling asleep. They are fucking incessant. I've been looking at the inside of my eyelids and staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, if not longer, but her never-ending whines keep me awake.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when her soft cries are replaced with a blood-curdling shriek. Unable to ignore her pained cries for help, I stand from the couch and rush toward the bedroom. Traversing the hallway, I briefly contemplate knocking, but this is my fucking apartment and she's the one screaming for help.

When I reach the door, I push it open. Light from the main room filters through the threshold and shines over the bed. Lucia is fast asleep and thrashing under the covers. She looks as though she is trying to violently fight off an invisible assailant.

Stepping toward the bed, I call out her name. It does nothing to rouse her from her nightmare. Against all my normal instincts, I lean forward to wrap my arms around her—she seemed at peace clinging to my chest in the car earlier. The moment I touch her, she swats in my direction. Her nails rake down my face, and I hiss through my clenched teeth as I pull her against me and pin her arms to her sides.

She attempts in vain to break free from my hold, but my muscular build easily overpowers her small frame. Determination keeps her going until she quickly begins to tire.

"Shhh, little lamb. You're safe here," I whisper as I tighten my hold and pull her even tighter against me. Something about my voice—or maybe even my arms wrapped around her—comforts her, and she slowly begins to melt into my chest. "That's it."

I hold her for a moment, waiting for her heart to stop thumping against my arm and for her breathing to slow, before turning to lay her back on the bed. Still fast asleep, she fists tightly at my shirt when I begin to loosen my arms around her body, her knuckles immediately turning white.

"Fine," I huff more to myself than her. Embracing her tightly with one arm, I reposition the pillows against the headboard to make a makeshift chair. If I'm going to sleeping sitting up with her on my lap, I at least want to be comfortable. Scooting us both across the bed, I take my seat, lean against the headboard, and drape her legs over my lap. She nuzzles into me as I shift my weight to get semi-comfortable.

The couch was definitely more comfortable than this.

Her breathing has returned to normal, and the soft thud of her heart against my arm is now barely noticeable. For someone screaming at the top of their lungs no less than a few minutes ago, I can't fathom how she's still sound asleep.

Sun filters through the bedroom window, rousing me from my sleep. I must've dozed off quickly because I barely remember anything after pulling Lucia onto my lap.

Lucia has released her death grip on my shirt, and she is sleeping peacefully tucked underneath my arm with her head resting against my chest. While I know I shouldn't, I cannot seem to fight the compulsion to brush back the hair covering her face.

Her skin is riddled with bruises and tiny scars, which will heal or fade over time. Staring at her, there is no denying that hiding beneath them is an absolutely gorgeous woman.

Why any man would want to destroy that is beyond me.

My rough fingers tuck the hair behind her ear, and she begins to stir against me. Her eyelids flutter, and for a moment, I'm met with her serine, dark, caramel eyes. However, the moment is fleeting, and her body quickly becomes rigid against mine. The look in her eyes is suddenly more comparable to a wounded animal backed into a corner.

A look I know all too well.

Her hand flails at my face as she forcefully pushes herself from underneath my arm. Expecting her to strike, I firmly grip her wrist before she's able to make contact with my face. The first set of scratches she left behind is enough.

"I prefer nail marks down my back, not my face," I snark while climbing from the bed and releasing her wrist. She scurries backward until she is off the mattress and has positioned it as a barrier between the two of us.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she yells as her eyes dart around the room. I can only guess that she is looking for a weapon, of which the only one is the pistol tucked between the mattress on my side of the bed.

"You're the one who wouldn't let go of me last night." I fist my shirt, mimicking her hold on me. "I didn't fuck you, and I have no intention of fucking you."

"You all don't fuck me. You fucking rape me!" she quickly retorts.

"Ihaven't done shit to you, except cut you free from the fucking hell you've been living in. Maybe you could show a little fucking gratitude," I huff, her accusation angering me.

She eyes me over with suspicion, not even remotely letting down her guard as I turn to walk from the room. I call back to her from the hallway, "Coffee?"