She’s (Still) Too Young (She’s Too Young #2)(19)

Her whimper of pain almost collapses me. Jack is stunned enough at what he has done that I remove the knife from his possession and barely resist burying the blade in his jugular. But Veda has one hundred percent of my focus as she sinks to the ground, clutching her arm against her chest. "Ramsey … "

"Angel, no. No." I secure the dropped gun in the front of my waistband where Jack can't reach it, and turn to find Veda's father has collapsed into a dining room chair, head in his hands. I strip off my shirt and wrap it around her wound, bile rising in my throat at the sight of blood anywhere near Veda. "You shouldn't have done that. You should have stayed away. Don't you know I'd rather be stabbed through the heart than see you hurting?" I suck in oxygen, but it only makes my lungs burn. "It's going to be okay. I won't let it be anything but okay." 

"It's just a scratch," she breathes.

Wrath is like a snake slithering through my bloodstream, rattling its tail and preventing me from feeling anything other than the urge to punish the man who would dare put a mark on Veda. Spots are appearing and bursting in front of my eyes. I can't breathe. I can't reason. My focus narrows down to one inescapable fact. Jack will pay. For everything.

Moving on autopilot, I force myself to stop obsessing over Veda's breathing, the pale quality of her skin, the nervous way she's looking at me. There will be time to straighten out everything between us once I know she's safe and healthy. Until then, thinking straight is too much of a challenge. My girl, my life, is bleeding on the kitchen floor. I grab my cell with a shaking hand and hit the speed dial for security, thanking God I had the foresight to hire someone with first-aid experience.

"Get inside now. Veda has been injured." Within seconds, three members of security enter from two sides of the kitchen, two with weapons drawn, one-the woman-heading straight for Veda. "See that she's cared for. Please." My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable. "Make sure she isn't in pain."

"Yes, sir."

Logically, I know Veda's injury is only superficial, which is the only reason I'm able to rise and step back, away from her. Without my having to instruct them, the two remaining members of security hustle out Jack, who only begins to struggle when they've reached the door.

Jack throws a wild look at me over his shoulder, his face full of dread. He opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut, which is just as well.

It's too late for words or apologies.





Chapter Eight





When Veda steps out of the town car, my chest pulls tight, and I want to shout with the relief of seeing her whole, even as I ache over the white bandage on her arm. Never again. She'll never be harmed again. My life's duty is to make that vow a reality. What's left of my sanity wouldn't be able to stand witnessing her injured twice.

I'm standing on the edge of Keukenhof Gardens, the most renowned flower field in Amsterdam, where I've been waiting for just under an hour for Veda to arrive. Of course, I've been checking on her through the security guard I left behind at the house to treat her, but it's not the same thing as seeing her with my own eyes.

Has that glimpse of peril made her even more breathtaking? She hesitates after shutting the car door, wringing her hands at her waist. Nervous. She was nervous before I left the house with Jack and my security guards, too. Whether it's about the status of our relationship after what Jack revealed or something else, I don't know. But I plan to find out and make her forget every single worry in her mind and fill the holes with contentment only.

Going on instinct, I open my arms. "Veda."

She kind of deflates a little against the car before she straightens back up and runs toward me, the material of her blue dress flowing out behind her, blonde hair fluttering in the wind, putting the flowers growing alongside the footpath to shame. And forget about the feel of her. I'm in heaven on earth when she throws herself into my arms, tucking her face into my neck, her body wracked by a series of sobs.

"I'm sorry for stealing the money," she cries. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one who's sorry." I stroke my hand down her hair. "I drove you to it. I made it impossible for you to trust me, and you only acted accordingly."



       
         
       
        

"I trust you now. More than anyone." She lifts her head, and I'm almost knocked flat on my ass by her red, chewed-on lips, her damp eyes and lashes. God. She's beautiful even in her distress. "I didn't even want to do it the first time … you came home that first night with flowers, and we danced in the living room. And I just wanted to die."