“Roarke, let me go.”
He stopped. “We need to go outside. That Tracker friend of yours will pick up my scent in here.”
If Delara saw him with me, there’d be a scene, and I had no intention of ruining Danni’s night. Maybe I owed Roarke for all the times he’d tried to protect me in that place. “Okay. Five minutes. If I’m gone any longer, they’ll look for me.”
Roarke nodded and led me outside and off to the side of the large red A.G.O. sculpture. “They shouldn’t be able to scent me here.”
I slipped my hand from his and crossed my arms, meeting his eyes. Then I said what I’d wanted to say six months ago when I saw him.
“Why, Roarke?” I said. “Years you watched my husband abuse me. Years? And you did nothing.” He tensed and reached for my hand, but I shifted out of his grasp and continued. “Why didn’t you get me out of that place if you care so much?” Anger filtered into me as the emotions whirled. “Did you like knowing I couldn’t escape? Or did you enjoy watching Anton use me?”
“Fuck, no.” He ran his hand through his dark strands. “God, Rayne. It wasn’t like that.” Again he reached for my hand, and I again moved away. He sighed, bowing his head. “Damn it, I couldn’t. I tried to, but Rayne, I only stayed to protect you. If I left, he would’ve destroyed you. He didn’t know when to stop. His obsession was killing you. That’s when I hunted the Scars. To draw his attention away from you.”
“And ending up hurting innocent people.” His jaw clenched and his brows twitched. “Tell me what you need to. Then leave me alone.”
“Rayne—”
“You have thirty seconds.”
He hesitated then, “The woman at the compound, you remember her?” I’d been ten and thought she was going to be my new mom. “She’s powerful and dangerous. More so than any other I’ve known.” I kind of had that impression when I’d seen her. “Rayne, when I came back to the compound after you escaped, she was there.” He hesitated, eyes darting to the glass doors of the gallery. “She told me who you are.”
I frowned. “Huh?” What was he talking about? He knew I was a Scar already.
“How important you are. Who you are.”
“What do you mean by who?”
His head jerked up and his gaze darted to the glass doors again. “The Scars are looking for you.” He snagged my hand and squeezed. “Rayne, come with me. I swear I’ll keep you safe.”
“Roarke.” He was a Grit, and I was pretty sure he could’ve escaped the compound with me, but he hadn’t. I still didn’t want to see him die if the Scars saw him with me. “You should go before they see you.”
“They can’t protect you like I can,” he said.
I doubted that. “Even if that was true I wouldn’t go with you, Roarke.” I slipped my hand from his and he let me.
He nodded then reached out and swept the back of his hand down my check. “Warn the Scars. Tell them a—”
“Get your fuckin’ hands off her.”
Air sucked from my lungs and I spun around so fast, I lost my balance and staggered back on my heels. Roarke grabbed my forearm to steady me.
Oh, my God, Kilter. “Kilter?”
He stood at the curb beside a black Audi, raw anger pulsing through him. His eyes held a speck of red, and they were not focused on me, but on Roarke.
“Get the fuck away from him, Rayne.” Kilter slammed his car door and walked around it, looking like a pissed-off predator about to attack another predator for touching his prey. “Now!” he ordered.
Roarke leaned in to me and whispered, “Can I trust him not to hurt you?”
I didn’t know. God, where had he been all these months? Why had he suddenly showed up out of nowhere? And here at the gala. It didn’t make sense.
I briefly shut my eyes then opened them again to make sure he was real.
He was.
Kilter was here.
So many emotions ripped through me. Anger. Relief. Warm tingling in my chest with stomach whooshes. And, God, he looked good, better than good. Maybe I hadn’t been in a place emotionally to appreciate how hot and sexy Kilter was, but I noticed now.
He wore faded black jeans and a grey T-shirt—tatts inked down both arms and bulging under his muscles.
“He won’t hurt me,” I told Roarke. “He was the one who rescued me from the compound.”
Roarke’s hand slid from my back, and his attention went to Kilter, although I suspected, even though Roarke had been looking at me, he’d been aware of Kilter’s every move. “Not here to harm her, Scar. She’s in danger—”
Kilter dove for him.
Roarke cursed before Kilter’s fist slammed into his jaw. He staggered a few steps, shook his head, and then came at Kilter, ducking, before he swung and hit Kilter in the face.
Kilter turned his eyes to me. “Get in the car.”
Then he yanked a knife from the leather sheath on his thigh. I knew what he was capable of with a knife, and despite not trusting Roarke, I didn’t want him killed.
“Kilter, no.” I ran to his side and grabbed his arm, but he ignored me, chest heaving, eyes burning red at Roarke. “Kilter, he wasn’t going to hurt me. Please, he was the only one who’d been nice to me in the compound.”
Kilter’s eyes darted to me and then back to Roarke.
Roarke stood with his hands up half-mast. “I have no weapon. Don’t want to fight, Scar.”