How ironic that the guy who loved me most ended up being the one to break me to pieces.

The soft, warm brush of his lips over my tattoo was so out of tune with the dark thoughts roaring in my head that I had to give myself a mental shake. I was a boneless puddle underneath him, laid out in pure vulnerability. Shell-shocked.

“How long was I out for?”

He lifted his head. “About five hours.” His lips curved downward. “I had something I couldn’t get out of tonight. Trust me, I wanted to be here with you instead.”

Trust him.

But where the fuck was he six months ago? Jax’s words echoed from that morning, as clear as if he’d uttered them now.

He didn’t make it.

The branded image of him flashed in my mind. Eyes lowered, and his shoulders slumped as soot and blood bathed his face.

There was a fire…I’m sorry…

I’d sat chained to Rafe’s bed in that safe house, my voice refusing to work, so all I’d been able to do was shake my head. Denying. Trying to convince myself Jax was a lying bastard, which technically, he was, but somewhere deep inside, I’d known. Rafe wasn’t coming back.

Now here he was months later, asking me to trust him as if nothing fundamental had changed between us, but everything had changed the instant he’d decided to bolt.

The urge to smack him was overpowering, but I tamped it down. Instead, I feathered my fingers through his dark hair, brushing away a lock and revealing a red gash above his brow. “What happened?”

“Had a fight tonight.”

So the ghost of Rafe Mason fighting underground wasn’t a ghost after all. “How bad are you hurt?”

“Not as bad as the other guy. Which reminds me…” He pushed to his hands and knees and scooted down the mattress, then rose to his feet. “I’m a mess.” He bent and released my ankles. “I want you naked when I come back from showering.”

Tingles shot through me, straight to the core of my being. Fear, desire, even fury, and it all coalesced into a boiling pot of turbulence in my stomach. My body wanted him. God how I wanted him. But my mind and heart overruled, reminding me of the nights I’d sobbed into my pillow with a gun in my hand because I was scared of the shadows in the bedroom.

Because I couldn’t fucking breathe without him.

“We need to talk.” I glared at him. “I’m—”

“Gonna get naked,” he finished for me. His eyes undressed me with the heat in them, and his inflexible jaw challenged me to fight him.