### CHAPTER 4 - LIAM The couch in Asher’s man cave was surprisingly tolerable for a makeshift bed. Sure, it cradled me in comfort, but the incessant glow of the countless screens scattered throughout the room was maddening. The large television flickering life, the gaming consoles buzzing like angry bees, and the kaleidoscope of LED lights created an uneasy atmosphere that played tricks on my senses. But somehow, exhaustion claimed me, and I slipped into a deep sleep, a state where the chaos faded into oblivion. When I finally roused, my mind was foggy, but I was determined. A morning workout followed by a refreshing smoothie was just what I needed to shake off the grogginess. I shot up from the couch and carefully folded the blankets, making sure everything was neat—Asher wasn’t one to tolerate disorder. It was only then that I remembered I needed my running shorts and a clean pair of socks. It was still early, and I hoped that Rachel would remain blissfully asleep, allowing me to sneak into my room unnoticed. As I approached the staircase, I took care to minimize any noise, my feet barely kissing the creaking steps. At the top, I found my bedroom door ajar. Strange. Peering inside, I noted the bed was empty. She must be in the bathroom. I hurried to my closet, quickly searching for what I needed. As I crouched down, rifling through my shoebox of socks, I heard the unmistakable sound of the door clicking shut behind me. Damn it. She’s back. I froze. I had to reveal myself, but just as I prepared to clear my throat, a vision struck me. The towel she clutched around herself dropped away, and suddenly there she was—Rachel, standing completely bare in my room. My heart stumbled over itself as my gaze involuntarily traveled down her flawless skin. I found myself tracing the contours of her body, from the delicate slope of her shoulder, across her pert breasts, and down the sleek lines of her abdomen, stopping just above the crop of dark hair at the center of her thighs. Some might call her skinny, but she had to be barely scraping ten percent body fat. I knew girls who aspired to that look, but Rachel would probably dismiss herself as “gangly,” hating what seemed like a burden of protruding bones. Suddenly, she began to turn, and I braced myself for the impending awkwardness. But then, my breath caught in my throat as I saw it—the left side of her body marred by vibrant bruises, like a dark canvas painted with misery. Concentric circles of black and blue adorned her torso and legs, a ghastly gaze that spoke of violence. A nasty scrape marked her hip, but it was the extensive bruising around her stomach and upper thigh that seized my chest with raw terror. “Holy shit,” I whispered, horrified, as I stood frozen, drinking in the sight of her injuries. She gasped, her eyes growing wide with fear as she turned to me, but it was too late. I had already seen her pain. “Who did this to you?” My voice broke slightly, the calmness I tried to convey crumbling under the weight of a seething anger that churned deep inside me, spiraling uncontrollably. As she turned away, the sight of a boot-shaped bruise on the edge of her spine sent fury coursing through me—someone had truly hurt her. “Someone kicked you.” My voice turned hoarse as I brushed my fingers lightly over the terrible imprint, desperately trying to understand the cruelty she had experienced. She spun back around, her green eyes shimmering with a blend of anguish and terror. It tore at me to see someone so fragile in such distress. Each sharp breath I took stifled the rage that swelled in my chest. My childhood had been suffused with violence, and seeing Rachel—standing there with fear etched across her face—was a gut punch, pulling memories from the darkest corners of my past. “I won’t hurt you.” I reached for her hand, my heart pounding. “I swear, I would never hurt you.” Tears glimmered in her eyes, reflecting an emotional landscape I desperately wished to shield her from. “But I want to disembowel the guy who did this to you. Was it Theo?” Her chin dipped slightly, her body trembling in response. Shit. She stood there, vulnerable and naked, a silent plea in her eyes. Deep down, she seemed to want someone—me—to understand what she had endured. A stark contrast to Mikayla, who had carried Rachel’s empty mug to the kitchen with an unsettling calmness just last night. I recalled how Ethan had hugged her tenderly, and she had confided, “Poor Ray is exhausted.” Rachel, that sweet soul, was devastated. Devastated not just by her breakup, but by the betrayal of the very person she trusted—her first love had revealed his monstrous side, shaking the foundation of her world. I thought back to the first time I witnessed my father unleash his rage on my mother, how she had been blindsided by his transformation from loving partner to unleashing brutality. How she had stayed, clinging to the hope for redemption that never came. Thank God Rachel had found the strength not to follow that same path. With a tenderness that masked my rage, I gently touched her elbow, sliding my fingers down her arm until our palms met. I pulled her closer, my action transparent yet respectful, leaving room for her to resist. But she didn’t. She edged toward me, allowing herself to fit against my chest, her arms wrapping around me in a hesitant embrace. At first, she seemed unsure, but when her head rested against my shoulder, she grasped my T-shirt tightly, her breath hitching as a shudder coursed through her. I cradled the back of her head, careful not to touch her bruises, feeling the warmth radiating from her fragile body—remnants of a storm that had almost broken her. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “No,” she mumbled against my neck, and I instantly recognized the boundaries she had set. I knew she would take her time, peeling back the layers like an onion. Her willingness to let me in—even just this much—was a signal of trust, a glimpse into the complexities of her pain. In that moment, all I wanted was revenge—for her, for every woman who had ever suffered at the hands of a monster like Theo. My heart raced with reckless abandon, drowning in thoughts of pursuing him until there was nothing left of that bastard. But for now, all I had was this moment, her figure leaning into mine, drawing from the semblance of strength I could offer. I pressed my head gently against her cheek. She was a slender willow battered by life’s tempests, yet she would endure. And I vowed to be there, doing everything in my power to help her heal.