Текст книги "Storm"

Автор книги: Jo Raven

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Chapter Seventeen

STORM

I have the driver drop us off at the first decent hotel I lay eyes on and tell him to drive back without us. I also tell him not to give our location to anyone. Hell, his pay is so good I have to hope he’ll do as I say, but experience tells me I shouldn’t hold my breath.

Trust no one, that’s what my uncle taught me, and I hate to admit it, but he was right.

Except when it comes to Raylin. Everything changes when it comes to her. The laws of physics and the universe go out the window.

I’m that fucked. No wonder both Rook and Hawk seemed uneasy with my actions. It’s not every day I vanish into thin air for months, then return with an unknown girl who also just happens to be a ticking bomb for a triad.

Yeah. No wonder my friends are pissed as all hell with me.

Sucks to be them right now, stuck with a friend like me, but I can’t find any trace of regret in me. Especially when she looks up at me as we walk up to the front desk of the hotel, her warm gaze grounding me.

I consider whether I should give a false name, but when the receptionist gives me a broad smile and says “Welcome, Mr. Jordan,” I guess the question is moot.

I don’t think I’ve stayed in this hotel before. Not that it matters.

Raylin’s wide eyes jump from the man to me and back. She hasn’t really grasped it yet, though she will eventually: everyone knows my face. Probably how we were found back in Boca Raton. The gardener or a passerby saw me, recognized me and ran to sell the story to the newspapers.

Happens all the time. When I ran, three years back, I grew a beard and wore a hoodie or a baseball cap—or both—to hide who I was. Then I realized a good disguise is ninety percent attitude, so I changed the way I talked, and the way I walked, and suddenly I was someone else.

Storm. Definitely not Troy.

The hotel manager appears through a glass door, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Mr. Jordan, what an honor,” he gushes. “You will of course have the white suite.”

He waves an imperial hand at the receptionist who prepares two key cards for us immediately. I’d laugh if my insides weren’t a knot of nerves.

“Anything you need,” the manager croons, “we’re here for you. And may I say you look fine, Mr. Jordan. So pleased to welcome you back home.”

Home.

Hiding a wince, I take the cards and nod. I wonder if my name’s on the news yet in connection to the ‘accident’ that landed Rook in the hospital. I wonder if as soon as the elevator doors close behind us, the manager will turn to the receptionist and tell him to call a reporter, let them know I’m here.

Christ. I didn’t miss this shit. At all.

The elevator opens directly into the suite, like it does to my penthouse apartment. Shit, the apartment. I wonder if the cleaning crew fixed and cleaned everything.

As if it makes any difference. As if I’m ever going back there without reliving the moment of the explosion and the shard slicing into me.

The wound on my back gives a sympathetic twinge.

“Oh my God.” Raylin walks into the suite, lifting her hands in the air. “Oh my fucking God. This is awesome.”

Is it?

I glance around the place. White furniture, white carpets, white walls with pale gray photos in—wait for it—white frames.

Ah. The White Suite. How imaginative.

“It’s not bad,” I concede, stripping off the jacket of my dark suit and throwing it on the white sofa. It lands among white cushions.

Jesus.

“Not bad?” Raylin turns in a circle, that pretty mouth hanging open. “Not bad?”

I snort and wander in search of a bathroom. I sometimes forget she’s not used to this. The luxury, the ease. It’s what I ran away from, what I’m used to. And dammit, her excitement makes me grin, despite the darkness swirling inside my head like ink.

“Look at the TV!” she squeals, and exhausted as I am, my damn leg and back throbbing, I chuckle as I wash my hands and splash my face with cold water. “And there are chocolates! Filled with rum!”

“Some rum would hit just the spot,” I agree quietly, patting my face dry.

“And the bed! It’s huge!”

I shake my head and start stripping. “I’ll bet.”

“There’s a frigging bottle of champagne!”

“On the bed? How sloppy of them.” I push down my pants and briefs, then my socks and I toe off my shoes, stepping out of the whole pile at once.

“No, stupid, in an ice-box thingy.”

I laugh. This girl… “An ice bucket?”

“I know what an ice bucket is, smartass. This thing is made of glass and is shaped like a flower. Wait. Hey, the tongs are also shaped like flowers.”

Really. I just hope the champagne is good. I could use some, though I hope the mini-bar contains something stronger.

The water runs warm, and I step under the spray with a deep sigh. Cranking up the heat, I bow my head, letting the water sluice through my hair and beat on the knotted muscles of my back. The bandage is getting wet, but I don’t care. I let my breath slow, feel how the air fills my lungs, expanding them, then leaves in an exhale.

If I could just crawl into bed and forget this day… Maybe by the time I’m out of the shower, I’ll find Raylin curled on the bed and fast asleep.

But then of course, on the heels of that thought come ideas of how I could wake her up again. I’d kiss her body, her neck, her face until her lashes flutter. Then I’d undress her, slowly, pull that white tunic over her pretty tits and play with them, rub them and lick them and make her nipples tighten, then I’d suck on them until she’s wide awake and moaning my name.

Jesus, I’m so hard already at the images playing out in my head I’m about to shoot my load.

I’d unbutton her jeans and drag them down so I can nuzzle her panties. They’d be soaked by now, smelling of her, like sweetness and musk, and when I slide my fingers into her, she’d go crazy, her head tossing, her hips lifting—

Oh fuck. I reach down and wrap a hand around my dick, and the heavy vein underneath pulses madly. Leaning my elbow on the tiled wall, I bury my face against my arm and start stroking myself. Maybe this is what I need, to rub one off quickly, so I can cool off and settle down.

Long slide and drag, my fist a tight channel around my cock, and I press my face a bit harder into my arm, hissing between my teeth at the mounting pressure. God.

I jerk when a slick, warm body presses against my back. I puff out a breath, draw in more air. Curves. Scent of vanilla and pretty girl.

“You started without me,” she whispers, and I choke on laughter, lifting my head from my arm, staring at the tiles. White and gray, with swirling patterns. Hypnotizing.

Times like this, I think I’m in charge, that I’m the one leading this game. Then she goes and surprises me, making it fucking clear I’m the one struggling to keep up with her.

Her hand sneaks around my hip, wrapping around my dick, and my brain goes blank. Oh fuck, yeah. See? She’s gone and done it again.

And I love her for it.

Her hand moves up and down, tightening, strong for such a small hand, and yet not enough. Teasing. Bringing me one step closer to the edge and then one step back.

I drop my head back to my arm, groaning softly. Doesn’t matter. It feels good. Her scent, her touch, it’s all good. All I need.

But she releases me and tugs on my hip. I turn to face her, reaching for her, because oh fuck, she’s wet and naked, and hell, those pretty tits are right in my face, and I’m dying to lick them.

That’s when she goes down on her knees and puts her mouth on my cock, and damn, that’s when my brain self-combusts for good. There’s a rushing in my ears. I slam a hand into the wall, holding on for dear life as she mouths the head, then takes more of my dick into the heat of her pretty mouth.

Holy shit. So damn good. My hand finds its way to her wet hair, fingers tangling in its softness. Can’t remember it being so good before, but I… Can’t be sure. Can’t fucking think. My balls are tightening, pleasure sparking down my dick, muscles tightening in my stomach—

“Wait.” I tug lightly on her hair, pulling her head back. Letting go of my death grip on the wall, I hook a hand under her arm and lift her to her feet. “Come here.”

She slides up my body, her arms going around my neck, her mouth finding mine, and her velvet dark eyes send a flare of heat straight to my dick. It twitches, trapped between us and my breath catches on a groan.

Need this. Need her.

She doesn’t resist when I push her up against the wall, when I grab her hands and slam them on either side of her head. When I crush my mouth to hers and take advantage of her gasp to thrust my tongue inside and play with hers.

Holy shit. Our bodies press together, my jagged edges cushioned by her soft curves, her fingers sliding up my neck, twisting in the short hair there and tugging, sending small jolts of pain through my scalp.

Sending bright, hot arousal down my spine. Oh fuck…

Even if everything falls apart tonight, if she’s gone soon, I don’t care. She’s here now, and I have to be inside of her, feel her hot body tighten around me. Pretend this night won’t end.

Make tonight so good the memory will get me through this year, and the next—if I survive. Make it last a lifetime.

And it’s getting too damn dark in my head, so I let go of her hands and reach down, rubbing my fingers between her legs.

Need to fucking stop. Stop thinking.

So I sink into the kiss, the taste of her mouth, sweet and light, the feel of her leg hooking around my thigh, and her pussy opening to the press of my fingers. Opening up to me.

Her arms tighten around my neck, a moan escaping her when I pump my fingers deeper, harder. I fucking love this—me, her, under the beating water, my tongue in her mouth and my fingers buried in her. But I won’t last much longer, not with the way her pussy promises to be so tight and right around my dick, the way my body is clenched, balls aching and dick trembling, barely managing to hold back.

Pulling my fingers out, I grab my cock and rub the head up her seam, making her shudder and dig her nails into my back. I nudge between her folds and slowly push into her.

She gasps in my mouth, lifts herself up to accommodate me—and I grab her other leg and lift her up, sliding deep inside of her.

And like that, I turn and carry her out of the shower stall.

“Oh God. Storm…” She’s wiggling on my cock, and her pussy squeezes maddeningly around it, trying to milk it, driving me crazy.

“Keep still,” I growl, stepping out of the bathroom and crossing over to the sofa. I lower us both and the moment my knees hit the cushions, I push deeper into her. “Fuck…”

Somewhere here lies my jacket, with my wallet, with a condom inside, and I have to get it. I’m riding a damn fine edge and my control is crumbling. I won’t be able to pull out of her in time when I come, I know it. Not only that, but I want to come inside of her, and I wish I could forget about the condom. I wish there was no barrier between us.

No secrets.

Dammit.

I reach out blindly for my jacket, and it slides to the floor, heavy with all the things I stuffed in its pockets—the gun, the cell phone, and the envelope from the lawyers’ office. Cursing, I hunt after it, and the angle of penetration shifts. She moans, squeezing around me. White noise fills my ears.

Fuck. Can’t. Oh holy fucking shit…

Pleasure licks the back of my spine, spreading between my legs, burning through my balls and dick. My body shakes as I start coming with the force of a howling gale. I grab my dick and struggle to pull out of her, teeth gritting so hard it feels like the enamel is cracking.

I barely make it, grunting as I finally find my release, dick jerking in my hand, splashing her tits and belly.

Damn, this keeps happening. She’s just too sexy. Keeping my self-control around her is impossible. Fuck, I have to convince her to get on the pill, so I can stay inside her, feel her as I come.

Then I remember this won’t last—this me-and-her thing—and sit back, on my heels, suddenly exhausted.

“Hey…” She’s sitting up, too, her face creased with worry. “You okay?”

I shake my head. This is fucked up, I’m still half-hard, and shit, I still want her.

Will always want her.

Wincing at the way my thoughts are again heading, I bend and grab my damn jacket, fish my wallet out and find the condom. The gun slips out, landing on the cushions. I lower it to the floor, shove it under the sofa.

She giggles when I lift the small foil, and my mouth twitches. “That why we hiked here from the shower?”

“I hiked. You hitched a hike.” My grin widens. “On my cock.”

“What if I want to hitch one more?”

My breath catches. A memory of her riding me back at the beach house turns my dick into an iron rod. Like a randy teenager, goddammit. That’s how my body reacts around her.

I could go down on her, eat up her pussy until she comes all over my face and, yeah, my dick grows harder, heavier at the image.

But she has other plans. Still dripping with my release, she gets on her knees and pushes me down, then grabs the foil from my hand and tears it open.

We should be talking. In fact, I should be, tearing down that last barrier that’s bothering me so much, but hiding with her, in her, for a while longer feels so good.

Feels like the only way to keep from going off the deep end.

She pulls the condom on my rock-hard cock. She then gives me a faint smile—sexy, slightly uncertain, beautiful—and lowers herself on me.

My eyes roll back in my head when she ripples around me. She’s close to her own release, clenching around me, and I lock a hand around her neck and pull her face down to mine.

God, I love it when she rides me. No idea why it turns me on so much.

“Move, baby.” I suck her lower lip between my teeth, plump, swollen from our kissing, lick in her mouth. “Come for me.”

Her eyes fall closed, her hips roll in small circles, her breath comes in soft pants. I put my other hand over her breast and squeeze, flick my thumb over her nipple, then pinch it as I bite lightly on her lip. I know now what makes her tick. Like me, she likes a little pain mixed in with the pleasure.

There. Fuck, yeah. I tug on her nipple, slide my tongue over hers, jerk my hips up, and she convulses with a cry, her passage massaging my cock as she comes apart.

Sweet, but oh shit, her pussy is corkscrewing around my cock, and the sounds she’s making… I hiss, my balls tightening, hardening, the pressure behind them skyrocketing. I pull my mouth from hers to breathe and her flushed face and reddened lips push me over the edge.

Fucking hell. So soon on the heels of coming hard, the coiling behind my balls is pure torture, a razor-thin line between pleasure and pain.

Then pleasure wins out, and I shout her name as I spill inside her heat, bathing my cock inside the condom.

Ow. Fuck. Too much. Holding on to her, I lock my jaw to keep from yelling again as another spasm goes through me, sweet, sharp pleasure turning my insides to jelly. My heart is hammering fit to burst through my chest. As it starts to slow, my shaking limbs relax and my lids turn heavy. I’m sinking into the sofa cushions, sinking into sleep.

“Love you, Ray,” I mumble before I’m dragged under, into swirling darkness.

***

“Storm.” A hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “Wake up.”

I blink crusty eyes at the blindingly white hotel suite. “Wha?”

A rustle, then Raylin’s face appears over me. So achingly beautiful.

I reach for her, to draw her down into a kiss, my body stirring already, but she puts her hand over my mouth.

“Shh.”

I lick her palm. Salty with a hint of sugar. She flinches, and I grin.

“What’s up?” I rasp. Because something is definitely much up—my dick, digging into her leg where she straddles my waist.

“I thought I heard something.”

That wakes me up all the way. “Where?”

She tilts her head to the side, that shiny dark hair draping over us. “Outside.”

With a curse I sit up. “On the balcony?”

“No. I don’t know.”

A lamp is on in the corner, otherwise the suite is in darkness. “Stay here,” I order her. “And stay down.”

“But I—”

“Ray, stay down. Please.”

She snaps her mouth shut and gives a mutinous little nod as she slides off me. “What do you think it was?”

“No clue.”

But with my luck, nothing innocuous and innocent. Better safe than sorry, though, so I crawl on the floor until I reach the lamp and flick the switch off.

Yeah, this is better.

Despite the height of the building, the lights of the city center illuminate the room enough for me to see her lying on the sofa, made of pale curves and dark valleys, those deep eyes staring back at me.

Getting up, I make my way to the balcony doors, keeping my back to the wall. I glance outside.

The balcony is empty except for a table and four chairs. White, of course. A potted plant stands in one corner. No space for anyone to hide behind it.

“So what was it?” she whispers as I return to the sofa.

“Don’t know. A bird, I guess? Could be a crow digging in the plant pot.”

“A crow?” I hear laughter in her voice. “You mean it’s raining crows? Raining in Baltimore.” She hums. “You know. Raining in Baltimore, by Counting Crows.”

“You’re so funny.” I grin at her.

“I know.” She sighs. “Can we talk now? Can you tell me your secret?”

My grin fades as I sit down and pull her to my side. “Yeah.” I push a strand out of her face. “Sure.”

Keeping my voice light, neutral. As if it’s easy for me to talk about this, about a secret that moves in my nightmares like a living thing. Tell her a story only two people in the world know—one of them lying in the hospital, the other risking his neck for me, for our friendship, with the Chinese mafia.

A story that has to do with my past and who I am, but makes no damn sense to me.

At least it’s dark. Secrets spill more easily in the dark.

She snuggles closer, pulling my jacket over our naked bodies. It’s still early hours, no hint of dawn outside. I stroke her soft hair, wrap myself up in her scent, her body, and try to remember where I am.

Here, with Raylin.

Not in a place of monsters, a place of blood and confusion, more than sixteen years ago, the night my parents died and I survived. Survived thanks to one man, who took me away from the slaughter scene.

Uncle Tony.

And that was just the beginning.

RAYLIN

“For years,” he says softly, “I thought the images inside my head weren’t real. Nightmares. They came back in nightmares, that much is true. They gained strength in the night, fed on my fears. The therapists called in by my uncle dismissed them as trauma, and that was it. For a damn long time.”

I tighten my hold on him. I hate how his voice is flat and empty. “What images were you seeing?”

“Blood.” He shudders and I shudder with him. “Pools of it. Dead face, dead eyes… Broken limbs.” He swallows hard, his throat clicking. “My parents’ dead eyes and broken limbs. Their blood.”

Oh God. I don’t know what to say. I burrow closer to his chest, listen to his frantic heartbeat and think about this. Try to remember what I know about his past. I’m never been much for celebrity gossip, but the Jordans’ story was discussed at every job in every coffee shop and fast food stand I got in the past few years. Strange how I never made the connection when Storm told me who the beach house owners were.

Then again, who would’ve expected to find Troy Jordan fixing a fence on the beach in Florida? Come on.

He doesn’t speak for a while, and I wait, but I can’t stand it for long. Can’t stand the thought of him caught in a nightmare, feeling trapped and alone.

I gather my courage and poke him in the chest. Damn those pecs are hard. “Hey… Didn’t your parents have a car accident?”

He tenses underneath me, and I wish I hadn’t spoken.

Then he says, “They did. Drove off a bridge into the river. Died from their injuries before they drowned, apparently.”

“That’s a mercy,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m saying. As if I know which death is worse.

So shut up already, Ray.

“But if that’s what happened, why do I remember their bodies in a back alley? Why do I remember my uncle being there, holding me in his arms, and why do I keep seeing…” He grunts, rubbing his face on top of my head. “A symbol. A bird. And flames.”

“Bird?”

He snorts, his warm breath ruffling my hair, tickling my scalp. “Yeah. I know, right? For years I thought I was nuts.”

“You are.” I rub circles over his chest with my hand. “Totally nuts. I thought we’d established that.”

His heart has slowed a tiny bit, his breathing grown easier. “Yeah. We did.”

“I mean, you’re here with me. There’s proof!”

Shit. Can’t believe I’m teasing him at a time like this.

But he makes a strangled sound, which could be laughter. “Yeah, but that’s because I’m nuts for you, Ray.”

Awh shucks. He didn’t just say that. I tried to ignore the “I love you” he blurted out during sex because—sex. After a good orgasm or a bottle of gin, people say all sorts of things they don’t mean.

He’s not drunk now, and I’m pretty sure two hours of sleep have taken care of the post-orgasmic daze. The words are on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill.

Love you, too, Storm. But I don’t speak, and he takes a deep breath to continue.

“My uncle took me in. He’s my closest relative, brother of my dad. He took over the enterprises, and we never spoke about my parents’ death. Ever. In fact, we rarely spoke.” He falls silent for a moment, shifts on the sofa, and my heart squeezes imagining him, small and hurting, lonely and not cared for. “At least I had the guys, you know? Hawk and Rook. I had a private tutor, as did they, and my uncle had me take self-defense and shooting lessons, but we met for other sports—horse riding, and polo, and sailing. All the shit rich kids do.”

I can’t help it. I giggle a bit at that—at his tone and choice of words. “You were a rich kid, too.”

“I know. But I always felt out of place. More so after I started getting interested in the company and realized how dirty the family money was. Blood money. Money from deals with the worst scum around. Everything just to make more. Take over more companies. Grow bigger. Expand more.”

“Everyone does that,” I whisper, not sure how to offer comfort.

“Not like my parents did. Like my uncle did.” His heart is racing again, beating against my fingertips that are pressed between his pecs. “At first it was only suspicions, doubts. The numbers didn’t make sense otherwise. Not legally. Deposits on the order of hundreds of thousands had come in with a standard ‘gift’ note from untraceable accounts. My uncle refused to talk about it, told me to shut it or else. When I refused, he locked me up for a week—no phone, no internet. Threatened me, implying worse could happen to me. I hated him.”

“But not anymore?”

“It’s complicated.” Another sigh. “See, about the time I turned sixteen, I discovered something else. I’d snuck into my uncle’s office, managed to shake off the security and everyone. I was looking for proof of my suspicions on the financial matters. What I found was… not what I expected.”

I’m afraid to speak and break the spell. So I clamp my mouth shut and just breathe in his scent.

“Found a letter, addressed to a company I didn’t know. But the logo… It was a bird in flames. A phoenix. It was signed by my uncle, and the symbol appeared again under his name.”

I blink, not sure what this means. “A logo. Of a company?”

“Not one that exists officially. I searched for it. But he had my computers bugged. He had me dragged into his office. He told me to stop searching. I told him what I remembered.” His breath catches, releases. “That I knew my parents were murdered before they were put into the car and pushed off the bridge.”

Holy shit.

“Seeing the symbol again jolted my memory,” he rasps. “I remembered where the bird in my nightmares was. It was tattooed on the men’s arms. A gang or crime syndicate, I don’t know.” His voice is strangled now. “And my uncle was with the men who killed my parents, standing there, saying nothing. Holding me as I screamed. Then he turned and walked away.”

I sit back, pulling free of his hold. His eyes are red but dry. “He saved you.”

Storm nods.

“Why?”

“Hell if I know.”

“But when you told him you remembered? What did your uncle say to that?”

“Nothing.”

I sigh and lean back against the cushions. “Did he have a tattoo? Like the other men? Did you check after he died?”

“What do you think?” His mouth twists as he leans over me. “I asked. Nothing, except for a small circle inked on his shoulder.”

“A circle?” I frown. “And the letter with the phoenix logo? Did they find it?”

“Nope. Gone. Either he or someone else cleared out his documents when he died, before the lawyers got to them.”

“What about his will? Didn’t he left you any clues?”

“Dammit, Ray, don’t you think I looked?” He rubs a hand over his head.

“And in the copy of his will the lawyers gave you today?”

“You think…? Shit.” He lifts the jacket and pulls the thick envelope out of the pocket, tears it open and shakes out the papers. “I can’t believe…”

Something clinks to the floor. I reach down and lift a small key.

We both stare at it in the faint light of the city that seeps through the curtains of the balcony doors. Storm unfolds the will papers, glances at them and puts them back down.

“Why would he do this?” he mutters. “What does it open? It could open just about everything in the world.”

“No, look how small it is.” I twirl it between my fingers. “It has to open a cupboard or a drawer.”

“A drawer where?”

“Where would your uncle expect you to look?”

“I don’t fucking know.” He takes it from me, examines it, then gives up and closes it in his fist. “You think he left me some… evidence, some clues?”

“Why else would he go into the trouble of leaving you this? He knew that would be the only time you’d be alone with the lawyers. Bet there were lots more people when they opened his will.”

He nods, his gaze distant. “The timing,” he says. “They killed my uncle and then tried to kill me, too. It’s as if they knew I’d receive this now. But that’s—”

A phone is ringing somewhere below our feet. Storm dives for his jacket that has fallen off us to the floor and fumbles for the pocket.

“Hawk,” he growls. He connects the call. “What do you want?”

I fight a smile. His hair is standing on end, and that growl is hot, and… God, I shouldn’t be thinking of that now. Not with everything he’s been telling me and the mess this is. I’d give anything to clear this up, particularly if it means keeping him safe—but what does it have to do with what’s happening?

“Yeah, so what did the triad say?” Storm sits up straighter, his gaze sharpening, and I suck in a breath. “What did—she didn’t? Shit, Hawk, you sure about that?”

Then he grabs me, drags me to him and kisses me hard. “It’s gonna be fine,” he whispers. “You didn’t kill anyone. They just want the money.”

“I didn’t?” I shake my head, my eyes burning. This can’t be true. Too good to be real.

He turns to the cell phone. “Hawk, tell her.”

“Hey, Raylin.” His voice trickles over the phone like warm toffee. “You there? Things aren’t as bad as we thought. My contacts already asked. The triad says they only want to have back the money owed to them. Nobody died at any shooting you were involved in. Plus, you’re with Storm now, and they don’t want to that kind of trouble. Jordan enterprises vs. a triad? Not what they’re looking for.”

My throat is closing up fast. I can’t speak.

“Oh and the shooting back at Boca Raton? That wasn’t about you, sugar. In fact…” He sounds intrigued, and a bit miffed. “In fact they said they know nothing about it.”

Jesus.

Storm extracts the cell from my numb fingers and stands up. “Thanks, man, I owe you one. Yeah, a bit fat one, okay. Bastard. I only—”

For the second time this evening, he doesn’t finish what he was about to say, because the glass door to the balcony crashes with a deafening noise, and the next thing I know Storm jerks and drops back on the cushions, clutching his arm. Blood trickles through his fingers.

Holy shit. Guess the reprieve is over.

Another bullet smashes through, hitting a painting with a thunderous crash, and I pull Storm down, to the floor. He drops in an ungainly heap, his face white.

“Stay here,” I tell him. “My turn to keep you safe.”