Free Promise Me by Cora Brent Page B

said softly. 
    He knew what I meant.  And he wasn’t going to say it was nothing or any such trifling nonsense.  “You’re welcome,” he finally said.
    We sat in silence for a moment and when I glanced up I realized he was studying me.   This close to him, I also saw how handsome he was.  His skin was a few shades deeper than the olive-skinned Italian sisters who had studied at Hale with me.  His lips were full and his eyes were dark and guarded. 
    “Who’s Jenny?” he finally asked in a low voice. 
    I exhaled thickly.  “My sister.  Married off to a depraved leader of another community.  She’s sixteen,” I finished in a choked voice. 
    “Fuck,” he said softly, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry.”
    I couldn’t say it was okay.  Anyway he knew it wasn’t. 
    “How do you feel?”  He looked me up and down critically. 
    “Angry,” I said.  It was an honest answer. 
    Grayson nodded soberly, staring at the unlaced black c ombat boots he wore.  “Shit.  I don’t fucking blame you for that.”  He raised his head and gave me a slight smile.   “You really do seem a lot better though.” 
    I tried to smile back.  “I must have looked pretty nineteenth century to you.” 
    He thought about that.  “I guess.”  He was quiet a moment.  “And how did I look to you?”
    Raw. Dark. Dangerous.  But that wasn’t all.  “You looked like my last hope.” 
    He was thoughtful. “You don’t have a lot of people who look like me where you come from, do you?”
    I thought about Winston calling him a dark devil.  I thought about the terrible things the Faithful church taught its children.  “None,” I said honestly.
    He stared me right in the eye. “You’re safe here, Promise.”
    The sound of his voice saying my name was like an electric shock.   He meant I was sa fe with Rachel, with the Defiant Motorcycle Club.  But more than that, he meant I was safe with him.  “I know.  I knew that right away, Grayson.” 
    My words seemed to ignite something in his eyes and he looked away, sighing deeply.  A hot wind skated over us and my hair fell in my face again.  I pushed it back and saw him staring at me again.  I wondered what exactly he saw.  A broken thing to be pitied most likely. 
    The hard, unsupported surface of the spool was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to sit on.  I shifted and winced, hating that he would again be reminded of how he had found me.  He started at my painful shudder and almost seemed like he was going to reach for me before he stopped himself and gazed out toward the Riverbottom. As he leaned forward, the sleeve of his t-shirt slid up, revealing a tattoo on his left shoulder which extended halfway down his upper arm.  It was a cross outlined in thick black lines.  Inside were the words ‘No man can judge me.” 
    “I know,” he said softly.  “What it’s like to feel wronged.  Furious.  It’s not an easy thing to endure and it’ll eat you alive if you let it.” 
    I remembered what Kira had said about Grayson’s time in prison.  Specifically that he had been innocent of the crime which landed him there.  I assumed that was what he was talking about. 
    Grayson se emed to snap out of his brief spell of melancholy in a heartbeat.  He grinned.  “So, you burn that ugly dress?”
    I laughed.  “All of them.” 
    “This one suits you better.”  For a split second I caught a look in his eye, the look of how a man sees a woman.  And then it was gone so quickly I figured I had to have imagined it. 
    I rose sluggishly from the spool.  When it seemed I might stumble, Grayson’s hand shot out to steady me.  His hand lingered on my elbow a few seconds longer than necessary.  I didn’t want to leave.  I felt less vulnerable with him close by.  But, I reflected, I couldn’t expect the man to trail around in my wake, defending me from the world like a persistent bodyguard.  I would need to learn how to stand alone if I