But before he could even think about regaining the precious gift of her trust and acceptance, her belief in his fervent denial, there were other important matters to tend to.

His jaw locked and his hand went still against her slim back. Hatred consumed him, clouded his mind and formed a red haze in his eyes. While his bastard friends enjoyed their lives, their wives, children, Gracie had been out there alone, damaged, carrying invisible scars—permanent scars. Zack had been denied the very things his friends took for granted. Because they had made certain that he and Gracie had nothing of the future Zack had planned.

Why? Goddamn it, why? It was so bizarre and fucked-up that he couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. What purpose could they possibly have had in doing something so vile? Jealousy? Had they resented that his time was split between Gracie and school, with no time for anything else in between? And if that was the case, who the hell went to such extreme, criminal measures because they were fucking jealous? It was insane.

No, he didn’t have the answers. Not yet.

But he would.

He hated to leave her. It was the very last thing he wanted. But until he confronted the men who’d destroyed an innocent girl, he and Gracie didn’t have a chance. Because she wouldn’t believe him by his word alone. He’d find out the truth, no matter what he had to do. He was going to make them bleed, just as they’d made Gracie bleed, make them hurt just like Gracie had hurt. They’d find out real damn quick how well they fared when up against a man their size instead of abusing a much smaller, delicate girl.

It made him want to vomit. The men who raped Gracie had been twenty years old, four years older than her. They’d raped a minor, for God’s sake.

His breath stuttered from his lips and caught, making a sound almost like a sob.

He was supposed to be her first.

They weren’t going to make love until their wedding night.

Because more than anything he’d wanted to give Gracie the respect she was due and not precipitate his vows. He intended to make their first time together special. A night she’d remember the rest of her life. One he would as well.

He’d wanted to give her time to grow and mature more, to fully bloom into the woman she was about to become. And as she was coming to their marriage never touched by another man, so too had he wanted to honor her by giving himself only to her.

She was adorably shy when they spoke of making love, and they spoke of it often, sharing their hopes and dreams. He would whisper to her how glad he was that he would be the only man to ever make love to her and that he would honor her gift by giving her the same assurance. She would be the only woman he ever made love to.

The night he’d lost his virginity, his first year in the pros, he’d lain there beside a woman whose name he didn’t even remember and he’d never felt so sick in his life. He’d stared up at the ceiling, his eyes burning like he’d wiped them with sandpaper, and grieved the loss of Gracie all over again. He’d rolled out of bed and barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up into the toilet.

He hadn’t had sex again until after he’d quit football and was working as a cop. In time it got a little easier. He even managed to enjoy it eventually. In a physical sense. But never once had he been emotionally engaged. Never had he experienced the euphoria and mental satisfaction of making love with someone he cared about. Someone he loved.

Had Gracie ever managed to have a healthy relationship with another man after such a traumatic experience? The idea of another man holding her, touching her, kissing her, loving her . . . ​sliding into her soft, sweet body. It made his chest tighten to the point of discomfort and filled him with envy for this hypothetical lover.

He recognized the hypocrisy of his reaction and in truth, despite wishing with all his heart that he had been the one to comfort, love and pleasure her, and show her the beauty of making love to wipe away the ugly memories of pain, degradation and rape, he truly hoped she had found someone who cared enough about her to make the experience beautiful and pleasurable for her.

The idea of her shutting herself off from any sort of intimacy, and living alone—afraid—unwilling to trust anyone because of his perceived betrayal, broke his heart.

Despite his hope that she’d been able to overcome such a horrible life-altering incident at sixteen, such a fragile and impressionable time for any girl, he had the sinking feeling that she’d never allowed anyone close enough to establish the kind of trust necessary to allow such intimacy.

Though he’d certainly not had a very favorable impression of Sterling from their first meeting, he’d been wrong. It appeared that Sterling was a good man and that he’d been good to Gracie. But Sterling had made it clear that he and Gracie were just friends. Nothing more. Not that Sterling hadn’t been interested. He’d admitted as much. But Gracie had shut him down, and yet they had become friends.

She seemed to trust him, yet she hadn’t allowed more than friendship, which told Zack that she likely hadn’t ever gotten that far with anyone else.

That knowledge should have given him satisfaction, but all he felt was hollow regret that she’d never had anyone to show her tenderness and . . . ​love.

He wanted to be that man. He wanted it more than he wanted to breathe. But unless he could somehow offer Gracie tangible proof of his innocence and not just his word, he knew in his heart that he’d lose her all over again.

At that thought he went rigid, his jaw clenching to the point of nearly breaking his teeth. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow that to happen again. Murderous rage swelled within him and his mind was consumed with revenge. Justice. For Gracie. Truth for himself. Freedom. For them both. So that maybe—maybe—they could move past this. Together.

The soft strands of her hair that were wrapped around his fingers slipped from his grasp as he formed a rigid fist. He knew what had to be done. He wanted to seek vengeance. For Gracie. For them both. His thoughts were consumed with violence and making the pieces of shit who’d hurt his Gracie pray for death.

He’d make them confess every sordid detail of their sickening attack on a girl who legally was still a child. And then their wives could decide whether they wanted to remain married to a rapist or ever trust them with their own daughters.

His pulse thudded at his temples and he forced himself to calm his raging thoughts of retribution. Just for now. He lay his cheek atop Gracie’s head and pulled her a little closer to him.