Raff's head snaps up. The look on his face sayseverything he's decided not to say out loud, his jaw tight and his gray eyes cutting to me with an expression that is equal parts disbelief and protest. But he stays quiet, his hand still fisted in the back of Milo's jacket.
"Promise me," she says again.
"I promise, I won't lay a finger on him," I say.
She searches my face one more time. Then something in her shoulders drops, just slightly, and she nods. “Thank you.”
I press another kiss to her forehead, then I straighten up and look at Perrin.
"Get them both upstairs," I say. "Clean her knuckles, and get them into their nest.”
"On it." Perrin reaches for Elowen, drawing her away from me and pulling her to his side. Then he reaches his other arm out, and Adam steps into it without being asked, tucking himself against his brother's chest. Perrin holds them both, one on each side, and steers them toward the stairs.
I watch them go.
All three of them. Perrin's arms around both omegas, Adam's head dropping to his brother's shoulder, Elowen's hand finding Adam's as they climb the stairs. I watch until they disappear around the landing and I can't see them anymore.
Then I turn to the fucker.
He stands between me and Raff, blood dripping steadily from his chin onto the hardwood floor, his lips still moving, mouthing the words “I’m sorry” but no sound comes out.
"Walk," I say.
Raff shovesMilo into the back seat.
He doesn't fight it. He simply folds himself in, then sits with his hands in his lap and his head tipped back against the headrest. The blood on his face looks sticky and wet, the edges starting to dry. He doesn't seem to notice or care.
Raff slides into the passenger seat.
Then I pull out of the driveway and onto the road.
Raff twists in his seat, arm over the headrest, and fixes the fucker with a cold, hard stare.
Milo keeps his eyes on the ceiling.
"Why'd you do it?" Raff asks.
Milo’s eyes drop to Raff's face. He's quiet for a moment, his mouth working, as if he's trying to decide how honest to be, or how much we plan on hurting him.
"I was a junkie," he finally says.
"Was?" Raff snorts loudly. "You’re sweating through a denim jacket in ninety-degree heat with pupils the size of dinner plates. Try again."
He doesn't deny it. He looks back at the ceiling.
I turn onto the main highway, the shop’s about fifteen minutes out. The road is quiet at this time of night, nothing but headlights, the tree line, and the hum of the engine.
"You killed her mother," Raff says. "And you killed her father. And then you went home." He lets that sit for a second. "She stayed. She stayed in that pharmacy until the ambulance came. All alone with their dead bodies." He tilts his head. "But sure. You didn't mean to. That makes it fine."
I check Milo’s expression in the rearview, watching him desperately try not to cry.
“I didn't mean to kill anyone,” he whispers.
"But you did."
Milo closes his eyes.
"Look at me!" Raff barks, and the fucker's eyes snap back open.
