“I’ll do it.” I’m already bloody, covering her wound. I know what to do now.
Collins sighs, her nose wrinkling. She tends to do it in aggravation—and has since we were kids. “She needs stitches?—”
“I’ll do it.”
I don’t look away from Hayes. If the hitter is going to pull the trigger, I want to watch it happen. I know there is a darkness inside the brute, but he’s still too good for this world.
If it were me, I would’ve pulled the damn thing as soon as it was raised.
“Let her go,” Hayes begins, pulling the gun back. Figured he didn’t have the balls. “And you’ll take care of her.”
Colli’s eyes widen, alarmed. She thinks I won’t be able to handle it. Little does she know, I’m the only reason her sister is still raging against the world.
I give the smallest nod—a fragile agreement that can change if anything happens.
Releasing her, Hayes yanks her away behind his back. Though there’s a shiver of fear, Colli doesn’t seem like she truly thought I’d end her life.
She’d be wrong.
“Go,” I wave them away, grabbing more gauze. Throwing them on top of her body, I scoop Maeve into my arms, careful to keep the wound covered.
“Wait,” Collins protested. “You shouldn’t move her! She could bleed out—the trauma?—”
“I’ve got it.” I do. I’ve done more with much less.
I also know my girl would be more comfortable in her bedroom, away from prying eyes. I’ll need to remove her dress to bandage the wound, and I’d rather not be stabbed if I did it here.
Maeve would end my life if I allowed her little sister to see the various scars that cover her body. The scars on her thighs from where broken glass cut into them during runs. Gunshots that clipped her. The scars from the various broken bones and surgeries Michael made her endure.
The burns that cover her body from that fucking piece of shit, who thought one night, he’d use her as an ashtray. I know my girl fought back; I know he had to have tied her up to keep her from slicing his throat. That’s the only way he could do it to her—and I know she carries that shame whenever she looks at her body.
As beautiful as I find them, they’re her secret. I won’t betray that.
Kicking the door open, I catch the last bit of their conversation.
“He can’t be serious. I need to help?—”
“Let him handle it, Viper.” There’s a deep sigh as I turn the corner. “He’s seen more than either of us. He’ll take care of her.”
19
KILLIAN
The sterile needle pierces her skin, the tip catching the soft tableside light. Terrible shadows play across her chest and arms, painting her pale skin gray. They try to cradle their mistress as she sleeps, an embrace meant to be peaceful. It only reminds me of eternal slumber.
Breaths puff over her dusty pink lips, stirring the dark strands around her neck. They blend into the shadows, more darkness, more tainted sins that cling to her. It suits her—her home is in the ebony sea, like me. Two imperfect, tarnished souls who were born from the black.
The string pulls through, a wisp of sound as my bloody fingers twist, pinching the skin closer together.
Flipping the needle, I pass it through the other side. I curve it, leaving slack. I’ve done this too many times; my mind is on autopilot. My fingers follow muscle memory.
Push, pull, twist. Push, pull, twist. It’s rhythmic.
“You’re still here.”
It’s a fucking prick to my heart, but I don’t let it interfere with my work.
“Why doesn’t that hurt?” she asks. Her voice cracks, throat dry. It’s only been a short time since the café, but the night sky has descended, and snow covers the mansion’s grounds.
