I swear a chunk of hair tears free when I twist my head up to see who the hell let me out.
Inked eyes stare down at me, the text bold against his brow a welcome sight.Circus.Thank fuck.
He drops to his haunches wordlessly and assesses the tape. I could hug the man for not tearing it off hastily and taking half my goddamn hair with it. His large hands are gentle as he first unbinds my wrists, and then slowly and delicately peels at the binding around my head.
I do my best not to move until he coaxes me to sit. After which I stare at the badges stitched to his cut while he works. The mania settles, the tears dry, and my panic resumes when my thoughts shift to Fang.
Why didn’t he let me out? Where is he? Why can’t I hear anyone else?
I tilt my head up and lift my gaze to Circus’s.
He stalls in his work, one side left to go, and starts from the other end to at least release my mouth.
“Where is everyone?”
The giant holds up a single finger and resumes taking the last of the tape off my hair. The seconds pass painfully slow. I catch the faint sounds of yelling on the street, an engine roaring. A gunshot. Two.I can’t see shit from here. My room is the last one down the hall, and whatever the fuck happens outside this house is impossible to view.
Circus pulls the tape away, swiftly crunching it into a ball between his hands.
I throw my arms around his neck before he can stand and utter a quiet, “Thank you.”
The guy seems a little too stunned to move when I then bolt from the room, well aware I run toward the unknown but out of fucks to give. I need to know. I have to know.
“Did you kill him?”
Fang spins in the doorway at my question, seemingly startled by my presence.
As though he didn’t think I was here. As though my father told him different.
“Freckles.” My nickname falls from his lips on a gust of breath. “Where the…?”
“Did you kill him?” I ask again, failing to see any sign of my father on the street, or Suzannah for that matter.
Loki wanders up the path towards us. “No. They got away.” His steely gaze flicks to Fang. “Just.”
I drop my focus to Fang’s hands, flexing at his sides. The knuckles are red and raw, blood delicately spattered over his wrists. I lift a hand to his ribs and place my palm over his gun. It’s still warm.
The pieces sit before me, yet I refuse to acknowledge the picture they make. Surely not. He wouldn’t have done that. Not because of me.Would he?
“Are you okay?” He steps forward, raising those boxer’s hands to take my face in his grasp. “You’ve got bruising here.” His thumb brushes my temple.
I wince. My head pounds like a motherfucker, and I’m doing my goddamn best to ignore the fact I may have done some serious injury. “I’m fine.”
An exhale. He doesn’t believe my bullshit, and he shouldn’t. Maybe on the outside I’m relatively okay, but inside, I break. Everything I knew about my life was tumbling sideways, shaken up and yet to settle into any normalcy. I feel lost. Uncertain. As though my entire personality were a lie.
And it’s as though he sees that, as he stares into my eyes, unraveling me with his ocean-green gaze.
Fang abruptly slides his arms around me and pulls me close against him. Tight enough that I feel the outlines of his pistols against my chest, even more so when I gingerly slip my armsaround him too. Hand buried in my hair, he holds me to him, the things he cannot say pushed through the sincerity of his embrace.
And I melt. Because it’s everything I need in the moment.
Sure, I could pull away and pick at all the things we’ve said and done wrong to each other, question his sincerity. But what would be the point? Nobody has truly cared about me since Mom passed, and I’ve missed this: feeling wanted. Valued.
Yet there’s more to the moment, even as Loki clears his throat and interrupts.
More that I intend to figure out later.
“As cute as this is, we need to figure out what we’re doing here.”
