Page 18 of Declan

Fuck.

Autumn didn’t cry. Not ever.

Her tears were my undoing. I didn’t give a fuck we had an audience, I didn’t care she’d likely have my balls for what I was about to do. Not a damn thing mattered but having her in my arms. I moved across the room and watched as fear started to creep in. When I made it to her I didn’t delay scooping her up into my arms. Much to my shock, she didn’t fight me and that’s when I knew Thad had carved her insides out. In the right state of mind, Autumn would never let me hold her and she certainly wouldn’t loop her arms around my neck and bury her face into my throat.

Fucking, fucking, Christ.

I took us into my room, kicked the door shut, settled on the bed with my back to the wall, and Autumn on my lap. She burrowed in, pressing her forehead to my throat and I held on tight. The poison in my gut started to churn, reminding me the stolen moments I had with Autumn were just that—stolen. She wasn’t mine, never would be.

We sat in silence for a long time, long enough for the poison to start to evaporate, long enough for the unwelcomed need to creep in, long enough for me to wonder if she’d fallen asleep.

“Babe?”

“Huh?”

“We need to talk about what just happened.”

“He hates me.”

There was no emotion in those three words. No sadness, no anger, nothing. Just like Autumn—blank.

“He doesn’t. He’s worried about you. They all are.”

We all are.

Not that I’d admit that out loud, especially while she was on my lap curled into me.

“Will you find out what’s wrong with Emmy?” she whispered.

That question was full of pain. The only time there was ever inflection in her voice was when she talked about her sister. Not that I ever asked or we’d ever talked about Emmy, but on the few occasions I’d seen the sisters together, Autumn changed, softened. Even if it was only a fraction.

“Yeah, I will.”

“Thanks.”

“We’re gonna have to figure out a way for all of us to work together. We can’t—”

“I think I should leave.”

Panic boiled to the surface, the strength of it rocked me to my core, and before I could think better of it, my arms tightened around her. Like I could fuse her to me, solder us together so she’d never leave. Never walk away and abandon me.

Fucking hell.

“No,” I denied. “You’re not leaving.”

“Dec—”

“No, Autumn, you’re not taking this on alone. I know you’re perfectly capable, I know you’re smart, I know in the past you’ve worked alone and never missed your target. But this time, you’re not alone. We’re in this together.”

“There’s no we, Declan. You know that’s not what this is.” Autumn’s hand moved to the left side of my chest and she rested her palm over my tattoo.

Pain seared through me as she made her point. She’d seen the violet inked on my skin, she’d traced it with her finger, she’d placed her lips on it. And every time, she created a cyclone of torture. Autumn had never asked because that was not what we had. We didn’t talk, we didn’t inquire about the past, we didn’t try to fix each other.

We had mind-numbing, fantastic, impersonal sex. The only kind either of us could take. I knew her limits, I knew why she had them. Not because she’d told me but because I knew what’d been done to her the two months she was enslaved. Autumn learned mine quickly, she understood without me telling her. I didn’t like to be touched—not gently, not caressed, not held on to.

Except I’d allowed her access to the one part of me that no one else had—my daughter. My beautiful Violet. She had no clue what that violet really meant, how when she touched it so sweetly it burned my soul.

My beautiful Violet.