Page 74 of Godless Saints

I ran.

Gravel tore under my shoes. Pulse hammered. Rain whipped my eyes. Heavier footsteps crashed behind me.

Scuffle. A grunt. Someone hit the ground. Then something slammed into me.

My knees smashed wet stone. Palms ripped open. Cheek cracked against gravel, flooding my mouth with blood.

His full weight crushed me. Knee grinding between my shoulder blades. Hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back viciously. Cold blade pressed to my throat.

All I heard was his heavy breathing against my ear. Rain dripping from his hair onto my face. Pure violence.

He twisted the knife. Blood trickled hot down my neck. I twisted, elbow driving back. He absorbed it like nothing, then slammed my face harder into the gravel. Stars exploded behind my eyes.

Thorn doors burst open. Drunk voices spilled out. They’re all watching. Do they know I was here? With him. Shame burned hotter than the gravel cutting into my cheek.

“Fight! Fight!”

Recognition hit the crowd hard.

“Wait. Is that Aster?”

“That’s Hyun-seo.”

“What the fuck is Aster doing here?”

Declan hauled me up by the hoodie like a trophy. Turned me toward the roaring crowd.

“Found this Aster cunt running through our woods,” he bellowed. “With a Writ on his head. Thought we could do whatever the fuck we wanted.”

Low whistles. Ugly laughter.

“Strip the pretty prince!”

“Make him kneel!”

“Crawl, Aster bitch!”

A fist slammed into my ribs. Pain exploded. I doubled over, gasping. Another hand shoved me down hard. My knees hit the wet stone again. Gravel bit deep.

My eyes found Cillian before pride could stop them. He stood on the steps, rain plastering his hair, body coiled like a loaded gun. Face pure murderous. One step forward, Aleksei’s hand locked on his arm. Cillian looked ready to rip it off and paint the stones red.

Please. The word tore through me, raw and humiliating. Cillian. Help me. I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed with you.

Aleksei leaned in close. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw them land.

Don’t.

Cillian’s hand flexed at his side. Fresh blood on his knuckles. Old violence meeting new restraint. He stared at Carrick’s grip on my neck.

Mikhail shoved through the bodies toward them, breathless, sleeve bloody. I caught the flash of his mouth moving. Couldn’t hear. Didn’t need to. Cillian’s expression fractured further.

“Enough,” Aleksei said, stepping forward. The crowd quieted.

Carrick’s smile sharpened. “This doesn’t concern you, Lovchy.”

Aleksei’s eyes went flat. Russian ice against Irish fire. He stepped closer until the two of them were almost chest to chest, the air between them ready to explode.

“Everything that embarrasses Thorn concerns me,” Aleksei said, the faint Russian accent sharpening the edges. “Especially when some hot-headed Irish bastard decides to start a war with Aster over a hallway tantrum.”