Page 61 of The Devil

“I’m not sure I’m worth it, Jet. If you knew me⁠—”

“You think I don’t know you? You think I haven’t always known you? In here?” I say, letting go of her chin to lay my bloody hand over her heart.

Her eyes widen like she can’t fucking believe what I’m saying when all along, it’s me who is unworthy. When, if she knew the extent of the blood on my hands, the ugliness of my soul, she’d go running. Because she’s my redemption. The one good, clean, guiltless thing in my life. She’s it.

The sound of the suite door opening has me reaching for my gun.

“It’s me,” Malcom calls out as he heads into the bedroom. “How bad?” he asks, coming to take a look, wincing when he sees the damage.

“Amal, go wait in the other room. Malcom can take it from here.”

“No. I’m staying. I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m staying,” she says firmly.

“Suit yourself.” I turn to Malcom. “I’ll holler if we need anything.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Once he leaves and closes the door behind him, I look at Amal. “Okay, let’s get this done,” I say.

She nods.

“Get me the suturing needle. It’s already threaded.”

She does, tearing the packaging away, her face losing a little color when she sees the curved needle.

“Give it to me.”

She looks at me, the pulse at her neck drumming too fast.

“You’re pale,” she says.

“Nowhere near as pale as you. Give it to me.”

She hands it over, her hand shaking.

“Now press here,” I tell her, setting her hands beside the wound, pushing the skin together.

Her eyes grow wide and when I push the needle into my skin, she groans like it’s her own skin.

“You can look away, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

“I thought you were going to die. I thought he was going to kill you.”

“It was amateur hour back there,” I lie, wincing, tugging at skin. The room grows quiet, the only sound that of our breathing and thread moving through skin. “Tell me a story. Distract me.”

“You want a story? Now?” she asks.

I nod, pulling the first stitch tight. I’m going to need just shy of a dozen, but she doesn’t need to know that yet. “Tell me a story about when you were little.”

She nods. “I don’t… Okay, okay. I’ll tell you about the day Daniel was born. We were at the hospital, the three of us. He took twenty-four hours to come. I don’t know how she did it. Even so, she still looked so beautiful. Did you ever see a picture of my mom?”

I shake my head, forcing my lips into a smile. “Do you look like her?”

“Exactly like her.”