Page 5 of Barinov

“No judgment or anything. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, but you need to go home. Go wash this off. And then we’ll all sit down and make a plan.” Nate takes a small step toward me. I hate the way his face softens when he looks up at me. “You can’t help her like this.”

“Listen to him,” Knox adds. “In the poem, Luca said tomorrow the game ignites. Not tonight. Not now. Tomorrow. So let us do our job. We’ll assess everything here and dig into whatever trail the asshole hopefully left behind.”

Knox rests a hand briefly on my arm. “And we’ll see you in a few hours.” He gives me a smile, but it’s forced. I know him too well by now not to notice.

“I promise,” he adds.

Tex nods. “Go home, Barinov. Get your heads back on. We can handle things here.”

“We’ll find her, guys,” Nate says. “But she needs you both focused. She needs you strong.”

I want to fight them. I want to yell and shove every guy in this room aside and run until I find her.

But they’re right.

She needs us.

She needs me.

Fear won’t get her back.

But this rage will. So will the darkness creeping through my veins. The same darkness that’s built for war and doesn’t break or beg. That shit will get her back. It’ll tear Luca apart piece by fucking piece until he’s nothing more than a bright red stain on the floor.

Cade’s beside me, ghost white and trembling. His hazel eyes are wide, wet, and fixed on mine. If I crack right now, he’s going down with me.

I force my own hands to stop shaking long enough to reach for him. My palm is rough against his, fingers locking around his knuckles in a grip tight enough to bruise. I pull him closer until our shoulders thud together.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

Chapter 2

CADE

Home

The apartment light is entirely too bright. A flat, blinding white that mocks the blood on Lex’s skin. It’s an insult the way the sun has the audacity to keep shining while we’re all bleeding from the inside out.

Lex is a damn blur of motion. He reaches the sink and hammers the faucet on. The water violently roars against the porcelain, splashing against his forearm and soaking the bandage so much it begins to sag.

He’s clawing at his skin and trying to peel the rust-colored stains from his knuckles. Needing more than anything to scrub the last few hours away.

“Lex,” I whisper, but he’s lost in the friction.

He lets out a frustrated breath but won’t stop.

“Babe.” I reach out and cover his wrists with my hands. “Let me do it.”

He’s a vibrating, live wire ready to snap at any moment. I take the soap. The white foam turning a sickening, pale-pink as I work it over his hands and wrists, careful to not get any more water on the gauze. I trace the lines of blood caught in the creases of his palms.

It’s everywhere.

Lex goes still. His jaw is set like a hard, tectonic ridge on his face. He won’t look at me. Those eyes, once a beautiful icy-blue, are now washed out and empty as they stare deep into the drain.

“We never should have let her go,” he says through a sigh. “We should have gone with her. We should have—fuck, Cade! We should have been there.”

“I know,” I whisper, lathering more soap on his palms. “I know.”

We stand in silence as I try to cleanse his skin, the scent of copper filling the space between us.