Page 222 of Nyx

I never would've left if I had known what I was facing, even if I knew the outcome was going to be Graham behind bars with the promise of never being a threat to me ever again. Kayla's life wasn't worth that sacrifice. She deserved better than what happened to her, despite the betrayal and position Graham put her in.

"I'll need to shower," I tell him, feeling suddenly gross even though I know that a lot of that feeling won't disappear even with a hot shower and a full-body scrub.

"I can wait outside," he offers, taking a step back toward the door.

"You don't have to," I tell him, almost adding that after what we did in his room last night, there were no real bodily secrets between us anymore.

"Do you want me to?"

I shake my head. "Do you need to shower?"

He looks from me to the white linens on the bed.

"I think it would be a good idea."

"Could you do it after I get out?" I ask, knowing how vulnerable I always feel in the shower despite being safe here.

"Of course. Take your time."

I grab clothes from the dresser, picking a soft t-shirt and pajama pants before going into the bathroom. I lock the door behind me out of habit, but resist the urge to unlock it and tell him that it has nothing to do with him.

The shower is quicker than I had originally planned, but the hot water works a miracle on the tightness in my shoulder and back muscles. The wound on my neck burns, but it feels like a sort of penance for what Kayla endured earlier.

I dry off and dress, taking a few more long breaths before unlocking and opening the door.

Nyx is sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes lifting to mine once I step out of the bathroom.

"Feeling a little better?"

I nod. "A little. Your turn."

He stands. "I didn't want to leave while you were in there, but I doubt you have anything that will fit me."

A light chuckle slips out of me, even though I know he didn't say it to be funny.

His grin is absolutely everything I didn't know I needed in this moment.

"I figure it would be just as easy to shower in my own room rather than bring everything in here," he says.

"Okay," I tell him.

"I won't be long," he assures me, pausing with his hand on the doorknob as he turns back to look at me. "Do you need anything?"

I shake my head.

"I'll be quick," he says before walking out and closing the door softly.

My first instinct is to pace, because that's what I've always done when I'm feeling a little dysregulated, but I fight the urge and instead cross the room to pull the blankets back.

I climb onto the bed, sitting near the headboard with my hands in my lap.

The minutes tick by as I try not to let my mind wander back to the earlier events of tonight.

I'm going to have to face the other women and explain, using parts of my history, why everything happened. I'm going to have to field questions and possibly outrage toward Kayla, or maybe even toward me, depending on how they feel about this situation. I have no idea how much detail they've been given, but it was clear walking inside the clubhouse tonight that they know at a minimum that Kayla had been killed.

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to fight the urge to cry, but the weight of the tears wins out, scrambling down my cheeks toward my chin.

I don't sob, and I don't think it has anything to do with a lack of genuine emotion but rather the exhaustion that has settled inside of me. My body doesn't have the energy to spare.