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“One man, Ruby, to save us?” the mother bitch whines.
Pointing her finger at me, Ruby says, “That one man just saved you, so…”
“I wouldn’t need saving if you just did your job.”
She’s covered in bruises and what looks like cigarette burns. Tears stream from Ruby’s eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “I’m sorry, Mom, I should have gotten here sooner.”
“You shouldn’t have come at all,” she spits, crossing her arms and turning her body toward the window away from Ruby.
She’s right. We shouldn’t have come. This bitch doesn’t deserve a daughter like Ruby. She’s rotten to the core—and you can’t fix that. I need to get away from them both and re-group. Instead, here I fucking am, driving back to the death house with them in tow.
Chapter Nine
Ruby
She’s heartless, I always knew it, but it still managed to hurt when she didn’t want to come with me. The little girl inside me always hoping her mother would choose her—want to keep her safe—love her more than she loves herself and her habit. It’s never going to happen. She’s never going to choose me. I want to scream. Beat my chest. Ask why. But it’s freaking pointless. I will never penetrate the shell of the woman she became. There is no motherly instinct, no bond. It’s all one way, and that thread is splintering more and more. “Where the hell have you brought me?” she snaps when we pull into Lily’s grandparents’ garage.
Ezekiel’s jaw tenses, the muscles tightening, his gaze flickering up to the rear-view mirror, disdain in his eyes as he drags them over her.
“Somewhere safe. Let’s get inside and I’ll run you a bath,” I tell her, attempting to take her hand. She snatches it back and glares at me like I’m infected with the plague.
“I don’t want to be here, Ruby. If you just speak to Fisher, you two can work it out. He’s always had a thing for you.” She folds her arms, the action pushing her naked tits together, framing them. Red blotches litter her flesh. Small blisters from burns look angry and sore. She must be high. The pain isn’t appearing to register with her.
“She’s not your fucking property to whore out,” Ezekiel growls, turning the engine off and getting out of the car.
“Who the hell is he anyway?” she whines, watching him move around the car.
Opening her door, he reaches in, grabs her by the upper arm, and drags her from the car, pinning her against it, his gun to her temple. Piss drips down her leg and puddles on the ground where he stands. “I’m a man with a gun and no issue introducing you to a bullet. Shut your fucking mouth and get in the house,” he orders, shoving her toward the door. Her nakedness and injuries don’t faze him. He doesn’t like her and has no sympathy for what she’s been through. I want to tell him to go easy on her, but unlike me, he has no ties to her, no guilt or empathy. I envy him for that.
She rushes into the house and finds the bathroom, slamming the door behind her before I can go inside with her. The faucets turn on, signaling her running a bath. Rubbing my temples, an exasperated sigh pours out of me. My posture is rigid. I’m wound so tight, my bones ache. “I better find her something to wear.”
“She’s vile and a risk to us,” he sneers at the closed door, a red stain spreading up the sweater vest he’s wearing. My hand goes there without permission, brushing the fabric.
“You’re bleeding,” I whisper.
She has no idea the risks we took to help her. Even if she did, she wouldn’t care. A stranger risked his life to help her, and if I’m honest with myself, she didn’t deserve it. She wasn’t worth the risk.
“I pulled a stitch. It will be fine.” He moves past me into the kitchen, going to the sink and washing off his knife. “You mentioned a sister and brother, where are they?” he asks as I follow, transfixed on his fingers gliding over the steel.
Tapping my fingers against my leg to stop myself from lifting his sweater to check his wounds, I frown. “Why?”
Turning off the faucet, he looks to me. “Because this Fisher, whoever the fuck he is, has it bad for you and you disrespected him. He’ll be digging into everyone you know. It’s not safe for them.” Is that a real concern? I still don’t understand why he helped me—is helping me. I think about the men he killed tonight. Everything in my life has altered in a matter of hours. I was part of a murder, not just one. Shock…the shock must be why I’m not freaking out over witnessing their death. I would have shot them too. Who the hell am I becoming?
