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Chapter forty-seven
She shot him.
She fucking shot him.
My little rebel with fire running through her veins. When I first saw her standing in front of my living room window, she seemed so easy to break. I would’ve bet my entire stash that I would eat her alive.
I would’ve lost.
The gun tumbled out of her hand and onto the floor. Her face paled, and her hand flew to her mouth.
I didn’t think. I could only react.
I scooped her up into my arms, cradling her like a groom cradled his bride, and carried her all the way back to the palace. Over the bridge, and through the garden. Down wide, open hallways adorned in elegant décor. She rested her head on my shoulder as she clung to my neck. Her breath was ragged and her body shivered against me—most likely from shock of what she’d been through, of what she’d done. The blood from her back left a trail behind us and soaked my clothes. The metallic scent of it lingered in the air, making me want to go back down the hill and shoot that motherfucker again just for the hell of it.
Once we got to her room, I sat her down in the empty bathtub, then turned the faucet. It took a minute for the water to warm, so I kept the cloth draped over her shoulders.
I stripped out of my dress shirt, then searched for a towel and washcloth.
“This is going to hurt, but I need to wash your back,” I told her as I sat on the edge of the tub. I needed to know what damage he’d done. I needed to make sure she was okay.
“Okay.” Her whole body shook, making her voice vibrate.
I brought the hand sprayer to her back, letting the water rain over her skin. She winced and sucked a breath through her teeth. Rivers of red faded to pink against the bottom of the white porcelain tub, then flowed down the drain.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. We’re almost finished.”You’re such a fucking little fighter. I dabbed the washcloth over her cuts, carefully, gently. They weren’t deep enough for stitches, but…“Fuck me.” He’d carved the letter ‘A’ into her skin, leaving messy, careless slashes in the entire space between her shoulder blades.
I wanted her broken and bruised. I wanted her blood and her tears. But not like this. Never like this.
I held the sprayer over her shoulders, letting the water keep her warm while I inspected the rest of her body. My gaze fell between her thighs, to her perfect bare pussy, and I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought of anyone touching her there. Anyone who wasn’t me, at least.
“Did he—”
“No,” she cut me off, firm. Resolute. “He tried.” Another shiver. “With a gun.”So that was where the gun came from.“But then you showed up.”
A gun. He almost violated her with a gun. My mind flashed to all the videos we’d seen, of all the things they got off on doing to those girls. That could have been Anniston.
That was almost Anniston.
My entire body vibrated in a storm of emotions. Anger. Relief. Disgust. It took all my energy to sit here and be calm with her instead of running back to that cottage and flaying that motherfucker alive.
I rinsed the washcloth out, then scrubbed it over her shoulders, neck, and face, taking extra care near the bruises by her eye. I soaked the cloth again, then ran it along the rest of her body. She laid her head back, closed her eyes, and a throaty moan escaped her lips.
Fuck.
Her pulse thrummed in her delicate throat. Her nipples were hard from the cold air. I forced my gaze away from her pussy, which was glistening wet from the steady stream of water, and tried to ignore the fact that my dick was hard as a rock.
And then, as if remembering where she was—or waking from a nightmare—her eyes popped open and her head shot up. “Is he dead?”
I couldn’t stand the thought of her spirit being tainted by something like that. I knew what kind of demons haunted you when you’d taken someone’s soul.
“Probably not.” Not yet, anyway.
It wasn’t a lie. Anniston shot him in the chest. I’d seen enough gunshot wounds to know it missed his heart and probably wasn’t fatal. However, I did leave him with Liam, who looked every bit as murderous as I felt. If Liam didn’t finish him off now, I would make sure to do it later. I didn’t tell her that, though.
She let out a sigh. Her expression teetered somewhere between guilt and relief. “He said he saw us. He said he was there.” Her voice was quiet.
“He said a lot of things.” I wanted to cut out his tongue and make sure he never spoke again.
