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Not until the door swings open and Malice crowds into the small space, pulling me away from the wall.
“Fuck. Come on.” His voice isn’t gentle, but it is soft.
“Mal—”
“I know,” he says, cutting me off. “I sent you in here to clean up, not get all bloody again. And put some fucking pants on.”
I pull my hand up to look at it. He’s right. The knuckles are a bloody mess. At least patching that up will give me something to do with my hands.
I wash the blood away under the water from the sink and then pull on my old pair of pants, grimacing at the knowledge that they’ve already been worn for too long without a wash. I forgo a shirt for now, unwilling to put that crusty, bloodstained thing back on my body, and I can feel Malice’s gaze on me as I move around the small room.
“You know,” he murmurs after a long moment. “Usually, I’m the one punching shit. You’re supposed to be the level-headed, put together one.”
I snort at that, but he’s not wrong. “I feel like… I don’t know. I feel like I’m splintering apart. Everything’s wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Yeah. I keep thinking about the night before all this shit popped off, and how we were so…”
“Happy?” I fill in.
Malice shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. We thought we’d bought ourselves some time, at least. That it would be easier from there on out.”
“We got complacent.”
“We thought that fucker was dead.”
“Olivia wanted us to think that. She hid the truth from us on purpose,” I tell him. It’s something I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating over the past twenty-four hours. “Probably so she could use him exactly the way she did. They were both hunting for us, and he managed to get the drop on us because we were entirely focused on her.”
Malice mutters a curse under his breath, raking his fingers through his dark hair. “We’ll fix it. We’re gonna find her.”
I swallow hard. I can feel the looming edge of that spiral from minutes ago, right there, ready to consume me again. But I let out a breath and then drag in another one, focusing on Malice instead of the panic.
“We have to find her,” I say, and my voice sounds raw even to my own ears. “We have to. I just. I—”
My voice chokes off. I don’t even know what words I’m trying to find. I don’t know what to say to make it clear how important this is. How badly we need to make sure she’s alright.
“You love her.” Malice’s voice is quiet, but the words feel oddly loud in this small, empty space. It’s not an accusation, just him telling me how I feel.
I drag in another breath and then nod. It’s strange to think about it, strange to acknowledge that it’s true. I certainly never thought I’d feel this way about anyone. After our mother died, I was so certain that the only people I would ever love were my brothers.
And now…
I nod, agreeing with Malice’s words.
That starts up a whole new storm of feelings roiling inside me. Because I do love her. That’s what this is. That’s why I feel so strongly for her. Why I’m so desperate to get her back. Why having her gone feels like I’m missing a piece of myself, and why imagining her being hurt by Troy makes me want to tear down the entire world with my bare fucking hands.
“I never told her,” I rasp, my eyes flicking up to meet my brother’s. “I never even… I couldn’t even touch her for so long, no matter how much I wanted to. Fuck. I wish shit didn’t hold me back so much. With you and Ransom, it’s not like she ever had to doubt how you felt.”
Malice snorts, shooting me a look. “Bullshit. Ransom maybe, but me? Threatening her every other day and getting in her face about shit?”
I shake my head, agitation crawling beneath my skin. “But she still stayed. She still…”
“Yeah, and she stayed for you too. I saw how you two were together, and how she pushed to get that close to you. You think she would’ve done all that if she had doubts?”
My retort dies on my lips, and I shrug, too many emotions choking my throat.
“She knew,” Malice continues, his voice firm. “She knows. And I can tell you that she feels the same way. She never saw you as damaged or fucked up. Not any more than the rest of us, at least. She cares about you just the way you are.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, almost desperate for the answer.
