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“You’re just mad you didn’t offer first.” I stick my tongue out at him and snuggle into her. She grins, closing her eyes once more as we hold her between us.
I have so much I want to say, to ask, but I don’t want to betray her confidence. I meet Dal’s eyes, knowing he would understand the most. We don’t know all of Dal’s past, only some, and even that is enough to horrify us for life. He tilts his head, frowning at me.
“Your sister and nephew will be okay, won’t they? He can’t hurt them?” she asks softly. Despite everything, my girl is worried about my family.
“Not anymore,” I promise.
“But what if he comes here—”
“He can’t,” I assure her, and she peers up at me.
“Astro—”
“He’s dead,” I say, and she stiffens. “I killed him for daring to lay a hand on my sister and nephew. The bastard deserved it. He’d broken her ribs, her arm. Her eyes were black and blue. He chopped her hair off and raped her. I made sure he never had the chance to touch her again.”
I will never regret hunting that man down like a dog and breaking every single bone in his body to make him feel what he did to my sister, but I worry how she will react. Will she turn me away? I don’t think I could continue to live if she did.
“Good,” she finally says, and I slump. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad they are safe.”
She becomes quiet then and seems like she’s a million miles away, so I put my head down and just watch the rise and fall of her chest, each breath a reminder that she is here, she is safe, and she is mine.
“I killed someone,” she whispers, and we all swing our gazes to her. She shrinks but keeps talking. I expect her to stop and close up. Reign is so tight-lipped about her secrets, but that’s okay. I’ll fight that much harder for her and her heart.
“I killed someone too,” she repeats, and when she looks at me, I see tears in her eyes. She quickly glances away, and her voice rushes out as if she doesn’t say it now, then she never will. “My father. I didn’t take a gun and shoot him or anything, but I helped it along. He was a true fucking bastard. My mom was out of our lives at this point, and he was drinking every night. He would . . . He would hurt me. I tried to protect my little brother from it. I would hide him away, and even with broken bones, I would still climb in bed next to him and hold him tight through the night. I never wanted him to know, but he did. I saw the loss of innocence and it killed me. One night, I’d gone to an open mic night at Attie’s urging. He always wanted me to sing for people and follow my dreams, and I spun us a tale of me being discovered and running away together where we would never be cold, hungry, or hurt.” She hiccups as I stroke her arm.
“That night, I had a bad feeling so I rushed back, and when I did . . .” She closes her eyes. “He was dead. My father killed my brother in a rage, threw him down the stairs, and he was dead. The police came, but my father was friends with them and they ruled it an accident. They said he fell. He hadn’t. I still remember curling over his body and begging them to take me instead.” Tears fall as the others move closer. “The day his coffin was lowered into the ground, I made a decision. I didn’t care if I lived or died, just that he paid. He killed the only good thing in my life.”
Her face hardens and for a moment, I see fury in her gaze, and it’s glorious.
“I spiked his drink. I watched him almost pass out and told him we had run out of alcohol. He got in the car like I knew he would, and I let him. In fact, I got in it with him. He was a good drunk driver, since he was so used to it, but when we got on the back country road, I grabbed the wheel and I told him the truth. I said, ‘We all die today,’ and then I jerked it. We flew over the ravine and flipped, hitting a tree. I was ready to die. I couldn’t live like that anymore. When I woke up—” She shudders.
“I couldn’t feel much of anything, probably shock. There was blood dripping into my face, my ears rang with the sound of the dying engine and screeching metal, and there was my dad. He was badly hurt. His phone was just out of reach, and I could move, so I grabbed it. He begged me to call for help, but I didn’t. I watched him die. I watched him breathe his last breath and I knew I would do it again. It would never be enough for what he did, but I made sure he would never hurt another again, and then I called for help. I didn’t expect to live, but I did. They said it was a miracle I only had some cracked ribs and a broken arm. I felt anything but lucky. I was dead inside. I discharged myself, and once they cleared me of all wrongdoing—since his alcohol limit was way over the legal limit, they assumed he crashed—I packed up the only things I gave a fuck about. Just one small backpack and the guitar I saved up to buy, the one with our initials carved into it, and I left. I left and raced toward our dream, but when I got it, it wasn’t the same without him.”
She turns to look at me. “Nothing’s the same without him. I miss him so fucking much all the time. I don’t know why I didn’t die that night, but something in me wanted to live. Either way, I left my soul in the coffin where he’s buried. I’ve never told anyone the truth about the night.”
“I’m so sorry, Reign,” I whisper, pulling her closer. My heart breaks for her, and the thought of losing my sister—no. I’d have done the same, maybe worse.
“You did the right thing, baby. I’m so sorry we weren’t around to protect you,” Raffiel says, jumping onto the bottom of the bed.
“You did,” Cillian states. “He would be so happy for you.”
She sobs in our arms as we hold her, and when she looks up to Dal, she freezes. His face is pale, and his eyes are wide.
“Dal?” she whispers.
“I killed my mother. What a pair we make, huh?” He snorts as she blinks. He looks out the window, scanning for threats before looking back at us, but his eyes are all for her.
“She was literally a psychopath. She was diagnosed. She never should have had kids. She hated them, but she had me as a mistake and punished me for it every second of every day since I was born. She would let people she was dating beat me and touch me, and one day, I had enough. I knew I could get caught, but I had to do something. I wanted her dead, and when she was, I felt nothing, not even joy. She ripped all emotions from me. I was numb, empty, and then you came along and I felt something for the first time ever.”
“How did you—” Reign cuts off, two lost souls staring at each other.
“Kill her?” he asks calmly. “She did drugs, and one day, I changed out the doses. I measured it precisely and made it look like an OD, and I watched as she choked on her own vomit. I laughed like she used to when I did.”
“Dal.” She slides out of our arms, climbs from the bed, and pads toward him. He watches her approach, his face cold, but I see the truth in his eyes. I see his fear that once she realizes the true depth of Dal’s madness, she will leave. Laying her hand on his chest, she steps between his legs, and he wraps his arms around her. “Fuck her. She got what she deserved.”
He blinks, and then a slow smile curls his lips. “I would kill for you, Reign. Does that scare you? Does it scare you knowing I would rip apart every single person you asked?”
“No,” she admits. “It makes me feel safe.”
