Page 39 of Trust Me

I nodded wordlessly, then fumbled through the first-aid kit, looking for what I needed before proceeding to clean and suture Lucifer’s laceration with a well-practiced hand. He’d have another six-inch scar to add to his collection, but the cut wasn’t that deep, and he hadn’t lost too much blood.

His strong body was riddled with scars of all sizes. Some had healed as though they’d been treated quickly and with the appropriate means, while others, not so much. I wondered if any had been self-inflicted or if they’d all been hazards of the job.

Defiling your own vessel was something I could relate to.

I’d spent my sixteenth birthday having my stomach pumped by a doctor on the Brennans’ payroll. After Tiernan had promised that my milestone celebration would be “extra sweet,” I’d saved my daily doses of Xanax for a week leading up to the day, then downed the entire week’s worth that morning.

I wasn’t trying to kill myself; I’d been too God-fearing at that time to even consider it. I’d just wanted to get lost in an abyss of nothingness, especially if he’d planned to bring company—a threat he’d often made but fortunately never came through on.

However, the older I got, the more sadism it had taken to satisfy Tiernan, and after the “stunt” I’d pulled on my birthday, he’d made good on his promise to give me a belated present I’d never forget.

I couldn’t sit for a week and had required another house call from the doctor.

I pushed the painful memories aside and placed the last piece of tape over Lucifer’s new bandage. My eyes fell on the Glock that had been sitting on the vanity, winking at me the entire time.

“Were you planning to shoot me if I did a shitty job patching you up?”

He shook his head as he gathered his bloodied shirt and stepped back from the sink. “No, Willa.”

My heart thumped at the soft tone his voice took when my name rolled between his full lips, and I wasn’t disappointed when he made no attempt to slip his shirt back on.

I turned around and gripped the edge of the vanity, boosting myself up until I was seated. I still wasn’t at eye level with him. My backside nudged the gun back as I made myself comfortable.

“What if I ask you a question you don’t want to answer? Will you shoot me then?”

It probably wasn’t my brightest idea to antagonize the devil so soon after he’d been stabbed, but having his undivided attention sent a new wave of tingles through my body that made me feel reckless.

He dipped his chin and raised his brow. That expression alone made me feel about two inches tall and hot all over.

I ignored the butterflies in my stomach and arched a sassy eyebrow in return.

Lucifer moved in front of me, so close that my knees brushed his upper thighs.

My pulse tripled.

He leaned in until his chest grazed my shoulder. I felt one arm glide around behind me, sending goose bumps along my flesh. A sigh flittered out of me.

“I’m not going to shoot you, Willa.” Again, he purred my name, and this time, I felt it between my legs.

I knew the moment his hand found what it was looking for. The corded muscles of his arms tightened as he gripped the Glock. I expected him to pull back immediately, but he lowered his mouth to my ear, his intoxicating breath skating over my skin. “But if you get to ask a question, so do I.”

“I can ask you anything?” I whispered.

“Anything.”

We remained in that position for what felt like an eternity. The number of questions I wanted to fire at Lucifer seemed infinite, but only one came to mind. “Do you know what happened the night my mother died?”

He reared away quickly, ending whatever kind of moment we’d just shared. The lines of his face deepened. “I didn’t know your mother was dead.”

Raphael hadn’t told him.

“But you know my father is.”

It wasn’t a question. It was still my turn.

He didn’t even flinch. “Aye.”

My stomach roiled at the memory of my father’s grisly ending. I didn’t tell Lucifer that I’d been forced to watch the barbaric video of my father’s torture and subsequent murder by Tiernan more times than I could count. It was my dead husband’s favorite form of punishment when I’d failed him in some way.

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