Page 22 of Bathed in Blood

“Are they dead?” she hiccups against me.

“Yes, princess. They’re dead.” I don’t know if what I said was a lie. There was no surviving what happened to Anton and Jax, but Vince… I didn’t check. Too fucking concerned with her to give a fuck. I cleared the house of anyone, staff and otherwise, a room full of women too drugged out to even notice their impending death, but all of this was sloppy. Unplanned. I’m not known for being reasonable, not accustomed to thinking things through, at all really, but this, even by my standards, was a shit show.

I breathe her in, focusing on the way her heart beats against my chest.

10

Bedmates

Christian

I ignore Jesse as he stalks beside us, the princess curled into my chest as she sleeps, her cheeks raw from tears.

“He’s not going to like this,” he comments,loudly.

“Lower your voice, or I’ll punch you in the fucking throat,” I growl, fighting the urge to glance down and make sure she’s still sleeping—not that I care.

“How do you intend to do that if you’re carrying her?Whyare you carrying her?”

My teeth score my inner lip, the flesh swelling from her bite. “She’s staying with me.”

“Pardon?” He jogs ahead, blocking my path, his dirty blonde hair tied up in a bun.

“Move, Jesse.”

“Explain Christian, because I’ve got a date tonight, and it doesn’t involve having to break up a fight between you and our father.”

Of all my eleven siblings, why is it that Jesse was the only one who decided to stay in the compound full time? Right, becausethe world has a fucked sense of humor. My leg kicks out, my boot connecting roughly with his dick. I don’t need to check that my hit landed when he doubles over, gagging.

“That’s fucking cheap,” he grunts, his forehead pressed to the hardwood floors that always smell like pine.

“I asked you to move,” I offer, stepping around him and heading towards my wing.

Jesse is only twenty-two, with a fuck ton of maturing and learning to be done, preferably with hard lessons. With so many siblings and countless mothers, we’ve always been scattered. Jesse, Dezmond, and Marley stayed with the family business, the latter two deciding to stay off the grounds unless they’re needed here for work. All my other relatives I haven’t so much as glimpsed in five years. Once we were grown, Father let his ex-wife, the one we all knew as Momdespite all of us having different mothers, take over the family house, moving to the compound full time. I went too.

Never left. I’m too good, too engrained in this life to go now.

I was the legacy son, the eldest. I’m the one they come to when they need help. When a deal doesn’t go right, when the math isn’t adding up, I’m the fixer. Every deal, every heist, every transaction goes through me. The Blood Princess, the Sullivan brothers, they were a problem—my problem. Right now? We can’t afford any mistakes, no distractions. I repeat that in my head as I laymymistake in my bed, pulling the dark comforter up around her.

Lana

Trust is a strange thing. It starts as a dent in well-formed armor. The armor you build around yourself to protect all your spongy insides. It’s a little dent in an otherwise flawless façade. What damage can a little dent do, after all? The answer is a lot. That little dent marks the way for the axe before it’s driven into your heart.

It’s been three hours since I woke in Christian’s bedroom, snuggled under the covers. Like a bug in a rug, Mom used to say. My face is crusty from the tears I let him see. He took them, absorbed them until I had none left to give. Heheldme. No sex, despite the fact that his hard length was pressed into me the entire time. Daunting,promising. His eyes were wild with want as he pinned me to the mattress. I kept waiting for him to jerk down my pants, for his hands to wander. I’m not sure at what point the anxious waiting stopped, and I realized… I wished he would.

Hope is a strange thing.

Christian’s bedroom is very muchhim.Severe, hard lined, something serious, but in a crazed way. The tall windows are draped in heavy curtains, a shade or two lighter than the smoky gray walls around it. I haven’t seen the rest of the building I’m in, but already, the sleek modern room seems to disagree with the elaborate crown molding. The floor to ceiling bookshelf where each book is turned backwards, hiding the spines, should be a criminal offense. I don’t test the handle of the heavy door, knowing in my bones that it’s locked and hoping Christian is the only one with a key.

Lana, Five Years Ago

My knocks only barely cut through the pounding music coming from Lewis’ room. “Lewis! Open the door!” Exasperated, I turn towards Mom, already knowing I won’t get any help. Her face scrunches up, her eyes fixed on her phone in her hands, but I can still see them glistening from over here. I gesture for her to step in, to help, say something, anything.

She goes out of her way to not look at me. My chest tightens as I drag in enough air to fill my lungs to capacity, only releasing it on the fourth time my forehead thuds against his bedroom door. “We have to be at the clinic in half an hour! It’ll take me forty-five to drive there!”

Please. Please open the door.

It’s been a week since Lewis came back home, a week since he’s touched drugs. I’d never imagined having him back here would be more nerve-wracking than when he’s gone. It’s a sword I wake up to hanging over my head, over his too. As hard as I fought to get him home, I hadn’t spent a ton of time on the next steps. Sure, I’d researched, read every article, but that was half the problem. The information was there, but now, there’s a heaviness to the relief. Somehow, all the right answers don’t manage to connect in the real world.

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