Page 21 of Bathed in Blood

“Then tell me. Tell me what they have on you.”

Just like a rubber band snapping back into place, she retreats, her eyes going back to the frayed edge on the blanket.

Cry, princess.

I want to taste your tears every bit as badly as I want to tasteyou. I shift with her, my hand snatching the back of her neck, pulling her into my orbit more violently than I should’ve. “Tell me what to do to keep you here.” They aren’t the words I meant to say, but I’m standing by them.

Her lips part. “I can’t leave.”

“Princess, I’m asking you what youneedfrom me. Say it, and I’ll do everything—"

“I kidnapped you.” She scoffs, my hand tangling deeper in her messy hair as she tries to struggle free from my hold. It pisses me off more than it should. She’s nothing. A score. A rat we’re allowing to live in our home. A tool… and everything about her makes me feel bloody and fucking raw.

“I let you kidnap me.”

When the neutrality bleeds from her face, I nearly groan. Her eyes are all the more beautiful when she’s angry, and I’m not the least bit surprised. “This isn’t just about me. This little place you have here? They’ll burn it to the ground. If there’s even one fucking left, they will not stop until they find me. When they find me, they will take—”

A growl surges from my throat as I slam her back on the mattress. “You think I can’t fucking protect you?” My hand tightens, slipping around the front of her delicate neck, my fingers lining up with the yellowed bruising there. Everything in me screams to squeeze, to punish her for even the fucking thought, to cover their marks with ones of my own. “I’d love tosee them try. Have you forgotten the gift I gave you? Have you forgotten the way he whimpered and cried out? I did that foryou.”

Her breath is leaving her in pants as I force myself closer to her, her thighs trying to keep me from between her legs. “Stop.”

“No.”

Her eyes widen, her panting dissolving into ragged breath. “Christian…”

I groan, canting forward to run my nose down the soft slope of her jaw, savoring her sweet, candied scent. “I hated it, you know? Watching that fuck touch you. I hated that fucking look in your eyes, that sad, resolved look. Don’t ever look at me like that.”

“You’rethe one touching me now!”

“But that’s different, isn’t it, princess?”

Her hand tangles in my hair, trying to force me away from her, but I’m not going anywhere. “You’re just another asshole who thinks they have the fucking right! I’m done! I’m fucking done! Please!” she screams, her anger becoming an entity of its own.

I let her rage against me, letting her fight back, because they never did. When her nails score my skin, her fists beating my back, aggravating the cherished wounds she left on me, I don’t stop her. Soon enough, she just screams, the same screams I heard in the woods, the ones that lead me back to her, ones that have festered and built for years. I wouldn’t dare stop her from venting them on whatever, or whoever, she wanted. I’d prepare the room, line the walls with bodies, and wipe away the gore until her pain quieted, until she took back the pound of flesh the universe owes her.

“I watched you since your debut. I studied everything you did, obsessed over every little move you made. I knew I would need you, that I would take, you long before I was given the order.”

“No! Fuck you! I fucking hate you! I fucking hate you! You should’ve fucked off, fucking left me there! You have no idea—"

She doesn’t stop screaming, but I block it out, my lips teasing her ear, ensuring she hears me. “I don’t know when it changed, when you stopped being a tool I wanted touseand turned intosomeone. Someone I wanted,want.” Because, much to my horror, Idowant the Blood Princess. I want her in my bed, to see what it looks like when she smiles, if she’s even capable. I want her lips, her violence, the delicate thing she hides deep in her shell. I want to fix her, fix the damage they did, then break her all over again.

I’ve never kissed anyone as gently as I do her, and even when her teeth score my lip, I keep kissing her, leaving my blood smeared across her jaw, down her slender neck.

“You had no right!”

“I had every right; you gave it to me, remember?”

Wetness smears across the side of my face—tears. “I didn’t, I didn’t know! You’ve jeopardized everything! Oh god—"

“You saw me when I broke that restraint. You knew the moment you led me to that car. Youknew.”

When the first sob wracks her small frame, it resonates in my chest, doing something ugly there. Suddenly, she’s not angry—she’s just broken. Apprehension settles in my chest. I don’t know what she needs. Gentle isn’t something that comes naturally to me, so I stay still, so deadly still. She sobs, her fists not pounding my back anymore, but fisting there, clinging to me. She’s still too, like she’s scared I’ll leave, that there will be no one left to witness her tears.

It’s at that moment I decide killing the brothers isn’t enough. That’s the moment I decide to take more.

One Sullivan for every tear she cried, the ones that went unseen.

I can’t give her the gentle touch she needs, I can’t balm her wounds with soft, patient passes, but violence, vengeance—I can give her that.

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