Page 139 of All Your Hate

Thank fuck.

“You should get that looked at.” Dean nods towards my eye. “Looks nasty. What does it feel like?” He reaches out to touch the wound and I bat his hand away.

“Back off. It hurts like a bitch.”

“I never got a chance to thank you for helping save me that night,” Wynter says to him.

“Umm, you’re welcome I guess, but you should save your thanks for Bones. My suggestion was to kill you or leave you there. I’m glad he took you though. You seem cool.”

I’m hesitant about how Wynter will react to Dean, but she simply laughs. When she brings her soft gaze back to mine, she says, “Noah. Your dad. Is he really dead?”

I nod and she swallows. Pulling the bottom of her dress up she rips a length off and uses it as a makeshift bandage over my eye. “It’s my fault,” she says quietly. “If I hadn’t come up with this stupid plan to kidnap Dmitri, he might still be alive.”

Grabbing the back of her neck, I bring her face close to mine. “Never fucking apologize to me, Wynter. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

“But—”

“But nothing. It was his own fault for getting involved with Dmitri in the first place. Do not be sorry for that. Everything that happened tonight is on him and him alone.” I point towards Dmitri’s body and Wynter bites her trembling lip. She leans into me and I hold her tight. My heart’s still thumping erratically against my chest and she must feel it too as she places her hand there.

“What are we supposed to do now? He was our shot at finding Summer. I interrogated him, tried to scare any information out of him, but he gave me nothing. I don’t think he was lying.”

Stroking her back, I tell her, “You’ll see her again.” That's all I can say. Our journey was always leading up to this moment and I knew the time would come when I’d need to give her the truth. But if I tell her it will destroy everything I’ve built between us.

29

WYNTER

Noah has done nothing but work since his father died.

He’s spent hours in his office or at the company building, filling his father’s shoes.

The cops have come asking questions a few times and even dragged him to the station once, but nothing points to our involvement. All they see is a grieving man. He plays the part well for them, whereas at home he's closed off and distant.

We found out that Dmitri had booked out an entire floor of the hotel to pimp out his girls during the fundraiser. That was enough to get most of the men there arrested.

Noah told the cops that he overheard his father arguing with Dmitri, planting the seeds in their heads that Gregory and Dmitri had it out for each other. They did a sweep of the company building, ransacking Gregory’s office and apartment. Kai wiped the files that Noah told him to, but there was some paperwork locked away in Gregory’s home safe. The cops found it and used it as their main evidence for the dispute. With that and some hush money from Noah, the cops eventually dropped the case.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the power he has. We’ve killed so many men. He and Dean probably have numbers in the hundreds by now. Yet we get to walk away from the carnage like gods.

I find Noah standing in the shower. Not moving a muscle as the water cascades down his back. His long hair clings to his face and his eyes are in some distant world. The cut Dmitri left on his face will leave a deep scar. It runs down through his eyebrow and onto his cheekbone. Luckily it missed his eyeball and Luka told us that his vision is fine.

Stripping off, I step in behind him and place my hands on his shoulders. “I’m here,” I tell him and his muscles relax the tiniest amount. “Turn around. Let me wash you.”

“Little viper, what would I do without you?” he sighs and looks at me with the softest expression that makes my entire body melt.

I don’t bother grabbing a washcloth. I want to be able to feel him on my fingertips. The soap is his signature smell. That spicy heat that I’ve come to crave. It’s the scent that helped drag me out of the darkness, the one that made me cling to him without knowing who my savior really was.

My fingers wander over every inch of him. Tracing every groove of muscle, every bump of scar tissue. He does the same to me, memorizing my body with his fingertips. Only when we’re both starting to wrinkle do we get out.

“Are you ready for today?” I ask as I grab us some towels.

“Is anyone ever ready for a funeral? I suppose the dead are.”

Janine has made most of the preparations herself with a little help from me as Noah has ignored her calls.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I tend to his cut. Drying it properly and applying new dressings. Then I grab our black clothes that are hanging up for today out of the closet. A suitwith a matching black shirt for Noah and a button-up blouse and pencil skirt for me.

His movements are mechanical as he dresses, like he’s not all here. He misses a buttonhole on his shirt and I go to help him.

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