Page 38 of Promises in the Dark

The thought of that bitch dying sent a chill down my spine. If she kicked the bucket, those other refugees might not give two shits about leading us out of this city.

Red took a moment to catch her breath before responding.

“I did all I could, Rogue. The rest is up to her,” she said, her voice heavy with defeat.

I felt a knot tighten in my gut as I stared at her—covered in blood and sweat, barely holding herself together. Her body was shaking, her shoulders slumped from the sheer weight of the hell we’ve been through.

She spotted a bottle of water near the unconscious woman and dragged herself over to it. She uncapped it, poured the water over her bloody hands, scrubbing them like she was trying to wash away all the fucked-up shit we’d just seen.

I scanned the room. The other refugees were just standing there, eyes glued to the scene, waiting for some miracle to happen. The only sound cutting through the silence was the baby’s cries. They were praying she’d pull through, that this woman wouldn’t die right in front of them. If she didn’t make it, things were gonna get a hell of a lot worse for us.

But for now, I pushed those thoughts aside. The priority was getting out of this city, and if that bitch survival meant securing our escape, then that was what I would focus on.

The refugee woman was slipping in and out of consciousness as her body, weakened from the brutal childbirth and the severe blood loss, struggled to hold on.

Red was busting her ass trying to keep her alive, dabbing her with damp towels to soak up the fever, giving her sips of water like it was gonna make any real difference.

At one point, the woman managed to crack her eyes open, staring up at Red with those glassy, pitiful eyes. She reached out, fingers barely grazing Red’s cheek, and of course, Red’s expression softened like she was dealing with a damn kitten.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered softly, her voice full of compassion as she gently patted the woman on the head.

The refugee gave this pathetic little smile, tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she breathed, like she wasn’t about to bleed out on the floor.

Then her eyes fluttered shut again, slipping right back into unconsciousness.

Damn it.

My blood was fucking boiling. Jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth would crack. I had no goddamn right to feellike this—jealous, pissed off—but there it was, rearing its ugly head. I wanted to be the one she touched, the one Red turned soft for, not this half-dead chick.

My hands balled into fists and I had to remind myself to breathe. I felt like a jealous moron. I was angry at some random woman for touchingRed. How fucking pathetic was that? Red didn’t belong to me, never did, but I couldn’t shake this possessiveness. It was eating me alive.

I wanted to smash something, punch a hole in the damn wall, maybe even break a few bones just to feel anything but this jealousy. The metallic taste of restraint was thick in my mouth as I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to rip Red away from that refugee before I did something real fucking stupid. My head was spinning with how badly I needed to keep it together. I had to contain myself, to act like a adult and not lash out like a brat.

I stood there, cold as ice, watching as Red finally turned toward me. She could tell something was off, but I wasn’t about to spill my guts.

“Farida’s doing a bit better,” she said, nodding towards the woman.

“Good. Keep an eye on her,” I muttered, my voice curt and cold. “We need to get her out of here as soon as possible.”

I leaned against the wall, watching as Red joined me, absently rubbing her fingers along the spot where the necklace used to be. She seemed lost in thought, eyes locked on that empty space between her tits. Losing something that meant so much, especially from her old man, I assumed that shit cut deep.

But in my world, emotions were for pussies who couldn’t handle their shit. So, I pushed down that feeling of sorry and shove it deep into the recesses of my mind.

I cleared my throat and spoke in a rough voice, my accent thickening slightly.

“You did a hell of a job back there,” I blurted out of nowhere, surprising even myself. “You should be proud of yourself.”

I knew it was a feeble attempt, a pitiful band-aid on a gaping wound.

Her fingers paused their tracing of her bare throat, and she turned to stare at me with a look of surprise. It was not often that I got all sentimental and shit, but this felt like the right moment.

“Yeah, I guess,” she murmured, tucking a strand of flame-kissed hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching for something. Maybe safety, maybe validation. Fuck knows. Whatever it was, I couldn’t give it to her, not the way she needed.

Instead, I nodded, my gaze cast downward. “We make a good team, Red.”

---