Page 33 of One Kill

I manage to knock gently on the door before slumping down against it, not wanting to be too loud in case I wake Hallie. She doesn’t need to see me like this.

Tapping gently again, I decide it’s probably for the best if Murph doesn’t answer the door. I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes, get my energy levels back up again, then find a way home.

But why does it feel like I’m already home?

Chapter Fifteen

Murphy

Sheleftanote.A fuckingnote.

Actually, no. She left a piece of paper with one word on it. “Sorry.”

And what exactly is she sorry about? The orgasms? The undeniable chemistry and connection we felt? It wasn’t in my head, either. I saw it in the way her eyes never looked away from me. The way her body shook with my touch. The way she let herself completely go, knowing she was safe in my arms.

The problem isn’t us because the “us” of last night was utter perfection. No, the problem is altogether different and it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her baser instincts. To be fair, I can’t say I know Jordyn, not anymore, but some things don’t change. Obviously.

As long as I can remember, Jordyn has been like a wild animal; raw and honest. Mostly, when she’s backed into a corner, she only has two modes: fight or flight. Last night? She fled as far as she could go, forgetting that the thing she’s running from is the thing that’s deeply embedded in her veins. Us. Hallie and me. Her only living family.

So, when I hear the faint knock on the door, I know. My Jaybear is back and I’m not sure how to deal with it. So I hesitate. I freeze at the kitchen door and bury my hands in my hair, wondering if this is worth it. If her disappearing acts are going to destroy my favorite girl in the world. My whole fucking heart. Before I even reach out for the doorknob, I have to consider the damage she’s capable of inflicting on our daughter.

I will do anything for J, but I won’t let her do that. Hurting Hallie is not an option, I don’t care who the fuck it is.

On the flip side, though, keeping J from Hallie would be equally devastating and I can’t live with myself if I were responsible for that. So I make a choice that I can live with… hoping that if or when J bolts, Hallie will run to me and I will shelter her from the pain.

Always.

With all my bravado and the ultimatums I’m practicing in my mind, I’m just not prepared for the sight in front of me as I swing open the back door.

“What the fuck?!”

J is sprawled over my stoop, her head lolling to the side as it follows the movement of the opening door. When our eyes meet, every conflicting thought I had minutes before just fly away and my only concern now is her.

As I reach out to help her up, she slaps my hand away, but it’s faint, barely hitting its mark. With eyes unfocused and movements slow and sloppy, I can’t figure out if she’s drunk or hurt. But then she pushes herself up and I see it.

Her leathers are torn up, blood and flesh staining her black clothes. She’s oozing blood from just above her wrist and the way she clutches her ribs with every effort she makes, I don’t need to be a doctor to know she’s, at the very least, bruised a rib, if not broken it completely.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jordyn. For once in your life, just let me help you.” I use her full name to get her attention and, in a move that I did not expect, she slumps in my arms and lets me pick her up to take her to the half bath near the kitchen. I don’t want Hallie to walk down for a glass of water and find her mother half passed out and bleeding all over our kitchen. This way, I have a minute to shield her.

Sitting her down on the toilet, I wrestle with my drawers, one of them deciding today is a good day to get the rack stuck. Cursing from between my teeth, I let out a breath as the drawer finally opens and I can access the alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. I hand her the gauze for her arm, and without telling her anything, she knows she needs to stop the bleeding on her arm. It’s when I reach for the cotton that I hear her speak but I’m so focused on my task that I don’t understand her at first.

“I will fucking cut you if you use alcohol or that other shit on me. Water and soap. That’s it.” I’m no doctor, and this is not a hill I’d ever choose to die on, so I just shrug and grab a clean washcloth that I run under mildly hot water for a while, adding soap then lathering it up to clean the wound.

But when I actually see the wound on her side, I realize she’s got tiny rocks and shit inside.

“Change of plans. You need to get into the shower and wash that shit away before you get it infected.” She snarls a little, again, the wild animal in her making a predictable appearance.

“Take…” she stops after her first word, like she needs to concentrate on taking in another breath before starting over. “Take off my boots and pants. I can’t move. I can’t… breathe.”

I swear to fuck, as soon as all of this is cleaned up, I’m going to need answers.

Carefully and with slow, measured moves, I peel off her leather jacket, trying my best to spare her more pain than what she’s feeling right now. With every pull and tuck, she stiffens and grunts, never once complaining. But I know. Her pain is visible in the strain in her eyes and the white knuckles of both her hands as she tries to stay standing.

It wasn’t a beating, that’s for sure. I’m guessing she crashed her fucking death trap on wheels.

“Guess it’s time to buy a Volvo, huh?” The glare she aims at me could make grown men kneel and beg for mercy. Me? I chuckle. She’s so predictable. “What? You gonna tell me you didn’t crash your bike?”

“Later. Shower.” I don’t argue with her because she’s right. I need to clean the wounds and make sure to give her some ibuprofen for the pain and the bruising I can already see forming just below the swell of her breast.

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