Page 121 of Cruel Lies

The reason I’d been so out of sorts lately. Why I couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t bring myself to form any sort of plan.

And I’d almost lost her.

Because ofhim.

"I won’t make the same mistake twice," I promised, taking a seat at her side. The way her wrist fit in my large palm made it feel like a bird’s wing—light, frail, fragile, and small. How easily one of us could break her at any moment.

Literally.

Figuratively.

In so many ways.

My hand engulfed hers and I gave it a gentle squeeze, biting back all the things I’d buried for seven years regarding this woman.

How much I relied on her devotion when we were younger.

How she used to be one of the only things that could bring me out of a destructive spiral.

How I looked for her whenever I felt like my life wasn’t worth anything more than a shield for my brothers.

How she was tangled in every one of the worst mistakes in the entirety of my life.

It was a mistake to hurt her. It was a mistake to love her. And in the end, it was a mistake to let her go.

Twice.

There wouldn’t be a third time.

"They’ll pay for what they did to you," I muttered, hoping she could hear me even as she slept, or that she could feel the sincerity of my words. "And then, once I’ve madethempay, I’ll makehimpay, too."

I steppedout of Angel’s room just as Nash strolled into the commons, a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh blood on his cheeks, water dripping from the tips of his hair as it hung limply around his face.

He glanced up at me, and I spotted the toothbrush hanging from his lips, foam around the edges of his mouth. "Thought you were gonna take a shower, too?"

I glanced around him, looking for our brother, but he was nowhere to be found. "Did you drown Angel or something?"

"Nah," he muttered around the protruding handle as the scuffle of footsteps echoed around the kitchen. "He threw me in there and went fishing in your room for some needles and thread, then came back to tell me he was running downstairs to see Surgeon."

As if on cue, our middle brother strolled back through the front door, tossed me a well-stocked medical bag, and shot off orders to stitch Nash up or else as he ducked back in his room and quietly slammed the door.

"Huh," I mused, setting the first aid supplies on the couch next to me. "I didn’t even know a quiet door slam was a thing, but Mister Passive Aggressive sure makes it look easy."

Nash eyeballed the kit with a bit of apprehension, his hand already headed for his jaw. "No way in fuck am I letting you anywhere near my face right now with stitches. I’ll suffer, thanks."

"Are you planning to free bleed all over the place like some kind of revolutionary woman on her period or something?"

Nash eyed me with more than his usual glee. "I’m trying something new."

"Idiot."

His laughter echoed around me as the very annoying—and very naked—brother of mine settled on the couch next to me. "You love me."

"Debatable."

FORTY-NINE

HARPER

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