Page 89 of Where the Wicked Reign

It always was. He didn’t take well to it when me or Milo were injured either. He considered it a personal failure on his part. But that wasn’t all. Although it was all he could admit to himself. The truth was that it scared him when our mortality was front and center like that from sustaining a wound. He’d spent his life around a brutal and fucked-up family that used him, abused him, and didn’t have his back. Now he’d made his own in me and Milo, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing it, of losing us.

“Thanks,” Cat told Milo as she tied the robe with shaking hands, then held onto the edge of the chaise to support her upright, standing state.

He actually smiled at her genuinely. “Right back at you,bellezza.”

They stared at one another for a moment—peacefully, for once.

And then Cat announced, “I need to head home.”

“Home?” I questioned. “No, you can stay here tonight. No worries there.”

“I appreciate it, but I need to wake up in my own bed. And I have a meeting at the crack of dawn. It’s a video call, but all the necessary documentation is at my place.”

“We’ll have it moved here,” Milo suggested, surprising both me and Nico.

She shook her head. “It’s already enough of an issue sneaking me in and out of here, let alone doing that. No, I’ll get dressed, then head home. It’s best for everyone.”

“I’m coming with you then,” Nico told her.

“I’ll be okay, honestly.”

“The painkillers are going to kick in soon.”

“I… fuck, fine.”

He grinned. “Glad that’s sorted.”

She rolled her eyes, then asked me, “Are the extra clothes from a couple of days ago still in that spare room?”

“Haven’t been moved, darlin’.

“Thanks,” she said, starting past us to head down there, struggling a little with the fresh stitches.

Nico headed out after her and I heard them bantering back and forth down the corridor in their usual way as they went.

I took a seat on my couch and leaned back, taking another big swig from my bottle of vodka.

“Is that working on calming you down from the adrenaline high that battle is to you?” Milo asked, walking over and perching on the arm near me.

“Not just battle, all of us on a mission. Gets me every time. Especially with having our new feisty warrior woman along for the ride this time.”

“It was definitely different having her there during a takedown.”

“Not all bad after all, huh? And not just because she saved your sweet ass.”

“Maybe.” He gave me a withering look. “But lay off the psychoanalyzing for tonight.”

“You’re still processing, got it.”

He looked me up and down in my motocross pants from earlier. I’d shed the boots, socks, and the jacket, just down to a blue tank on top. He was hesitant about it, though, looking rather than actually eye-fucking me. Or at least trying to hide the fact.

No doubt, it was because of my comments lately about our fucking and all that.

“So, is it?” he asked, gesturing at the bottle of vodka I was clutching in a death grip. “Taking the edge off?”

“No. Not yet, at least.” I leaned forward and put it down on the coffee table in front of me, before leaning back and stretching my arms out on either side of the top of the couch. “Why? Got a better idea?”

“Really? You’d be down for that?”

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