Page 217 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Yeah?” Levi answers before he nods to me. “She’s waking up.”

I look back at what’s left of Collin.

“Go. I’ll take care of the body,” he says, lighting a cigarette despite the blood on his hands.

I nod to him, and head towards the door.

Mila’s stirring when I step into our bedroom. Paulina is brushing a wet washcloth over her face, her expression grim.

“She’s stable,” Toole says, nodding to the knife on a tray in front of her. It’s broken and jagged. Probably the only thing that saved her. “But she’ll need a few weeks to heal. She can’t be on her feet, or she’ll risk breaking the stitches open.”

I nod, watching the steady rise and fall of Mila’s chest.

She’s alive. She’s fucking alive.

“I would like to stay here tonight,” Toole says. “I want to be close.”

I nod towards the hall. “Through the living room. The second door on your left. Should have everything you need.”

“Good. Wake me up if anything happens. If she’s in pain, give her one of these.” She hands me a bottle of pills, and the rattle echoes throughout the room.

“Thanks,” I murmur, knowing it’s not enough for what she did. “For saving her.”

“She saved herself. I just did the stitching.”

She walks away, leaving me alone with Paulina and Mila. The silence is filled with my racing thoughts when I stare down at my wife.

“Chris-tian . . .” Mila breathes, her eyes hazy when she squints at me.

“Go to sleep, baby,” I brush the hair back from her face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

She doesn’t respond, her head lulling to the side, and I know she’s fallen asleep again.

Paulina moves to stand. “I’m going to get fresh water and bathe her.”

“I’ll do it. You go to bed.”

She pauses, an odd expression crossing her face. As if she can’t believe I’d like to take care of my wife.

She doesn’t say anything, though, and instead nods, leaving the bowl on the nightstand in front of me.

“Is he . . .”

“He’s dead,” I respond, knowing her question before it even leaves her mouth.

She’s silent for a moment, looking back at Mila.

“Good.”

Alone with Mila, I stand and grab the bowl, crossing over to the bathroom. I wash my hands and refill the bowl with warm water and soap, grabbing a fresh washcloth and heading back to Mila.

Pulling a chair up beside her, I start to wash her face, then the blood that’s on her arms, and finally, her stomach that’s not covered by the thick gauze covering her wound.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, even if I know it doesn’t make up for what happened to her. “I’ll make it right.”

When she’s cleaned up, I dump the bowl and stoop down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Then I pull the chair closer and sit down, closing my eyes to try and get a few hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling it’ll be plagued with the sound of Collin’s voice utteringthatname.

---