Page 34 of Pray for the Damned

“I’m sure you can.” I stalk toward the offices and find the door already open. The two desks are on either side of the room with a leather couch in the middle that I immediately move to place Waverly down on.

I look up and meet Elias’s amused eyes, but they quickly turn concerned when they fall on the woman I just carried in here.

He rounds his desk with a medical bag in hand, quickly moving to crouch in front of the couch. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “Not that this one believed me every time I told him I could take care of this myself at home.”

Elias raises a brow as he looks over her injuries. “I’m not so sure about that. Some of these are pretty deep. We’ll be lucky if you don’t need stitches.”

“I told you we should have taken you to the hospital,” I rumble.

She glares up at me but doesn’t argue as Elias starts rifling around in his bag. “Let’s get these cuts cleaned up, and then we can assess what our best course of treatment is. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shakes her head at the same time I say, “Her side. She winced when I scooped her out of the car.”

If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure I’d be a goner right now from the glare she sends me.

Waverly rolls her eyes at the same time Elias chuckles. “We’ll have a look at that in a second.”

She hisses out a breath when the disinfectant hits the first cut, her nose scrunched up as she tries and fails to keep the pain from her face.

I should be holding her. I should be whispering to her about what a great job she’s doing, but instead I’m lurking over Elias’s shoulder watching every move he makes like he’s a threat, which is the furthest thing from the case.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, frowning when I see Kade’s name. Hesitantly I step away from Waverly and Elias, far enough that they won’t hear the conversation, but not far enough that I won’t hear if she needs me.

“What?” I snap.

“Have you got eyes on our girl? She’s not at the diner, and I know for a fact she was meant to be working this afternoon.” There’s an unfamiliar note of emotion in his voice, something I thought was long gone many years ago.

“She’s notourgirl,” I growl.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says. “And you didn’t answer my question. Do you have eyes on her, or do I need to tear the city apart looking for her?”

I sigh. “I have her.”

“Where?”

“Scarlet Lounge. She had an accident at work. Elias is cleaning her up right now.”

There’s an eerie silence for long seconds, and I glance down at the phone to make sure the call is still connected.

“Who hurt her?” His voice is low and menacing.

“I don’t know the details.”

“And why didn’t you take her to a fucking hospital?”

“She didn’t want to go.”

“You should have taken her anyway,” he argues.

“If the hospital were to find out her real identity, it would be easy as hell for Dad to find her,” I point out. “This was the right call.”

“I’m on my way.” He ends the call before I can respond, and I run my hand over my face. Maybe he’ll show himself and I won’t have to worry about him approaching her when I’m not around anymore, but then she may withdraw from me as well because she can’t tell us apart.

Fuck.

Being a twin is the worst.

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