Page 73 of The Hellkeeper

No one has ever treated me like this.

Like I’m something precious.

He wraps the motel robe around me before sitting me on the bed.

He grabs the first aid kit and kneels in front of me once again, disinfecting and bandaging my wounds with such focus it’s like I am the center of his universe. And maybe I am.

“I love you so much.” He confesses.

A tear slips down my cheek. “The whole time they were hurting me… when I thought I was dying…” I choke out a breath. “My only regret was not telling you. I love you, Damien.”

“I can’t forgive myself,” he murmurs.

“Then let me forgive you.”

I see the sheer obsession in his icy blue eyes.

He’s drowning in me. And he doesn’t want to be saved.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amelia

Iwalk like I never have before.

There’s a shift in the way I move, a newfound confidence. Darkness clings to me like a second skin. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that a man who promised to burn the world for me, and actually did, walks behind me.

He’s an anchor.

A force that steadies me, strengthens me, lets me act like a girl who has finally been unchained.

There’s no more village looming over my head. No more whispered threats. No more sick ideologies pressing down on me with the weight of a thousand suns. No more invisible chains. No more boundaries keeping me locked in a life I never chose.

In this cold, unforgiving city, I’ve been able to form my own community. I made a cocoon with the people who understand me, love me: Margaret, Ruby, Damien. Ruby was beside herself when she heard the news. She kept asking if I was okay, and if I needed anything. I never expected anyone to care so much for me. And I’m so grateful for the people that make me feel like I belong.

My man freed me.

But he didn’t just free me; he freed someone else too. Someone I care about. Someone who’s lived in fear, just like I did.

I sit by Margaret’s hospital bed, holding her hand tightly, my thumb brushing the fragile bones of her knuckles. It’s been a few days since everything went down. Since the world I once knew burned to ash.

The surgery was risky.

But she’s still here.

She looks different. Older. The fear, the exhaustion, the years of hiding have worn her down.

But she’s here.

She survived.

And yet, she hasn’t opened her eyes.

My throat tightens. I reach out, caressing her grey hair.

I hold back my tears. “Margaret.”

Like the past few days, she gives me nothing.

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