Page 42 of The Marriage Debt

She lets me mop up the mess of our sex from between her legs, then turns as if she may leave. But I grab her, pulling her backward against my body, and fold the covers over top of us. She lies in my arms until her breathing grows steady, but I know she's not sleeping. She's not pulling away, either, though, and that's a small victory.

I take no pleasure in breaking her.

I just want her to understand the situation she's in, the person she's married to.

When I said she's collateral, I didn't mean to me, and maybe now she'll get the point. I'm here to defend her, not harm her. And with the way things are going, she doesn't even realize how much she needs me.

21

LILA

Ibutton Lev’s coat for him at the door, fingers moving quickly down the line. He kicks his foot against the marble and leans in close like he has a secret.

“There’s a book in the library with a sword that glows. Not the whole sword—just the edge. And it can cut through anything. Even bone. But they don’t let you check it out unless you finish your reading chart, so I need the green sticker today. You can’t forget.”

“I won’t forget,” I say, smoothing his hair. “What’s the sword called?”

“I don’t know. Something with an X. Xelos. Or Xerax. It’s got fire too.” He widens his eyes for emphasis. “Real fire.”

I nod, kiss his forehead, and adjust the collar when he shrugs it up against his neck. It’s one of those rare mornings when the world feels still. The air is cold but clean. The sky is pale. We’re not late, no one’s fighting, and for once there’s no fear about my mother or Marcella, no foreboding feeling that life isn't anything but normal and calm.

The house is quiet behind us as we step out and shut the door. Rafe's already at the car, one hand on the passenger door, the other tapping something into his phone. He doesn’t look up as we approach, but he pulls the door open and steps back.

“Hey, Rafe!” Lev waves. “Did you see my chart? It’s almost full.” He holds his paper up proudly and grins.

Rafe lifts his chin in acknowledgment but doesn’t respond. His attention stays fixed on the grounds. Besides, he's not the child's father, so why would he care about a five-year-old's reading sticker sheet? I smile and nod at him, but he doesn't acknowledge that either.

I take Lev’s hand and walk with him down the stone path. It’s still damp from the sprinklers, and I remind him to slow down even though he’s barely running. His hand is warm inside mine.

“Do you think Mateo knows about the sword?” Lev asks. “He’d probably want one. Or maybe his sword lights on fire. Do you think it lights on fire?"

“We can ask him later,” I say.

“But if he does, maybe he keeps it under the bed. Or in that drawer he never lets anyone touch.” Lev is jabbering too much, something Anton would've hated. Something Mateo would tolerate with more patience than a man like him typically displays.

“I’m sure he keeps it somewhere very safe.”

I say something about dinner, about what he wants tonight, but I don’t remember what I say because that’s the moment the air around us breaks open.

The sound is sharp, metallic—like a hammer striking a bell underwater.

Then the ground lifts.

The side gate—northwest corner—detonates in a burst of glass and metal and stone. A wall of dirt erupts outward like a wave breaking, and I don’t have time to think. I throw myself over Lev, one arm around his shoulders, the other cradling his head. My body hits the ground first. The breath bursts out of me, and I taste gravel in the back of my throat, and I roll, covering him with my body.

Lev screams. It’s a sharp, panicked sound, high-pitched and real, but I can’t tell if he’s hurt or just scared.

“Mama!” he cries. “What was that? What was that?”

I curl around him tighter, shielding him with every inch I have. The air is filled with smoke and ringing and the thud of boots coming from all directions. The ground is covered in debris, and my entire body trembles like an earthquake.

Rafe’s shouting, but the words don’t make sense through the sound in my head. Dust coats my skin, my hair, my lips. I push up on one arm and drag Lev with me. He’s crying now, clutching at my waist, eyes wide and wild. I feel liquid on my cheek, but it's not tears. I'm bleeding.

“Are they shooting? Are we going to die?”

“There’s no shooting,” I say, voice broken. “You’re okay. Just keep your head down.”

There’s blood on my sleeve, but I can’t tell if it’s his or mine. I just know I don't feel pain yet, which is good. It motivates me to get up and move so I don't feel pain ever.

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