Page 50 of Veil of Blood

I wipe sweat from my brow and glance at Rocco. He’s moving toward the far wall, boots sliding on spilled oil. Javier’s figure flickers between crates, crawling toward a back exit. His shirt is torn open, dark blood soaking the fabric.

My leg throbs. A fresh bruise blooms near my hip from last night’s brawl. Pain lights a fire under my ribs. I limp after Javier. Rocco follows, covering my back.

Javier pulls himself up against a support beam, heaving breath that rakes his throat. He sees me and stares, fear and fury mingling in his eyes. He digs in a pocket and pulls out a pistol. His hand shakes too much to aim.

“You were dead,” he spits, voice raspy. “You were supposed to stay that way.”

I step forward into a shard of neon light. My chain swings against my neck. “So were you.”

He raises the gun and fires once. The bullet thunks into metal behind me. Rocco dives to the side, rifle slamming into his shoulder. He winces, but he’s fine.

I don’t wait. I close the distance and kick Javier’s arm, twisting the gun free. It skitters across the concrete. I sweep my foot to kick it farther away. He stumbles back, clutching at air.

Rocco stands beside me. He gives a single nod. “End it.”

I swallow the last of my fear. I draw the knife I carry in my belt and step in close. My hand doesn’t shake. I press the blade under Javier’s rib cage. He gasps, eyes widening.

It’s not rage that drives me. It’s relief—relief that this night can end, relief that I can close this chapter. I push the knife in.

He roars once, a short, brutal cry, then goes still. His blood wells around the blade, dark and precise. He tries to speak again, but only a wet whisper escapes: “Dino won’t stop.”

I lean down. My hand grips his collar. “Neither will I,” I whisper.

He exhales his last. His body goes limp.

Rocco watches, eyes steady. He steps in and stands over us. I pull the blade free and wipe it on Javier’s shirt. Then I sheath it.

That part of me is gone—the part that stayed quiet. I turn and lean against the nearest wall, sliding down until I’m seated, legs drawn up. My chain rattles softly against my collarbone.

Rocco kneels beside me. He takes my hand in his. No words pass between us. Instead, the tension from this night and the fight flows into something else.

He pulls me up and leads us to a side room—small, bare, one window high on the wall. He locks the door behind us. The sound of waves and distant sirens leaks through the vents. We stay close, bodies brushing, breathing heavy.

His hand slides down my back, warm against sweat-chilled skin. I lift my arms, and he pulls my shirt off in one motion. The fabric falls to the floor. His shirt follows, and his chest presses to mine.

No slow build. No apology. Just connection that doesn’t ask permission. He nudges my hips, and I lean in, teeth grazing his collarbone. He groans, hand slipping under my jeans.

I pull him closer, shifting so my leg wraps around his waist. He steps between my thighs, pressing in. I arch into him, gasping when his palm finds my center. He moves his thumb in tight circles. The pulse there ripples through me.

I tug him down until he stands on the cool floor, and I settle against him. He lifts one leg to bracket me, anchoring us. My fingers trail up his chest, across the scar near his temple. He shivers under my touch.

He tilts my head back and kisses me, rough, aching, as if every question and answer rests in that pressing of lips. I open for him, taste salt and adrenaline. His tongue strokes mine. Our bodies sway, braced against cold metal.

I wrap my arms around his neck. He grips my hips, guiding each shift until clothing is tangled on the floor and we stand halfway bare. My skin flushes under his hands. He kisses down my throat, teeth nibbling at the hollow.

I trace a path to his lips, and he parts for me. His erection presses against my belly. I drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, steady and sure. He moans, hands tangling in my hair. I work him back and forth, slow at first, then with more urgency as his breath shortens.

He tilts his head back, eyes closed, and reaches down to cup my head. I draw him deeper, pressing my lips flat. His breath hitches. I feel him stiffen just before he spills, warm and sweet.

I swallow each drop. He groans and kisses the top of my head. I rise and press against him, chest to chest. He slides his hand between us and finds me again. My breath comes quick. I guide his fingers in, meeting his pace.

He groans louder, and I lift my hips to press back until he stills. We collapse onto the cot, skin slick, hearts racing. I curl into him, letting his chest rise and fall beneath my ear.

He runs a fingertip down my arm, collecting sweat, scars, promise. No words. We lie tangled until the room’s hush feels safe again.

We stay there, holding each other, as the night stretches on.

Chapter 16 – Rocco

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