Page 66 of Cold Hard Truth

She melted the hate bubbling inside, and I couldn’t help wrapping myself around her. Knowing nothing would heal her wounds, and nothing could erase her scars. But my hands tried. They stroked her marred skin, and I wanted to wipe the hurt away.

I wanted nothing more than to take us back in time. I wanted to believe in God or her tarot cards or whatever could purify our sins. I wanted faith to be an actual cure. I wanted the answers that don’t exist.

Instead, I sat there knowing my arms couldn’t fix her. They could only hold her and be the walls keeping the demons out while she shook and sobbed and ripped open. I hugged her against my chest—the only girl I’ve ever cared about—and she soaked my shirt until she stopped crying. Until there was nothing but silence between her breaths. Until she fell asleep, and I carried her to her room.

If it wouldn’t have woken her up, I would have screamed at the top of my fucking lungs when I shut her door. I would have thrown the furniture across the apartment. Done something—anything—to let out what I was feeling.

But she needed sleep, so I climbed in the shower instead. I stood under the water until it went from scalding hot to ice cold. And even then, I stood.

I thought about all the ways I’ve failed Lyla in her life, when I was the one who was supposed to look out for her.

I failed.

Snapping out of my thoughts, my vision once more focuses on the punching bag in front of me. It swings away with my hit and then slowly rotates back. My fist connects, and I paint it red.

Hit after hit.

After hit.

Until I can’t feel my fingers—my fists. I can’t see anything but the people who hurt Lyla. And I wish I could raise them from the dead just to make them suffer all over again.

Landing a solid hit on the bag, it burns, but I see clearly now. The pain stings so deeply, I embrace it.

I’m going to help Kane find out who is after Lyla—who played a role in killing her sister—once and for all. I’m going to make up for where I’ve failed. And if Lyla still wants to walk away once it’s done, I won’t blame her.

My hands ache as I grab the bag and steady it. Sweat drips down my face and chest, and my heart hammers so loud I can’t hear myself think. The room is pulsing around me.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, just that it was dark when I walked in and now the sun is streaming across the worn punching bag.

“Thought we were meeting up at ten.” Jude and Crew walk into the gym and drop their bags onto the bench near mine.

Ever since Crew told us about his ownership position in the underground fighting rings we take part in, he’sbeen letting us use the gym whenever we like. It’s empty. Quiet. Nice.

“Needed some space to think.” I walk over to my water bottle and take a drink, blood drips from my knuckle to my arm when I do.

“Looks like my kind ofthinking.” Crew stops at my side, glancing at the split skin on my hand. “Pain therapy.”

“You’re fucked up, you know that?” I toss my water bottle into my bag, but he just shrugs.

Crew is known for his antics in the ring. I’ve never met anyone with such a high pain tolerance, and he can take a punch as well as he can dish one. Once Crew stood there and let a guy get four solid hits in before he broke his jaw and painted the ring with his blood just for the fun of it.

If I’m a twisted fuck, Crew is straight-up sadistic.

I didn’t think he had a soft side at all until he finally admitted his feelings for Echo. But even if he’s a punk when it comes to her, she’s the only one he shows that side of himself to.

“What’s going on, man?” Jude looks from me to the bag, which is splattered in blood. “This isn’t like you.”

I enjoy fighting as much as the next guy. Between that and fucking, they’re the only two things that help me regulate my aggression. But usually, it’s an escape. It’s just for fun. Unlike right now, when I’m mentally snapping and not hiding it as well as I’d like.

“Things are just fucking with my head.” I drop down onto the bench and wrap my hand in a towel.

“Since when did you start thinking with your head?” Crew smirks. “At least, the one above the belt?”

“Fuck you,” I tell him.

But Crew just laughs, even as Jude shoots him a glare.

Fel must be getting to Jude because he’s never been one to care about anyone but himself. But lately, it feels like he’s constantly bothering me about what’s going on.

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