Page 113 of The Devil's Thorn
I stand at the bar, one hand wrapped around the glass, letting the heat of the liquor settle in my chest.
Kellan and Ash remain where they are—silent, still, but no longer coiled for attack.
The guns are down. But the war? Still alive in their eyes.
She doesn’t wake. Minutes pass. Long ones. I glance at her again. Still stretched across my couch like a storm asleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest is the only thing betraying that she hasn’t just disappeared into the quiet.
I kept the dose light—enough to lull, not sedate. But she’s still out. And they’re getting restless.
Ash steps forward first. Slow. Measured. His boots make barely a sound against the marble, but I hear them anyway.
He kneels beside her. Touches her shoulder gently, then brushes a knuckle down the side of her face. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something raw in the way he exhales.
She means something to him. Both of them. And for a second, I wonder what they were before her. And who they’ll become after.
Ash moves like a soldier, like a shadow, slipping one arm under her legs and the other beneath her back. He lifts her in one smooth motion, pressing her against his chest like she weighs nothing at all.
I watch him. Watch the way her head lolls against his shoulder, her hand dangling loose, the hem of her black dress brushing against his thigh.
Kellan watches too, then looks at me. Not a glare. But not thanks either. Just understanding.
The kind that comes when neither man will say it out loud, but they know the ground they’re standing on is no longer the same.
“We’re taking her home,” Kellan says finally.
I take a sip of my drink and nod once. “She’ll wake soon.”
“Then she can wake somewhere that doesn’t smell like your brand of poison.”
I chuckle under my breath but say nothing.
“Your gate guy’s fine,” Ash adds without looking at me. “Unconscious. But breathing.”
“I figured,” I murmur. “I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t.”
They don’t wait for a goodbye. They move toward the door, quiet and sharp. Ash carries her out like she’s the last good thing he’s ever going to hold.
Kellan follows, glancing over his shoulder only once. It’s not a threat. Not this time. It’s a warning. That this isn’t over. That no matter how far I let her in… She still belongs tothem.
The door clicks shut behind them. And the silence returns.
But it’s heavier now. The kind that drips down the walls like smoke. The kind that feels like it’s waiting for something. Or someone.
I exhale slowly and move toward the couch, settling into the seat she left behind.
Still warm. Still holding the echo of her presence like she never really left.
My fingers trace the edge of the cushion beside me, mind racing even though my body doesn’t move.
She got to me. And I let her. Let her play her game. Let her think she was winning. Let her close enough to taste control. And I still don’t regret it.
I glance down at the table, at the faint circle her drink left behind. Half-finished. Unrushed. Like she never expected to lose control.
Just like me.
She’ll come back. Not because I ask. Not because I demand. But because shewantsto. Because this isn’t about who ownswho. It’s about who finishes the game. And she knows as well as I do… The last move hasn’t been played yet.
The silence claws at me again. Not the comfortable kind—the cold kind. The kind that sinks into the bones and makes the ice inside crack.
