Page 62 of The Hate We Breathe
“He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t know,” I say, the free hand not holding the phone to my ear curling into a fist at my side. Short, blunt nails dig into the flesh of my palm until it aches. “But it’s clear he didn’t even consider Denise and Morpheus involved—he said she couldn’t stand him.”
“She probably knew about the sexual abuse,” Nolan surmises.
My fist clenches tighter. A sharp sting, and then droplets of red liquid are squeezing out around my fingertips. I lift my hand and stare at the moon-shaped split in my skin and the tiny beads of blood that have oozed out.
“If she knew and didn’t do anything about it, then I hope she’s fucking dead.”
“Don’t let Juliet hear you say that,” Nolan barks.
“Why?” My upper lip curls away from my face as I watch one of the beads of crimson slide down my palm towards my wrist.
“Even if you hate your parents, you still want them to give a fuck about you,” he states. “She might act like she doesn’t care, but we know the truth.”
Closing my eyes against the sight of my own blood and anger, I release a slow breath. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll keep searching for the woman.”
“Good.”
I reopen my eyes and drop my hand without bothering to wipe the blood away.
In a cold and measured voice, Nolan brings up the other problem we’ve yet to deal with. “I’ve got an idea about Vargas. I’m working on laying out the groundwork. We’ll deal with him, but for now, you don’t leave her side. Not for a second. You hear me?”
“Yes.” My voice drops, almost a vow. “He’ll regret ever breathing near her.”
We disconnect. The silence that follows feels like it belongs to me and me alone.
Unable to stand it, I drop my cell onto the loveseat and head back to the bedroom. Juliet is right where I left her, curled up on her side with her face illuminated by a beam of moonlight drifting in through the window.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, watching her. Her lips part in sleep, the faintest sound slipping past. Sometimes, I still can’t believe she’s truly here. Not just here, but in my bed and willingly. I always thought we’d end up together—but in a way that I had to force, chaining her in my bedroom, keeping her and feeding her and forcing her to love me as she was always meant to. Perhaps her parents’ failures are my successes.
My thumb traces the curve of her cheek, the slope of her jaw, then drifts lower, hovering over her throat where her pulse flutters, steady and vulnerable. Darrio should’ve never been allowed to get that close to her. Nolan’s right about one thing—he will be taken care of. Sooner rather than later.
After a while of just watching her, I get up and undress before sliding into the bed alongside her, pressing my chest to the hollow of her back until her warmth seeps through the shirts she’s taken to sleeping in. My shirts. My woman. Mine.
Juliet shifts, as if she’s drawn to me as much as I’m drawn to her, and closes the minute space still left between us. My hands go instinctively around her, one at the hollow of her throat where my fingers keep a steady, selfish watch of her thrumming pulse and the other on her lower belly, anchoring her to me. The world shrinks down to the sound of her breath and the hammer of my heartbeat in my ears.
Juliet might think she understands how much I want her, but she doesn’t. She can’t possibly understand how I’d fucking carve my own heart out of my chest for her. Now that I’ve had her, there’s no going back.
She’ll never escape me. I’ll guard her, cage her, ruin anyone who even looks at her wrong. Morpheus. Vargas. And anyone else stupid enough to forget she’s already claimed.
Sleep takes me down into its inky black depths as I listen to the soft thread of her breathing and match it to my own. At first, it’s a dreamless kind of rest with a soft, floaty sensation that comes with restfulness… until it cracks wide open.
Darkness foldsover the room and the bed. Long tendrils of shadows stretch out, capturing my arms and legs and ripping me away from the woman in my arms. My eyes shoot open, butit’s too late. The bed has become a boat cast into a never-ending sea of storms. She remains still and silent, slumbering on.
“Juliet!” The scream I release is captured by a torrent of wind and carried away.
I stand, stumbling as the bed rocks back and forth, nearly casting me into the waters surrounding us. “Juliet!” I try again and again, and it disappears into a soundless void.
Another step and I’m thrown from the bed, my back crashing into ice-cold waters. The liquid morphs into hands, at first dozens, then more—hundreds—grabbing at me as I struggle back towards the surface. They drag me deeper into the dark.
When my feet hit sand and rock, the wall of water surrounding me—choking me—comes crashing down and I find myself standing on a shore of glass and stone. Laughter echoes all around, the sound dried out and raspy.
“Lex!” I whip my head to the side as Juliet’s voice comes through like radio static.
“Juliet!” Her name is a scream so hoarse that it rips through my throat. “Baby, where are you?”
No response. Sweat tickles my spine, sliding down the curve of my back. I crawl towards that first sound. Glass shards stab into my skin. My fingers drag over cliffs as I growl and claw over the shoreline.
Anger and desperation push me further to ignore the pain in my limbs, the blood running white-hot rivers down my legs and arms.
