Page 26 of Destroy (Deadly Hearts 2)

ChapterTwelve

Ruby

Layton steps forward and gently pushes me off the pillows as I struggle to take my next breath.

Panic attack.

I know these well. I thought I had gotten rid of them years ago, but apparently, they were just dormant, lying-in wait for the opportunity to make a comeback.

Layton rubs my back and murmurs words that I can’t hear through the roaring of blood in my ears. The more I can’t breathe, the worse it becomes. I panic through the panic attack, flailing my arms about as all the air leaves my lungs and there is none to inhale.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Layton whispers. “We’ve got you.”

“T-tell me,’ I gasp, whacking Declan on the head as I try to grab him, but I’ve lost all ability to control my limbs. “T-ell me…he-he’s d-dead,” I splutter.

“He is very dead, Princess,” Declan says grimly. “I shot him in the head and burned his body.”

“Again,” I pant as the air I need to breathe suddenly reappears in minute doses. My breathing is ragged. I’m still struggling. I feel sick and lightheaded, but I’m coming back.

“I shot out both of his knees and then shot him in the head before I burned his body,” he says, leaning in closer to me. “He is dead, Princess. I killed him and he can never hurt you again.”

“Again,” I rasp.

He repeats it over and over again until I feel myself able to draw air into my lungs properly. I nod erratically, taking it in. Accepting it. He wouldn’t lie to me. I trust him.

“Promise me,” I whisper.

He takes my hand and links our fingers together. “I promise you, Princess. He is gone. He can never hurt you again.”

I close my eyes and moan, hating this weakness, this vulnerability. But I can’t stop it. Tears well up and pour out of my eyes. I turn into Layton’s chest, and he wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair and kissing my head.

“Let it all out, sweetheart,” he says. “We are all here for you.”

My body, wracked with my sobbing, hurts. I’ve pulled my stitches and I know I’m bleeding, but I don’t care. I need to cry. I need to have this night to be vulnerable, to ask for reassurance, to be weak. Tomorrow, I won’t let this affect me ever again. I don’t want it to. I hate this feeling. Tomorrow, I’m going to push it aside, bury it deep, chain it up and let it keep my other demons company. Tomorrow, this ends.

But tonight, I need to cry.

I quieten down at some point. I have no idea how long it took me. But Michelle is here now and pulling me gently away from my big, comforting man and helping me lay down so she can examine the damage I’ve done to my stitches. Her ripping the bandage off is the worst part. I moan and go lightheaded, even more so if that’s possible, but then I just feel nothing. That area is numb, and I curse.

“Damn you. I said no needles,” I hiss.

“Tough,” she replies. “You can pretend to be the big bad all you like out there, but in here you are my bitch, and you do as I say. Got it?”

“Uhm,” I murmur, only slightly surprised by her attitude. I mean she is a crooked doctor; she has to have some balls. “What do you mean pretend?” I ask, insulted.

David snickers, but then goes pale when he looks at the wound and Michelle re-sewing it up.

“It’s not that bad,” she says. “These are dissolvable so the first lot should be gone in a couple of days. Take it easy, Ruby. Please. Your body has been through a lot.”

I nod and feel bad for making her do more work on me. Then I remember how much her monthly retainer is for shit like this, and the guilt dissipates.

She finishes up and replaces the sticky bandage. “You can take that off in about three days' time, or I can come back and do it.”

“We won’t be here,” I mutter. “I can handle it.”

She narrows her eyes. “You shouldn’t travel…”

“Save it,” I snap. “We can’t stay here. I can’t stay here. We’re going, end of story.”

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