Page 31 of His Innocent Muse

“I’ll smooth it over,” Murder says, patting my shoulder as he leaves.

My phone vibrates again, and I cringe. Completely forgot someone had called.

I press into a corner, pulling the phone free. Mayhem.

Hm. Why is he calling? It’s not hard to understand, ‘drop the food on the counter, make sure she’s okay, and leave.’

I don’t even get a word out before he shouts at me.

"You got jokes today, eh? Send Mayhem for Thai food, get him all fuckered in the head about havin’ to deal with someone else’s girl, and she isn’t even here."

Anger pricks my neck, mind spinning with a million hazy scenarios. “What are you talking about? Look in the bathroom, she’s probably—”

"Ah, uh uh, no. I checked your whole spotless loft. If I hadn’t seen you bring the chicklet in myself, I’d think you dumped her body somewhere. She’s not fucking here, boss.”

All the low murmured voices and machinery hum are drowned out by the white-noise buzzing in my head.

She left. How? When? I would ask why, but I think that’s fairly obvious. She must have realized, somehow, that I’m far more horrible than she first thought.

It shouldn’t be such a punch in the gut, but it is.

I’d been looking forward to seeing her again, despite all my efforts not to, and now she’s—

“Dumb girl’s probably thumbing a ride from a four-toothed cabbie. What do you want to do?”

The white noise stops, my breath sawing through panicked lungs. He’s wrong. It’s probably far, far worse than that.

She’s so innocent, so moldable. There are terrible fucking people on the streets of New York. I should know, I’m one of them. And even though she’s a fighter in her blood, a survivor, she’s wired to give in. To protect herself by compliance. Imagining her giving that brilliant submission to some shit-worthless Dom in a low-rent club, or forced to offer her body to a gang to save her own life is almost worse than death. Or if she does survive, if she goes back to society in some fashion, she’ll end up dating someone who doesn’t understand what she needs, so she’s forced to live an empty existence, I—

No. Absolutely not.

It hurt bad enough to know others had touched her before, because no one else deserves her. The thought of my Lucy on her knees for anyone but me squeezes my heart so tight I see black.

“‘Kay, this was an illuminatin’ conversation, as usual. I’m coming down.”

The call disconnects, but I squeeze the phone. If she’s been gone since this morning, she could be in any number of places by now. What if…she could already be dead.

Vicious lighting skitters through my bloodstream, stealing the last of my air.

No. No, she’s not. I didn’t fail again. I’ll find her.

I’m alive with unspent energy, like I’ve been asleep for years and someone hit me with a taser. When Mayhem comes storming through the door, I spin to face him.

He stops mid stride, eyes widening as he mutters, “Haven’t seen that look in a damn long time.”

Murder steps beside him, brows bunched before they lift to his hairline. “What the hell happened?”

I adjust my cufflinks. “Lucy has made a grave miscalculation. Mayhem, take your car and head back toward the bridge where this all started. Murder, make sure this place runs as if I’m here, and watch the door. If she comes back, sit on her if you have to, but she doesn’t leave your sight.”

“You got it,” Murder breathes, a slight hook on his lip.

“I’ll look in the opposite direction. Phones on, call me if you see anything. This night doesn’t end until she’s where she belongs.”

“Hell yeah, it’s about time you got back, boss.” Mayhem gives Murder a smug side-long glance. “Time to crack some skulls.” He punches the frame and whoops before he books it back through the door.

I stalk after him toward my car, a deep, powerful calm settling in my chest despite the underlying turmoil.

Things are reordering inside me. This is much more normal. The ball of vicious possessiveness Lucy clawed my skin apart to uncover is now left exposed because she’s gone. It’s what I’ve been missing, a claim. I let my old loss control me, mutate me. But now the frazzled, disjointed version of me is dying away, and I’m returning to the man I once was.

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