Page 565 of Hell Hath No Fury
Beth
Consciousness slaps over me like a bucket of ice water, yet cold is the last thing I feel. Skin flushed, sweat prickles behind my knees and in the crook of my elbows, my heart racing a mile a minute. I lift a knee and kick the comforter off, seeking the cool air of the room to wash away the panic.
“Aye, love.” Murphy rises from his position seated near the door. “You’re okay.”
It wasn’t a dream. His presence here in Crackers’ room tells me that the tiny hope my panicked heart held that I woke from a fucking nightmare is nothing but a pipe dream.
Heather’s dead.
“Where is she?” I ask, my voice raspy from a dry throat.
“Dagne’s in the shower,” he says.
“No. Not Dagne.” I rearrange myself on the bed so that I sit cross-legged, shifting off the sweat-soaked sheets. “Heather.”
“Ah.” He crosses the room and settles at the foot of the bed. “She’s taken care of.”
“How?”
“She’ll have a proper service. The memorial she deserves,” he assures me with the same kind eyes that convinced me this is where I could make my home over a year ago. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about the details. Just know she’s being respected, now.”
Now.Exactly. The woman had to die to get the fucking respect she deserved.
The thought twists my stomach in a knot. Is that what it’ll take for me to lose the labels that hang over my head every day?
Fuck.
“I think I better take a shower,” I say, diverting the subject. “You don’t have to stick around.”
Murphy’s lips tilt up in a half-smile. “Sorry, Beth. Pres’s orders. I’ll wait out in the hall, but I’ve got to keep an eye on you two girlies.”
“How is she?” My gaze flickers to the door over his shoulder. “Dagne?”
“Making do.” He shrugs. “She seems angry more than anything else, but we all mask shock in different ways.”
I study the man before me: the scruff of his short beard over tanned skin, wrinkled eyes, and scarred cheek. This life isn’t easy for any of us. “You must think we’re so fragile,” I say with a huffed laugh. “After all you’ve probably seen.”
“Aye.” He lifts his head and settles a soft smile across his lips. “But that’s why we’re here doing this, Beth.” He reaches out and takes one of my hands in his. “Us old boys know what seeing the truth does to a man—or a woman, for that matter—and we don’t want that for you.” He squeezes my palm. “It’s why we keep you lovelies out of club business. Not because we think you can’t handle it, but because you shouldn’t have to.”
His image blurs, my eyes burning as I blink away the effects of his love. These guys are a precious commodity in a world where most darkness loses its balance with the light.
“Um. Where’s Crackers?” I tuck my hands into my lap when Murphy rises from the bed. “Are they meeting about Digits?” I frown as I make the connection. “Why aren’t you there if they are?” Murphy’s an officer—he should be present.
“It’s just Pres and Crackers for now.” He gives a nod. “You get in that shower and let the water ease your muscles, Beth. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
I sit on the bed a solid ten minutes after he repositions himself outside the door, mustering the courage to face the mirror in the bathroom. Locks of my blonde hair sit matted on my shoulders; the dry lengths catch each time I turn my head. I don’t need a looking glass to know what keeps the strands from separating.Her. Heather is still in my hair, her death locked in time until I wash away the evidence.
You’ve got this, Beth.
I escaped my family and made a new life here—I can take a fucking shower. All I need to do is avoid looking at the water, right? Can’t be that hard.
One leg after the other, I slide them off the side of the bed and rise on shaky limbs. I’ve spent enough time in this room over the years, but it strikes me how different it feels to risealone. There’s no softly snoring Crackers in bed, spent after a night manipulating my body. No expectation that I’m gone before the sun comes up. No regret that it’s the only way we can be.
This time, I’m a different kind of guest.
The kind I wish to be. Welcome.
I pad softly across the cold floorboards toward his dresser. A simple timber construction, there’s nothing on the top. No trinkets, no belt or lighter. It’s as though he hides everything about himself physically as well as mentally.
