Page 68 of Made in Malice

“I’m leaving,” I blurt out the words in a rush. I’m surrendering. I can’t do this anymore. I just want to go home where I know what to expect and I can think clearly. It’s like as soon as the words are out in the open, they take flight in my mind, and I have something to hold onto. “I’m leaving, okay?” This time I say it softer. “I’ll go somewhere they can’t find me, and everything will go back the way it was.” There’s a pleading note in my voice that hurts to hear, but I’m not going to pretend it’s anything else.

“Is everything okay here?” a guy asks, startling me because I had no idea anyone was around.

“Yes, it’s fine,” I say quickly, not wanting to set Lucian off on him.

“Do you need help?” He keeps trying, and any other time, I might be grateful, but right now, I just want him to leave. Lucian is just staring at me with an intensity that surprises me.

“No, please, just go. I’m fine,” I tell the man again, but I’m sure he can tell I’m not. I’m a long way from fine.

LUCIAN

It’s only luck that allows me to see her leaving the bar hours before her shift is supposed to end. I have to jog across the sand to make it to her before she leaves, and I only made it then because it was like she was waiting for something.

“You should really lock your doors,” I tell her with all sincerity. What if someone other than me got into her car with her?

“Get out.” She breathes fire into the words, and it lights something up inside me.

“No.”

I feel her staring daggers at the side of my face, but I can’t look her in the eye because all I see is her sitting in the sand, staring up at me in pain and shock. I didn’t mean to push her, I didn’t mean for her to fall, but it happened, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more than I did in that moment.

When I tripped her by grabbing her leg, I convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault because I was drunk and all kinds of other shit, but the truth is I was careless. My dad would have beaten me to a pulp. I almost wish he could, because maybe then I would feel better.

“Fine,” she says and gets out of the SUV, practically running away from me. When I catch up to her, I circle her wrist, and she screams in pain as she spins to release the pressure on her arm. Her eyes are all watery, and her chin is quivering, but no tears fall.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” she denies, but she’s holding her arm up to her chest.

“Fuck you. You’re lying.”

She winces at my words and cries, “I’m leaving.” I try to make sense of what she means, but I can’t. “I’m leaving, okay? I’ll go somewhere they can’t find me, and everything will go back to the way it was,” she appeals, and I realize I’ve taken something from her. I’ve stolen her fight, that thing that makes her who she is. I think about the day she showed up here in ratty clothes that no one on this island would be caught dead in, but she held her head high, as if nothing and no one else mattered.

“Is everything okay here?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” She’s watching me and the older guy a few feet away as if she’s not sure what I’m going to do.

“Do you need help?”

“No, please, just go. I’m fine,” she reassures the guy I couldn’t give a fuck about.

“You’re not leaving, lamb. There is nowhere you could go to hide from me,” I tell her.

“I’m going to call the cops, buddy.”

“Just leave!” She turns and yells at the guy, and I see a glimmer of hope. That fire is still there, hidden under her pain and sadness.

“I’m sorry,” I confess, but the words feel like glass in my throat. It’s not that I don’t mean them, it’s just that I know apologies aren’t worth shit. Actions speak louder than words.

My lamb snaps her head around to look at me again. Her eyes are slits of suspicion. There’s something else under all that hurt, but I can’t name it, yet.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. I won’t let you fall again.”

“Nox? No, no. I know it’s you.” She shakes her head in disbelief. I’m not going to lie, that one bothers me a little. It’s clearly much easier for her to believe Nox would come here and apologize for me than it is for her to believe it’s me. I can’t blame her. I don’t know if I’ve ever uttered the word to anyone outside my family before, let alone meant it.

“He won’t change, young lady, and it sounds like next time he might really hurt you,” the guy warns. I would like to hurt him for opening his mouth, but he continues, “You should get away from him while you can. There are places that can help you.” He delivers the last part while walking away. I suppose he thinks he’s done his duty. I’m just glad he left before I had to shut him up.

“You’re not leaving. I won’t let you.”

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