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Lochlan doesn’t hesitate, stepping into the stream of water with no regard for his clothes. He spins me around and tucks me tight into his chest. His hands that are spread wide on my back curl into fists.
“If he’s not already dead, he’s going to wish he were when I find him.” His words are thick with violent intent.
I realize what he means, what he thinks my tears mean. I step back, and he loosens his arms, allowing space between us. “That’s not it.” I sniffle. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I think I-I’m relieved.”
His brows furrow, the burning need to understand in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know what happened but . . .” My words trip on a fleeting sob. “But I know nothing happened.” He looks at me still in confusion. “If I was— If someone . . . assaulted me, I’d be sore, and I’m not.”
Comprehension then relief floods his face. I lick a drop of water from my upper lip and his eyes drop to the movement. “Thank god.” He pulls me back into him even tighter than before, like he isn’t scared of breaking me anymore. He exhales a heavy sigh, and I let it wash over me, finding solace in his warm, strong body and the knowledge that whatever happened, I survived. I’m alive.
I’m here. In his arms.
And I don’t think there’s anywhere else I want to be.
After a scalding shower, my skin feels rubbed raw. My locs are heavy and wet. The knot in my chest tightens a little more when I recall how delicate he was, gently massaging my scalp and carefully rinsing the product. I’ve seen that boy run a towel once over his hair out of the shower and call it a day, so this level of attention and care surprised me. Though maybe it shouldn’t have.
I dry my hair as much as I can with a cotton T-shirt, but it quickly soaks through. Lochlan holds his hand out. “Sorry, I’m gonna need that too.” I give it one last squeeze then hand it over. He shoves it into the garbage bag with our clothes, towels, and even the bath mat I undressed on.
I watch him work, staying out of his way. He’s so methodical. Practiced. It makes me wonder. “Did you kill him?”
He pours bleach he found in some closet down the shower drain. “No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
Frustration leaks into my tone. “Then how do you know I didn’t kill him?”
He stops what he’s doing and leans against the counter across from where I sit on the edge of the freestanding tub. “Because I know killers, and you’re not one.”
“But I don’t remember—”
“Trust me—”
“But how do you know?” I don’t mean to yell, but it’s eating me up inside. I need to know. He nods like he intuitively understands my desperation.
“You don’t remember anything, right? Not just bits and pieces. The entire night is a blank. When you woke up, were you feeling so tired, you could hardly move and your limbs felt like a thousand pounds?” I nod, my heart pounding harder at the exacting description. “You must have been drugged.”
Somewhere in my brain, I suspected this, but still, the confirmation makes my stomach sink. People don’t roofie others just to tuck them safely into bed.
“This wasn’t an accident.” At first, I think he’s talking about me being drugged, but then he adds, “Or self-defense. That amount of blood, that took effort, strength—you simply wouldn’t have been able to.”
I drum my fingers against the porcelain basin, antsy despite feeling like I could sleep for two straight days. I look Lochlan in the eyes. He meets mine with a calmness I can’t begin to imagine, given the circumstances. I’m grateful for it. “So . . . what now?”
1. Continue playing Voodoo in My Blood by Massive Attack, Young Fathers
2. Continue playing Voodoo in My Blood by Massive Attack, Young Fathers
Chapter 15
What a Way to Go
Lochlan
“It’s not too late to do it my way.” I reach for the gun in my waistband as we walk up to the main office, and Stella’s hand bats mine away.
“Torturing and interrogating guests is not the way I want to announce our new ownership,” she quips, her usual composure and wit beginning to return since earlier this morning. A hot shower really can fix almost anything. I chuckle to myself.
