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My heart beats hard in my chest. The water feels hotter against my skin.
I push my wet hair from my eyes, blinking. My stomach sinks when I take in the blood that covers him.
“He won’t be bothering you anymore, Angel,” Nico growls. “He’s gone.”
He steps forward, Enzo right behind him.
“Y-you’re covered in blood again,” My eyes widen at the sight of them.
Nico has the worst of it. His shirt is splattered with blood. Enzo looks a bit more put together.
I imagine he spent half the time keeping Nico in check as much as doing what he felt was right.
This answers my question of whether or not they do murder or not.
Yet, once again – I don’t feel guilt.
“It’s something you’re going to have to get used to.”
I stay silent as I process that. It’s a big ask. This lifestyle is the opposite of what I want for my life.
Then there’s the heavily implied sentiment of whether I like it or not. I don’t love that.
“What do you mean by gone?” I ask, softly
I know the answer in my heart, but I need to hear it.
“He’s dead, princess,” Enzo answers.
Holy shit.
My knees feel as if they’re going to give out and I steady myself on the wall. Matt is dead.
Maybe this time a part of me is glad. It’s not like the man didn’t deserve it. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s dead because of me. Is that how it is now? What happens tomorrow when they come home like this again?
Nico steps into the water, still dressed, catching me before I fall to the floor, holding me upright, and tight against his hard body.
I shiver, and he holds me tighter still, his fingers brushing the back of my head.
“He’s gone. You’re safe.” He repeats the words like a mantra.
I cling to him and let the tears fall as his words start to set in.
Matt is gone. They killed for me.
“Are you all right, Angel?” Nico asks. One hand cups the back of my head while the other presses into the small of my back.
It takes me a second to respond. “Y-yeah. I think… I think I just need some food.” I hiccup.
“Go get her something,” Nico says at the same time Enzo moves towards the door.
Nico holds me in the water. My chest presses against the bloody stains on his stomach.
I think he realizes it, because he pushes me back and takes the wet shirt off his body, revealing his sculpted abs, and the Italian words tattooed across his chest.
“There,” he says, tossing the shirt aside. “You never have to see him again.”
I see some of the red-brown slip down the drain. The only pieces of Matt left.
