Page 112 of Trapped Truth

“Blaine,” I groan. “Come on.”

“Leave me alone, Ember.”

“Not a chance in hell. Let’s clean you up so we can both get some shut eye.”

This time, he reluctantly clasps my hand, allowing me to yank him upright. Axel and Gunnar trade quiet whispers as I push Blaine towards the hallway that leads to our bedrooms. Neither stops us from retreating.

Blaine grumbles to himself while entering my dark bedroom. I flip lights on so he can find a clear path to the en suite. Inside, he ducks over the sink to repeatedly splash water on his face.

“Let me see.” I inch closer.

“He barely touched me.”

“Then let me check.”

Chuntering, Blaine turns so I can get a better look at his features. The cut above his eyebrow isn’t too deep, sitting an inch or so from the beginning of his winding facial scar. Still, I grab the first aid kit Warner stowed in here to dig out antiseptic.

“I can take care of myself, sweetheart.”

“But you don’t have to.” I point to the closed toilet seat. “Sit.”

He has the good sense not to argue with me. Plonking himself down, Blaine visibly deflates, tilting his chin up for my benefit. I place my supplies on the edge of the sink then shuffle over to commence cleaning the wound.

“Tell me how you got this scar. I know Raye stitched it.”

“Poorly.” Blaine briefly closes his eyes, a heavy exhale hurtling from his nose.

“You must’ve been young.”

“Fifteen or sixteen, I think. Raye hadn’t long joined our crew. Her father was high-ranking, but he got killed by a rival drug trafficker.”

Lips pursed, I focus on blotting the graze to halt the blood flow.

“I fucked up a delivery run.” Blaine’s revelation is emotionless. “Got jumped on the road, and a bunch of product was stolen. It was my first big solo outing, and my father had high expectations.”

“Even for a teenager?”

“I was never a child to him.”

Now that I can believe.

“I’d gotten used to his beatings.” He shrugs, gaze growing faraway. “Just never expected him to lose control and throw a fucking knife at me.”

“A knife?” I gasp.

“Like I said… I didn’t mean a whole lot to him. It took being sliced from ear to chin for me to finally realise that and begin gathering allies beyond his sphere of influence.”

“Jesus, Blaine.”

“One of those people was Raye.” He allows a jagged spike of pain to infiltrate his tone. “She helped me in the aftermath, but we were young. Her stitches were sloppy as hell.”

The prospect of two teenagers caught in an adult’s world and finding some safety in each other only adds to my confusing maelstrom of emotions. Madden didn’t just strike randomly. This attack was meant to deal a killer blow against his son. Perhaps even to incite his surrender.

With the antiseptic cream applied, I kneel to meet Blaine’s empty stare. Only it’s not so careful and considered now. Writhing flecks of navy compete against the matte-black surface of his obsidians, carrying great tides of grief.

“We will hit him back twice as hard,” I vow, squeezing his knee. “And this time, he won’t get back up.”

“I’m tired, Em. I want this war over.”