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Liam stares at him, anger breaking through his composure. Guns aren’t allowed in the chamber out of some sense of respectability.
“She got her answers,” Patrick says calmly. “He wasn’t going to say anything else. He killed our brother, Asher. He needed to die.”
Then he looks at me, daring me to challenge him.
“Edwin,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know I’m right. You would have killed him too if you hadn’t gone soft.”
He turns to the room, facing the dozen or so members in here.
“I am a man of conviction. I do what needs to be done, without mercy. Are we all in agreement that justice was served?”
A chorus of agreement rises from the few men who care.
Patrick stands over the corpse as if he’s done something noble.
“I’ll call Sandra.”
He leaves with his lackeys, already moving on from the trauma he caused.
Zaiya doesn’t breathe right. She doesn’t blink. Her eyes are too wide, fixed on nothing.
I pull off my shirt and wipe the blood from her face. My hands are steady even as I imagine tearing Patrick limb from limb.
“Go,” Reese says quietly. “We’ll take care of this.”
I don’t argue.
I lift her, wrap her in what remains of my warmth, and get her out of that room before it can take any more of her.
CHAPTER 34
EDWIN
The hotel is quieter now. Almost silent as the sun rises. I carry Zaiya back to the suite. Damp hair clings where the spray caught her, dark strands painted against her cheek. Her eyes are blank, trapped in what she’ll never unsee.
The room is too pristine for what we bring into it. A stage set for pleasure when she has a man’s blood drying on her skin.
I put her down as if she’s made of glass. She hasn’t said a word, and I don’t expect her to.
Taking her hand, I lead her into the bathroom and help her out of her blood-splattered clothes.
She’s still in shock. A shell in place of my angel.
She needed to learn, but not like that.
I take her gently by the shoulders, trying to bring her back to me.
“It’s over,” I tell her. “You’re safe. I’m here with you.”
She’s holding herself behind a wall, shutting the world out. Her eyes flick to me, vacant in the way a garden feels after the first hard frost.
The warmth is gone.
I turn on the shower, letting steam fog the glass. Zaiya steps beneath the spray, and it’s like watching a painting bleed. Red ribbons slide down her skin, trace the curve of her legs, and disappear into the drain. She stands there with her arms hanging at her sides, and the water does the work.
My teeth clench so hard they might crack. Patrick continues to rack up reasons to kill him. I want to break every rule the Council pretends is sacred.
But Zaiya needs me.
