AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ruin cleared his throat. “What are you looking at?” He peered over his shoulder but couldn’t see or sense Fane.
“Nothing.” I shook my head and tucked unruly strands of hair from my face. “I’m just drunk.”
The demon lord turned back to me. He knew something more than the alcohol was affecting me, but he didn’t press it. “It’s been a long night. Perhaps I should escort you to your room.”
“Yeah. I’m tired.” Suddenly, I was exhausted. “I should get some sleep.”
Ruin didn’t seem angry that I’d abruptly stopped our lust-filled session. “Maybe we can pick this up another time.”
I smiled and hopped off the counter, averting my stare to the white tiles. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but part of me was glad Fane interrupted us. I wasn’t sure I could handle the consequences of letting Ruin Bacchus take me to bed.
* * *
I slammedmy fist into the punching bag repeatedly, trying to pulverize the guilt eating away at me for my most recent offences. Ruin assured me the shifter—Brant—was fine. Nadia healed him, and he returned to his pack safe and sound. He didn’t even remember breaking into Ruin’s or what had caused him to go feral.
Of course, the demon lord himself was causing me a mountain of unease. How could I have nearly slept with him last week because I wanted to wash Fane and his betrayal from my system? Turning to another nightworlder, especially the high demon lord, to make me feel better would be a monumental mistake.
A demon of all creatures.
A demon killed my friends and ripped Jayla from this world. How could I have even considered sleeping with him? Kissing him was bad enough.
The chains that connected the bag to the ceiling rattled as I pummeled it, and sweat trickled down my temple. Ruin installed the punching bag after I complained about needing exercise.
Really, I needed an outlet for all the rage bubbling inside me. And the darkness.
Being able to help Ruin create the manufactured souls dulled some of my guilt and pain, but nothing I did would bring Jayla back. She deserved so much better than what life handed her. I should have protected her.
Or I should have let her go when I had the chance. She wasn’t a freak like me, so maybe she would have found a good home. It could happen. Jayla would still be alive and perhaps even happy.
A few days after I killed Griffin in that underground fight, I started to believe I wasn’t the best person to take care of Jayla. So when the cops and a social worker came looking for her, I almost let her go…
I pressedJayla into the brick wall of the warehouse we made our home as footsteps echoed, the clomp of boots mixed with heels. There were two of them, probably from different government agencies.
Jayla tugged on my faux leather jacket. She’d grown recently, and soon she’d be taller than me. “Shouldn’t we run?”
“They’ll hear us, and if one of them is a cop, they’ll chase after us.” I scooted down the wall and peered around the corner at the middle-aged white man in a black cop uniform and a woman in slacks and a tailored jacket.
A cop and a social worker.
My lips pursed as Diane Torres walked next to the unfamiliar officer, her brunette hair swept into a fancy updo. She was young and fiery, still hopeful that she could place every needy, abandoned child with a wonderful family. Diane did her homework and really screened the foster families. She also checked in with her charges often.
Diane was one of the good ones.
By the time she’d gotten to me, I was a lost cause. There was no way in hell I’d trust any family again. If they were good, they’d toss me out like the others had anyway.
My gaze slid over to the little thirteen-year-old who stared at me with so much trust it hurt.
She believed I’d always keep her safe.
But I was no good. I’d done terrible things, killed even. My past would return to haunt me one day, and she could pay the price.
I licked my lips and slid back to Jayla’s side. “Maybe you should go with them, Jayla Bear.”
Her jaw dropped. “N-No.”
“She’s a good social worker.” I twirled one of her ebony curls around my finger as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Diane could find you a real home. Asafehome.”
She shook her head as tears welled in her big brown eyes. “Wherever you are, that’s my home. I’m safest with you, Tate.” She gripped my jacket, her chest heaving as she tried to keep her sobs quiet. “You told me foster homes were bad, and I don’t want to go.”
