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Dante pushes past him, slamming his other shoulder into Grant as we pass. I lift my head, and Grant's dark gaze tracks us until Dante slips around the corner. Trotting down the stairs, my stomach slams into his hard shoulder, and I'm definitely in danger of throwing up now.
"Dante, you have to put me down," I wheeze, and he digs his fingers into my flesh.
"Just a little farther. Don't piss on me," he mutters.
"What the hell. I'm more likely to puke on you, not pee. Though now that you mention it…"
He slides me from his shoulder, and my legs almost give out. A group of men pass, their raucouslaughter booming through the air. Dante grabs my wrist, pulling me behind his body. I stumble after him, only pretending a little. My legs are barely holding me up. He stalks into a room, kicking the door shut behind us.
He spins to face me, trapping me against the wood with his arms. I tense, not able to school my face into anything other than shock. Narrowing his eyes, he leans in close.
"Start talking."
Eleven
Dante
I don't like that she's cowering, still looking a little green. If she throws up, I might, too. It's one of those flaws I was never able to get under control, much to my father’s dismay. I need answers, though. She's hiding shit from me, and I hate having to deal with others to find out what's happening with her.
"I don't know what you want me to say," she whispers.
"I leave for five fucking days and you've got nothing for me?" I snarl.
Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut as her eyes skip away from mine. I want her to look at me, but I'm afraid I'm too wired and I might hurt her. She clearly has injuries she hasn’t revealed to me. Our relationship is precarious enough as it is. If I put my hands on her, I might never let go.
"I told you before, I'm not joining your crusade," she spits out.
"What the fuck, Aelia. That's not what I'm talking about."
"Well, you're demanding answers but not actually asking any questions, so I don't know what the hell you want from me." Her hands curl into fists, and her eyes snap to mine, glaring.
I drop my head and sigh. After all the shit I've seen the last week, I'm tapped out. I don't blame Aelia for checking out and hiding behind a blank mask. It's the only way she knows how to survive. Doesn't change the fact that I need her help if I'm going to get anywhere with dismantling the Guild.Tipping my head up, I lean my forehead against hers.
"What's Grant been doing to you?" I whisper.
"Oh," she breathes, closing her eyes.
I suspected before, but her reaction is all the confirmation I need. He's been beating her, maybe more. I'm going to kill him, torture him slowly by replicating every injury he's ever inflicted upon her. Telling her that would be a mistake, though. I don't want her to think I'm as much of a monster as the men who have terrorized her for years. At least not right now. She'll find out soon enough, which will always be before I want. I'd rather she never discover the dark marks on my soul.
"It's nothing more than usual."
I push off the door, pacing around the bedroom. It's the same one we came to just a couple weeks before, when she was afraid of me. And here I am, terrorizing her again.
"That doesn't make it any better," I say.
"Well, that's my reality. So if you're going to freak out every time something like this happens, maybe you should pick someone else."
"No."
"No? No?" Her voice ticks up until she's practically yelling. "What the hell do you mean, no?"
"I mean no. I picked you for a reason."
"Because of the information I can feed you? Fine. I'll tell you everything I've learned over the last seven fucking years. Settle in, because it's a fuck ton, so we'll be here a while. Then you can go along your merry way and leave me alone."Her voice breaks on the last word, as if the thought of me leaving is physically painful.
She marches over to the bed, plopping down, then propping herself against the headboard. Raising an eyebrow, she crosses her arms, and I sigh. Part of me screams to take her up on the offer—at least the first part. There's another part of me, a louder voice drowning out everything else.
I sit next to her, running my hands along the comforter, then think better of it and rest my palm on my leg. Who knows what kind of shit is in this fabric.
