Page 44 of When Sinners Fear
“Where’s Wren?”
“Why is that important? At my apartment. Knox, listen to me, I never would’ve gone if I’d known Abel was playing with Logan. I would’ve stayed and–”
“It wasn’t Abel that caused this. It was Mariana taking Naja. Something she did to prove herself because of your fucking attitude towards her.” I hold the countertop, dizzy all of a sudden. “So, you know, wear that blame some more. Think about it.”
“Careful, Knox.” I turn and scowl at him, pissed at the tone he just dropped to make me subservient despite my weakened state. “Go sleep this crap off before you say something you’ll regret.”
“There’s only one thing I regret. It’s nothing to do with you.” It’s to do with a woman who’s sleeping off the pain I delivered to her and about my own worthless fucking conscience regarding that at the moment. “Be careful with your own mouth, Dante, because whoever I was when I went into that cage turned a damn sight more pissed because of it.”
Still, he’s probably right on the sleep front.
Sighing, I walk from the conversation before it turns nastier than it already is. I’m in no state to fight him, anyway. “Don’t go into her room, and don’t fucking touch her,” I mutter. “You hear me? Not one goddamned finger on her. She wakes, you come get me.”
He frowns, but nods.
So, I leave him to his coffee and his food and make my way to my own bed.
~
I’ve sent Dante outside. I might have had a relatively unbroken night of sleep, but mornings and I don’t mix, especially when whatever painkillers the doc gave me aren’t doing shit. By the time I’ve downed more pills, got cleaned and dressed, drunk several coffees and a neat whiskey, and got enough about me to be somewhere near civilised, I go out to tell him it’s time for him to leave.
He looks hurt, for him. “I don’t have to,” he says. “I can stay a while longer.”
My hand braces the doorframe to keep me upright. “No. I need my own space now.”
“Knox–”
“I said no. Get gone. I don’t need you hovering around me like I’m some baby in a crib. Call Mariana and ask her to bring clothes for Peyton in the next hour, and tell Abel I’ll take the rest of the week and then I’ll be back.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and scowls. “Grow the fuck up, Dante. I get it, but call her. She’s your sister and she’s been in a fucking mess since what happened.” No fucking answer to that one. He just keeps glaring. “You pushed her to those extremes, get over yourself and grow a pair. I’m done with fighting in this family.”
The only response I get is him walking off to his car, his face mad as hell and his demeanour about ready to kill me for daring to tell him the truth. Fuck him. Maybe he should try going through what I’ve just been through. Perhaps that might give him some goddamn perspective.
I watch both him and his Mustang peel out of the driveway and through the automatic gates. My gaze scans the vicinity around me after he’s gone, searching and waiting for trouble. There isn’t any to see. It’s just a quiet, cooler day in early November. No threats, no branding, no fucking pain other than what I’m already enduring.
Stepping back inside the house, I listen to the silence and shift my track pants off a burn. Some part of the silence is soothing, and yet another takes me right back to cage bars and nothing but waiting for what comes next. The only thing that’s coming next is Peyton waking up with whatever emotional trauma she’s going to need to talk about. I know that in reality, but everything’s still mixed with what was rather than what now is. Dreams. Nightmares. Existence.
“Deep into darkness peering,” I murmur. “Long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
“Excuse me?” I swing round at her voice, grumbling at the pain that hits my ribs immediately, and stare at her in my shirt still.
“Poe. The Raven. Once upon a midnight dreary.”
She lingers in the doorway, glancing around nervously. “I thought you did math at college.”
I frown at the vision of her clean and looking brighter, feeling strangely daunted by her presence in my space, and turn for the kitchen. “I did. Did you sleep?"
“Not much.” Me either. “Nightmares.”
I nod. “Are you hungry?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Sit down at the table. I’ll make something.”
She moves slowly around the edge of the room. “You?”
“What?”
“You cook? You don't have maids?”