Page 9 of Dark Angel

"Thanks," I manage, and hate myself a little for the struggle it takes to spit out one simple word of gratitude. He's my rescuer, right? And yet, I can't shake the niggling thoughts of what he can offer me. What I can wring out of him. As if he's the one who should be grateful.

His impatience rustles the air, tugging on those yet-to-be-defined strings within me. "So, you're going to tell me about how you got involved in The Game." He uses the code name for the Viper’s trafficking ring.

I pull a slow drag from the vaporizer, letting the aromatic haze dilute the storm in my mind. The raw edges of my thoughts smooth out, malleable yet still guarded. How much do I dare share? The guy's like a predator eyeing his prey, a stuffed toy in jaws ready to tear it apart. But I'm no stuffed toy. And he's about to find out how many layers I've got.

Taking a huge breath, I relive the horror of that night and swallow down tears I've never been able to shed. “ES sold my little sister and me to some guy he owed big time. That guy sold us to Viper. Viper kept us drugged while shipping us around from motel to motel—until we eventually forgot who we were and what day it was. Summer was a virgin, but ES hadn't spared me his abuse. I was the oldest and not his biological kid, so he convinced himself that fucking me was his right.”

I’m jumping all over the place but I need to tell the story in my own way—life's never given me the courtesy of a straight line. Jaden says nothing but something inside that connection between us pushes me to continue.

“When he crawled into bed with me one night, holding me down while he pumped away all the while telling me how much I wanted it, something inside of me snapped. In the morning, I held a butcher knife to his throat and threatened to kill him if he ever touched me or Summer again. This led to months of abuse, probably lighting the fuse that led to him selling us.”

Inhale. The smoke burns a path down my throat, a brief fire that both numbs and awakens. Exhale. My eyes stay locked with Jaden's. He's a goddamn mystery, this man—those eyes, like dark tunnels leading to something I can't quite grasp, won't quite let me look away.

Jaden's legs are crossed at the ankles, a study in casual poise, but something about the way he holds his gaze mesmerizes me. It's as if he's dissecting my words, looking for more than just the tale. "You think I should've done the world a favor and offed ES, don't you?"

Sucking the vapor deeper into my lungs, I let it cloud my mind just enough to dull the edge of my emotions. Then I focus on the smoky exhale, each particle carrying away fragments of my composure. "Let's talk about Summer instead." There's a heaviness in my words, a sediment of sorrow settling in the corners of my mind. "She had her own ways of coping. Her drug of choice? Cocaine." I fight to keep the tremor out of my voice, as if saying it aloud could make it all too real again. Another pull from the vaporizer steadies my shaking hands, at least for now.

Jaden's voice slides into the fringes of my thoughts, velvet over gravel. "And how did you cope?" That sympathy in his gaze cuts through me. I don't need his pity.

I rip another drag from the vaporizer, let the burn etch away the disgust I feel for his unspoken compassion. "The drugs? They tried, sure. But it didn't work. Call it a genetic defect or cosmic bad luck. Drugs don’t work on me the way they do on most people." My hands rise in a half-surrender, half-defiance as my eyes nail him with a challenge. "Your turn."

He leans in, elbows on knees, every line of his body like a chord of suspense, resonating in the space between us. He's like an unsung melody, a pending storm. The tension builds; I can almost hear the notes forming, feel the charged air on my skin. And yet, he stays silent, his eyes locked onto mine—a duel where the first to look away concedes. But neither of us is willing to yield, not yet.

And so, we sit in that dense, almost distinct silence, two souls stubbornly circling the truth, each daring the other to dive first. . .

5

JADEN

Rayne sinks into the couch, a look of detachment clouding her features. An unease coils in my gut, leaving me to wonder if it’s a reaction to the drugs she's taken. My thoughts dart to darker places, seething at the thought of her stepfather or anyone else causing her pain. The swell of emotion puts me on edge, challenging my self-control. Just then, her voice slices through my turmoil.

"What do you know about Viper?"

I keep my reply curt, my frustration barely masked. "Not enough. That's why I need you."

Her fingers work a knot in her shoulder as she gazes out the window. It takes every shred of willpower not to close the distance between us, to offer her protection or solace. I'm usually a vault—steel walls and a lock without a key. Emotions? Kept in check, out of sight. But when it comes to Rayne, my usual defenses are failing.

"How long have you been hunting him?" Her voice carries a touch of impatience.

"Six weeks.”

Her probing questions are a distraction, shifting my focus from the mission—protecting her at all costs. She doesn't get it, can't see past the surface. Not that she should. Trust is a long game, and I need to be patient.

Rayne shifts, hands cradling her stomach. Sharp stabbing pain shoots through me . . . but it’s not mine. Closing the gap between us takes an eternity of seconds. My fingers touch her pulse, and her soft whimper confirms my suspicions.

"What's wrong?" I can't keep the worry out of my voice. Her pulse is off, uneven, and it sets alarm bells ringing in my head. I crouch beside her, an unwanted flashback of Savannah flooding my mind. I can't go through that again.

"Where does it hurt?" I can't pin down the cause of her distress, and it gnaws at me. “I can’t help unless I examine you.”

Her body tenses, a hiss slipping past her lips. Whatever's wrong, she's not letting on. My powers should've picked up on this. Should have warned me she's not okay. But I didn't want to push, didn't want to scare her off. What a fine line to walk—between intrusion and concern. I can't help but think of the scars that the world has likely etched on her, scars I can't see but feel, as if they resonate with some hidden part of me.

Rayne shoots me a suspicious gaze before curling over in pain once more. "Okay, go ahead." She finally relents.

With utmost care, I lift her, cradling her weight as gently as possible, and settle her onto the couch. Her chest rises and falls with each labored breath, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. Biting back my fear, I ease under her shirt, my touch tender as I press against her abdomen and back. My fingers cautiously reach her right kidney, and a grimace of pain crosses her face, but she remains stoic.

"How bad is the pain on?—"

"A scale of one to ten. I know the drill," she interrupts, her voice strained yet determined. "Nine." She draws her legs closer to her stomach, hissing through her teeth. "Don't worry. It will pass soon."

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