Page 68 of No Control

It doesn’t matter why she had my gun. I’m just glad she did.

Robotically, she helps me remove the rest of her clothes, which I slide across the floor to a pile. They’ll have to be burned, probably, but that’s a task for another day. Whoever that fucker was that attacked us, failed his hit—but died before I could get any information.

If he had any.

I swallow hard, trying not to be aroused by the blood covering her body. She’s a boss, and I’m proud of her. But I also know how tender this moment is. Killing someone for the first time is traumatizing—much more so than just shooting at some asshole’s feet. I help her into the shower, grabbing the wand and rinsing her off.

She winces as I cross the gashes on her arms, and the blood on her knuckles.

“You put up a hell of a fight,” I murmur, as she flattens her palm against mine. “You did good, darling.”

Her eyes flicker up to mine, searching, aching, as she lets me see her most vulnerable. “I shot at him.”

“I know.”

“No, I shot at him…Before I came here.”

“Your ex?” I refuse to say the dipshit’s name, no matter what.

“They’re going to think I did it,” her words come out heavy. “They’re going to think I had something to do with his disappearance. Both of them.”

I release her hand, pressing both of my palms against her cheeks. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Lydia. You protected yourself, and it resulted in that asshole having to bite the bullet. What you did for him was a favor to him.”

Her bottom lip quivers. “How?”

“Because I would’ve made every breath he took until his death more painful than the last. I’d have made him beg for me to end it.” I exhale and then brush my lips across the bridge of her nose. “I’ll never let this happen again.”

I’ll never let this happen again. I’ve said the words before. I’ve made the promise. And I upheld it. I still am. My sister is safe, and she always will be as long as I’m alive.

I focus on washing the blood from her hair, and when I finish, I help her out and to the bath. She leans against me, her breaths shallow but steady. She’s sore, I’m sure, but the most damage is the kind I can’t easily see—or fix.

“Get in with me.” Her words are in a near whisper as she tilts her head back, her eyes locking with mine.

“I can’t,” I tell her, disappointment thrumming through my body. “I have to go make sure Jude is coming to.”

Her eyes widen. “Is he okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, he took a pretty good blow to the back of the head.” And might get a second for not stopping this from happening.

Lydia sighs, and I help her into the warm water. As she slides down, her body visibly relaxes. It’s a small win for such a bad fucking night. I lean over, kiss the top of her head, and then slip off for the bathroom door.

“Henry,” she calls after me, her voice stronger than before.

I gaze back at her. “Yeah?”

“What do you really do for work?”

I look her dead in the eyes, and then exhale sharply. “I kill people, Lydia.”

She stares at me for a few beats—and then bobs her head slowly. “That…That makes sense.” Lydia pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them, ripping her eyes away from me and staring at the white wall. Her emerald irises grow distant, and my stomach feels sick.

If she can’t handle this small dose of truth, then the rest will leave her in ashes. I knew I might break her, but I didn’t want to annihilate her.

“Would you…” Her voice comes out like a mouse squeak. I spin around, preparing to answer another hard question, but she continues. “…get me a towel?”

I swallow the lump in my throat, and head for the black cabinets, pulling out a fresh towel for her. “I can warm it for you.”

She shakes her head, avoiding my gaze.

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