Page 285 of Chaos Kills

“It’s okay,” I repeat as softly as I can. “Just watch her for me.”

“Alright.” Ellie doesn’t remove her eyes from Ozzy when she saunters away, and I instantly march toward the man who just upheaved my sister and my anxiety.

“What happened?” I quickly solicit, wanting to touch him like a normal person to see if he’s okay, but I’m fully aware he’d hate that. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t say a word, which helps nothing when I’m attempting to piece things together. I fight back the way my voice wants to increase in volume. I don’t think I have a lot of time to spare if I need to cover for him or if something else is terribly wrong.

“Ozzy, please,” I beg. “What happened? Did you get hurt?”

I get a lift of his shoulders, and I can’t believe he’s still gaping at me like he didn’t just bust in here bloody and semi-freaking out.

Again.

“Come on.” I motion with my hand for him to follow me. “Let’s go to my room and get you cleaned up.”

Within seconds, I’m in the bathroom, quickly gathering up supplies and finding my husband patiently waiting for me to finish before trailing behind me and into my bedroom.

I close the door behind us as Ozzy stands in the middle of the space, dropping all the medical products on my mattress and turning around to get to work.

“I’m going to need you to take your shirt off,” I order, feeling a tad weird saying it. “I need to check you.”

Ozzy does what I ask, removing the black material from his body and revealing a slew of black ink all over his flat torso and the rigid muscles of his chest.

Holy fuck.

He’s a silent god. Almost every inch of his flesh is covered in ink and his body is a fortress of lean muscle and mystery.

Now, if we had opened with this the day Emilio said he was my husband, I may have been singing a different tune.

Despite all that, his left side is bleeding, and I try my damndest to shove my attraction for him aside and focus.

Plucking up the hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and gauze, I gesture for him to take the chair by my makeshift vanity.

With precision and some hesitance, Ozzy follows my order and slowly takes a seat. Getting onto my knees, I get between his spread thighs and try not to touch him but where I need to.

“What happened?” I don’t get a response as I soak a dishcloth with peroxide. “You came here for a reason, Oz. What was it?”

“You.”

My heart skips a beat at the sheer simplicity of it.

And I swear I didn’t know that one word could have such an effect on my body.

Maybe it’s him.

Maybe it’s because words don’t come easily, and when he does speak, it means something.

“You’re hurt,” I emit, promptly irritated by the fact. “Who did this?”

More silence and it tests my patience, which is lacking as of late.

I know I said I didn’t want to push him, however, that was before he came here with blood and a wound clipping under his ribs.

“Torin?”

It’s fucked-up that he’s my first thought and worry. That he terrifies me in a way I’ve never been scared in my life.

When Matteo was a constant presence, I could see his moves before he made them. I was always around.

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