Page 7 of King of Ruin

His raspy voice deepens, “yes.”

The distinct taste of copper coats my tongue, prompting me to let go of the inside of my lip I must have bitten down on. Before he lets me form a response, he tugs on my wrist to spin me, one of his heavy hands finding the small of my back to guide me to the sink.

I watch quietly as he turns on the faucet, and finds a small first aid kit and a fresh hand towel in the cabinet underneath. He slowly cleans my hand before pouring antiseptic wash over the busted skin. Lifting my hand to the light, he examines his work before drying the surrounding skin and wrapping it in gauze.

He tears the little white tape with his teeth and secures it. When I think he’s done, he presses a soft kiss over my knuckles and lowers my hand slowly.

On all the occasions in which the twins nursed my wounds after training with my uncle, never were the injuries so small and insignificant. But the way Kane delicately works over my trivial cut, one would assume I need stitches.

It should vex me, or perhaps entertain me that he’s so diligent in his care. But instead, I think of the time I was cut by a rose and my mother nursed it in the same way.

A sharp burn spreads from my nose to behind my eyes, and before I can form words to either thank or chastise Kane, he tips my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes scan my face for a moment, stealing my breath under his intense, yet soft gaze.

“I will always protect what’s mine,” he whispers in my ear, sprouting goosebumps along my exposed flesh as he moves in to press a soft kiss on my cheek.

Then he turns, waving a hand over his shoulder as he passes Trigger, who’s been leaning against the door for who knows how long. “See you both tomorrow.”

Trigger smirks, but I ignore him, grabbing my discarded gloves and shoving them back on my hands.

A tremor works down my spine as I replay his words, and the absurd thing is, I believe him. The emotions he’s stirred and brought forward have me considering what it would mean to allow him in.

And that alone means I’m one step closer to death’s door.

For the fourteenth time, I call Harlow, but the results are the same.

No answer. Voicemail full.

I knew she couldn’t have made it off the property before Murphy’s goons showed up, and when I found her car abandoned near the gate, it was clear they took her. Still, despite my heart ripping in pieces, I keep calling. Ihaveto.

All I’ve done is watch the boys bark orders through their phones, Shi nurse the fresh stitches on her forearm, and listen to the constant beep of Kilo’s heart monitor. I need something to do. Something to keep my mind busy instead of acknowledging the constant ticking in my head that’s signaling my nearing mental collapse.

Anythingto not dwell on the fact that we lost her. We fucking lost her.

I was in the next room, helping one of the guards pick a horse for Saturday’s race when it happened. The explosion was deafening, shaking the estate violently, knocking both of us off our stools, and onto the marble floor. The ringing in my ears was piercing, but the panic that swelled in my sternum forced me to my feet and propelled me into what was left of the foyer.

It didn’t feel as though more than a few seconds had passed from the moment everything happened, but it must have been minutes because Onyx was already gone, and Cat was hovering over a mangled Kilo. And the butler… Pieces of him were strung everywhere–entrails hanging from the banister like a Christmas garland, and his blood painted every surface that wasn’t buried under rubble.

Before I could make out Cat’s screams, a barrage of gunfire filled the air, drawing both of our attention to the hole where the front doors once were.

I bolted outside and joined a bleeding Shi behind a turned-over limo. She tossed a gun at me, a vicious smile curling her lips before twisting and shooting from around the hood.

Our estate guards were everywhere, dropping the pieces of vermin quicker than they could shoot us. But it still wasn’t fast enough. The Murphys must have planned for us to overtake them because it was clear these soldiers were left as a buffer. Something to buy Phineas enough time to get away.

And it worked.

When we’d killed enough to jump in the jeep and get to the gate, he was long gone. And while every nerve in my body was burning with the desire to drive to his mansion, we knew they wouldn’t be there. Hell, even if they were, they’d be ready, and we didn’t have enough able-bodied men to take with us. Quite a few of ours were injured, and with Kilo on the brink of death and the discovery of Z missing as well, we wouldn’t make it up their driveway.

After returning, we tried to piece things together with the surveillance, but everything was gone–wiped remotely–leaving us with nothing but the obvious.

We lost.

The shatter of glass against the cold hospital wall jolts me from my thoughts and gives less than a second warning before tiny fragments embed into my exposed thigh. Trick turns to apologize for his moment of frustration but I wave him off. The bites of pain don’t bother me. They don’t bother any of us. Not when we’re barely hanging on.

Trigger throws Trick a half hearted scowl before checking over Kilo’s frame. He was in surgery for twelve hours, and has been in a medically induced coma for over twenty. The amputation of the rest of his legs went great thanks to Cat’s tourniquet, but scans show he also endured a concussion. We won’t know the extent of how much his brain is damaged until he wakes up.

Which might not even happen once they stop the drugs.

“He’ll be fine,” Shi whispers as if she can hear the doubt sweeping through my mind.

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