Page 131 of Sins of the Hidden

My fingers slid to the back of her hair, tangling in her chestnut locks as I pulled her to me. Her delicate hands fisted weakly in my shirt, burying her face against me. I ran my hand along her back, feeling her shoulders shake with silent tears. Shecould never say or do anything to make me stay away from her. "I didn't think you would after?—"

"You called." I pulled her closer, careful of her injured shoulder. "I'll always come home to you."

That was what I was now—what she made me. A man who lived on commands.

"You're hurt too," she whispered suddenly, reaching for my split knuckles. I'd forgotten the wounds from earlier. It didn't matter. I couldn't feel it anyway.

"It's nothing," pulling her hand away from my wounds. "We need to call your dad."

She sighed, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. She didn't speak, just nodded her head.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, the screen cracked but functional from when I'd shoved it there after hearing her final whisper. Dialing Law's number, he answered sharply. "What do you want?"

I cut him off. "Someone broke in."

"Is she okay?" I didn't answer, but I heard movement on the other side. "I'll be right over."

I clicked end on my phone, setting it on the counter. "He's on his way."

I stayed crouched beside the tub, watching over Oakley as she huddled in the cooling water. I pulled another dry towel from the rack, draping it over her shoulders as the first one became damp. Her skin was still too cold to the touch. Every minute stretched like hours. My eyes kept darting between her and the bathroom door, muscles coiled tightly, ready to launch at the first sound. The thought of leaving her even long enough to secure the apartment made my jaw clench. Not again. Never again.

I wanted to press her for more details, but her eyes were beginning to go vacant again, retreating from the horror of the memory. I couldn't lose her to that emptiness again.

"We don't have to talk about it now," taking her hand in mine. Her fingers felt lifeless, cold.

Twenty minutes dragged before the front door slammed open, followed by frantic footsteps racing through the apartment.

"Oakley!" Law stormed into the bathroom, chest heaving, arrogance stripped from his face. His fingers trembled as he took in the scene—his daughter huddled in a tub of pink-tinged water, bandaged and bruised. Despair transformed his mask into naked suffering. He dropped to his knees on the opposite side of the tub from where I crouched, his eyes burning with accusation as they found mine.

"God, are you okay?" His palms framed her face, gaze fixed on the violet stain spreading across her cheekbone and the bandage on her shoulder.

"I trusted you," he snarled at me across the tub, voice splintering between torment and fury. "I fucking trusted you."

I couldn't say anything. He was fucking right—I'd failed. The marks on her skin, the violent shudders wracking her frame—undeniable testament to my inadequacy. Law's fingertips brushed over her wounds, and possessive rage scorched through me. No one deserved to touch her suffering—it belonged to me alone.

"I'm gonna fucking kill them," Law growled, his hands clenching into fists, veins bulging along his forearms as he looked at the bruises on his daughter's neck.

I turned back to Oakley, who had barely reacted to her father's arrival. Her eyes were focused on the ceiling, that distant look returning. Swallowing the acid rising in my throat, Law asked gently, "Can you tell us what happened?"

For a long moment, she said nothing, and I feared she'd slipped back into that unreachable place. Then, her voice barely audible: "I was reading on the couch when the power went off. I ran to the bathroom, locked the door, and called V."

Eyes closing, a tremor running through her body, fingers unconsciously touching her throat, where bruises darkened against pale skin. "They tried to take my ring. When I wouldn't let them have it, they grabbed my throat, choked me until I couldn't—" Swallowing hard, voice growing fainter. "Grabbed my razor and cut them. Across the chest. They... they left after that."

"That's my girl," Law murmured, voice thick as he squeezed her hand.

No response, her eyes going distant again.

"She needs rest," speaking to Law without taking my eyes off Oakley. Her skin was too pale, and her breathing was too shallow. The bandage on her shoulder showing a small spot of fresh wetness.

My vision darkened with snapshots of violence—my thumbs crushing the attacker's windpipe, my knuckles shattering bone. The fantasy pulsed behind my eyes, visceral and sweet—then evaporated when I caught sight of Oakley's vacant stare. My rage wouldn't help her now. She needed something I'd never learned to give. Safety. My hands knew only how to break, not mend. Could these fingers that had spilled so much ever soothe without possessing? Ever protect without destroying?

Every drop of spilled blood would be a love letter she'd never read, but the world would fucking understand. A promise written in red. I'd skin him inch by inch. Not out of revenge—but so Oakley could see what it meant when something belonged to me. My love wasn't ownership. It was annihilation of anything that dared threaten her again.

Every mark on her was a warrant I'd execute by hand. I'd dissect the world down to bones before anyone touched her again. If I couldn't fix her, I'd destroy everything that broke her.

"She needs Hex," Law said, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

"I'll take care of my wife." I interrupted, voice final.

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