Page 36 of Penance

No snarl in his lip, no malice in his tone, no fucking guilt on his face.

What the hell is happening.

“Don’t lie,” I scoff, shaking my hand out to untangle the hair from around my fingers. “You can’t just say something like that and then pretend you didn’t when I call you out on it.”

“Kyla-Rose,” Jacob says softly, in that caring brotherly love way he has when he pacifies me. “I swear to you, I didn’t say that,” he blinks at me slowly, allowing me to see his truth.

And it is, the truth, he opens himself up to me, letting me see.

He didn’t say that.

I frown harder, my lips parting slightly as I attempt to regulate my breathing.

I heard it, I heard him.

“You- that’s wha- but you said that. When I turned to leave, that’s what you said, J,” I stutter.

My gaze flicking over his head to my loyal golden-eyed hellhound and the blue-eyed devil of my past, standing sentry like they’re just waiting for my word. Whatever it may be, they’ll action it, such loyalty, even though Max couldn’t do that for me before, him standing here now means something.

“You did say that,” I whisper, my gaze dropping to my feet.

I sense Jacob shift, his stool feet sliding back, a shadow slowly approaching as I stare at my toes. Thorns and wilted roses twisting over the tops of my feet. Winding their way up my ankles where they start to meet small swallow birds, all of it intertwining together. My black nail polish chipped on my big toe, just the top corner but enough for me to notice.

A big hand slowly appears in my vision before dropping onto my shoulder, it’s warm and large and comforting. It covers my whole shoulder, making me feel even fucking smaller than I already do inside my head right now.

“Have you taken anything this morning?” Jacob asks me gently.

Referring to his ridiculous cocktail of painkillers that I’m most definitely not touching. His other hand cupping my cheek, a firm but comforting pressure on my jaw. His thumb smoothing a circle beneath my eye.

“Look at me,” Jacob requests and I swallow.

Lifting my face to meet his gaze. He tries hard not to frown. I try hard to keep my walls up.

“Let me give you something,” he murmurs. “Just something to let you get some proper rest, yeah?”

I find myself nodding absently. Even as he releases my face and disappears down the hall, I can still feel the heat from his hand. I’m not hearing voices. They never sound like Jacob, they usually sound like, well,me.And I don’t hear themout loud, even when I freak out, I know it’s in my head. The words almost mock me, the whispered uttering that sounds so familiar and real, I don’t know how I’ll stop thinking it.

Like mother, like daughter.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” Kacey coos from across the room.

Like I’m his most fragile possession, not like I’m his blood slicked queen, crushing skulls with my boots and chopping up rapists with cleavers. Like I’m that dainty, crystal glass, swallow bird bauble on our Christmas tree.

I get that needling in my chest again, that prickle of pain and if I hadn’t already got a hand clutched to my chest, I’d want to rub my knuckles over the sharpness there. Every time I do something to help me take back a little power, retrieve a tiny piece of myself that was lost to the wind, something else happens leaving me feeling even more deflated. Dejected, depleted. I sigh out a deep breath, just as Huxley enters the room like a whirlwind.

“Darlin’, we need to talk,” he spits out.

Like he’s built up the courage to say this part but dreads the next, wants to get the words out as quickly as he can so it’s over quicker too. Huxley’s fearless, he never needs to find courage, he has it in endless amounts. It oozes from his pores, glints in his coal-black eyes, seeps through with his flirtatious words and cheeky winks. Which is why my spine instantly straightens, everything in me flips into high alert.

I ignore Kacey’s questioning. Max looks at Huxley like he could strangle him. Kacey drops his head back, muttering something like‘give me strength’. Which is when I suddenly realise just how fucked up Max and Kacey’s faces are. Before I can even open my mouth to question them, Hux is moving toward me. grasping my hand in his warm one, long fingers wrapping around my own.

“Come with me,” he says, already leading me out of the kitchen.

He drags me down the hall into the rear living room that we seem to use for everything. It’s one hundred percent the view I’m telling you.

Huxley sits me down on the sofa, squatting before me, crouching down low so I have to look down at him. His big hands resting on my bare knees, his eyes studying my face for a moment. His gaze surveying the bruising, the teeth marks, and my crumpled hair. I saw it in the mirror when I brushed my teeth, it looks like a haystack that’s been sucked through a tornado, but I just didn’t care. Huxley reaches up, his long fingers running through the tangled strands, carefully picking through some of the knots.

“I want to take you to the doctor,” he starts and my breath hitches.

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