Page 292 of Ruin Me Gently

“One, two, three,four—fuck, come on.”

I squeezed my arms around myself. This was so so wrong.

“Five, six, seven—breathe, you motherfucker.”

He ripped his scarf down his face, leaned down, tilted Clark’s head back and pinched his nose.

I pressed a hand over my mouth as Silas breathed for him.

He pulled back, scowling.

Nothing.

“Fucking breathe, you piece of shit!”

Bile rose up my throat. The rain lashed against us, mixing with the blood seeping from Clark’s split lip, the deep cut near his temple, the bruises blooming beneath his soaked shirt.

Silas gritted his teeth, shoulders tightened, whole body coiled with pure frustration as he leaned in again and smashed a fist to Clark’s chest.

A violent, heaving cough tore from Clark’s throat, his whole frame convulsing as seawater gushed out of his mouth like he was about to turn himself inside out.

Right into Silas’ face.

Rainwater dripped from his soaked curls, sea foam and spit sliding down his cheek.

I flinched back.

Clark was still retching and sputtering as he tried to drag in a breath—just one measly lungful of oxygen.

But Silas didn’t let him. His fist connected with Clark’s already mangled face.

“No! Stop it!” My voice split through the night, raw and desperate, hands grabbing at Silas’ arm, trying to wrench him back before he went in again.

He snarled, jerking away from me. “Per l’amor di Dio, Lilith!”

Clark gurgled, barely alive.

I turned on Silas, heart pounding, fingers fisted in his soaked sleeve. “We have to take him to a hospital! Now!”

His eyes flashed, chest heaving. “No,” he snapped. “We have to throw him back into the sea and let him drown like he deserves!”

“Hospital. Now.”

He growled as he shoved himself up to his feet, and I scrambled up beside him.

Without a word, he reached down, grabbed Clark’s ankle, and dragged him across the slick dock like a sack of garbage, leaving a smearing trail of blood in his wake.

“Can I at least put him on the fucking roof?” Silas bit out. “I don’t want him touching the seats.”

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

Thewipers screeched uselesslyacross the windshield, barely keeping up with the rain. Water hit the pavement in thick, heavy sheets, blurring the road, the headlights slicing through the storm in fractured sheets.

I didn’t slow down.

The GPS beeped, the glow of the screen registering somewhere in my periphery, but I wasn’t looking. My mind was a storm of anger, betrayal, confusion—all crashing into each other, all too loud.

A groan sounded from the back seat. A weak, pained little noise, like a cockroach still twitching under a boot.

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