Page 129 of Bonds of Pain
I hesitate, torn between the need to get her proper medical attention and the knowledge that calling for help means exposing what she’s done. If Logan finds out she tried to kill herself after he marked her, there’s no telling what he might do.
“I can handle this,” I say, more to convince myself than her. “But you have to stay with me.”
I carry her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. Working quickly, I unwrap the soaked towels and examine the wounds. The cuts are deep but clean, slicing across her wrists rather than along them. She knew what she was doing. If I’d arrived even minutes later…I don’t want to think about that.
I grab the emergency field kit I keep in my jacket, breaking the seal with my teeth. The liquid suture inside will close the wounds temporarily, but she’s lost a lot of blood.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn, positioning the applicator over the first gash.
Maya doesn’t so much as flinch as I apply the burning compound, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond me. The synthetic skin forms over the wound, stopping the bleeding instantly. I repeat the process on her other wrist, working with the efficient precision that’s kept me alive through countless missions.
When I finish with her wrists, I examine the damage to her chest. Through the torn bandage, I can make out the unmistakable shape of the Corellian sigil carved into her flesh. The cuts are shallow but deliberate, the work of someone with a steady hand.
Rage bubbles up inside me, white-hot and consuming. Logan went too far this time. We all did.
“Why did you come back?” Maya’s voice breaks through my thoughts, so soft I almost miss it.
I look up to find her watching me, an inscrutable expression on her face. “What?”
“You knew what I did to you. Setting you up with those women.” Her breathing is shallow, her words slightly slurred. “You should hate me.”
I pause, her question catching me off guard. Why did I come back? Why am I here now, desperately trying to save someone who deliberately put me in a position to be hurt?
“I don’t know,” I admit, carefully applying fresh bandages to her chest. “Maybe because I understand what it’s like to feel trapped. To hurt others because you’re hurting.”
A single tear slides down her temple, disappearing into her damp hair. “Logan will never stop,” she whispers. “He’ll just keep finding new ways to break me.”
“I know.” There’s no point in lying to her now. “But this isn’t the answer.”
Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of the old defiance returning. “Then what is?”
I have no answer for her. How can I, when I’ve spent my entire life serving the very system that’s crushing her?
Maya’s gaze drifts to her bandaged wrists, disappointment evident in her expression. “Why didn’t you let me go?”
Why didn’t I?Because I couldn’t bear to lose yousounds too selfish, too possessive—too much like what Logan would say.Because you deserve better than thisfeels hollow when I’ve done nothing to actually give that to her.
“Because we need you here.”
She scoffs. “Because of Logan. You don’t want to see your prince dragged into an early grave by a dead bond.”
“No, that’s not the reason at all,” I insist, meaning it. “I’ll never see you bleeding again if I have anything to say about it.”
A bitter laugh escapes her, quickly turning into a cough. “I just wanted to be free of all this. Don’t you ever want that?”
“I know.” I gently brush damp strands of purple hair from her face. “But there has to be another way.”
She looks up at me, her expression suddenly vulnerable. “Did you know what he was planning to do to me?”
I shake my head. “No. I would have stopped it if I could.”
“Would you?” Her voice carries no accusation, just genuine curiosity. “Even knowing what I did to you?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I think of the trap she set for me, the panic I felt when confronted by my abusers. The violation and helplessness that followed. By all rights, I should hate her for that.
But looking at her now—wounded, broken, driven to such desperation—I can’t find hatred within me. Only a bone-deep sadness for what we’ve all become in this twisted game.
“Yes,” I say finally. “I would have.”
