Page 166 of Boy of Ruin
Never heard what our baby sounds like in my belly.
A pang of guilt stabs through me, but I zip up my bag, throwing it over my shoulder, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
I think about Jeremiah.
Wonder where the fuck he is.
If he had anything to do with Edith’s disappearance. He might have been in that crate—my skin crawls thinking about it—but he controls an empire.
Lucifer was going to meet with Elijah at Sanctum before we left for Ignis. I don’t really know Ezra, but I remember how he held me that night I found out that Jeremiah had been the one to…hurt me.
I feel queasy, my mouth going dry.
Glancing at our made bed, the empty vodka bottles on Lucifer’s nightstand, a bright blue coke straw, I grit my teeth and turn my back on it all, heading to the door.
The house is quiet, Mayhem is waiting outside with Ella. They promised to keep Lucifer busy if he pulled up. I’m just not quite ready…not quite ready to feel. To talk. I don’t know what he has planned with me for Ignis, but I have a feeling I won’t be ready for that either.
I take some small comfort in knowing that Ella is coming too, even though it’s not really her initiation.
Blowing out a breath, gripping the strap of my bag slung across my chest, I’m walking out of my bedroom when I collide with a hard body that nearly knocks me on my ass.
Stumbling back a step, I snap my head up, my pulse picking up speed. I didn’t hear a thing, but I fully expect to see my brother standing in front of me.
Of course, it isn’t.
It’s my husband.
My face flushes hot, my knees feeling weak beneath me as my mouth opens, closes, opens again.
But I can’t think of anything to say.
He doesn’t move from where he is, just leans against the door, his shirt off, and I think the M5 must’ve been in the garage. He must’ve fucking been here the entire time, and Mayhem probably knew it.
Still, despite my anger, my eyes rake over his lean, strong body, the scars on his torso, the deep V leading down into his low-slung, fitted sweats.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I see his biceps flex with the motion. A bandage still wrapped around his arm.
Suddenly, I’m back in our room at Liber. I’m watching him hurt himself. I’m watching him fuck Ophelia.
I’m wondering where the fuck we go from here.
I push it all back, swallow down the lump in my throat, meet his blue gaze. I expect to see a smirk on his full lips, but I don’t. That dimple in his pale face isn’t visible. He isn’t smiling, not even a little. He’s just staring at me.
For a moment, we stand like that, facing off, and so many emotions are warring within me, I don’t know which one to grab. Usually, it’d be anger. So I could run. Leave him standing right here. Push past him and fly out of this house.
But I’m tired, and Ella’s words from yesterday…they’re still bouncing around my head. Reminding me that I’m not innocent. That he isn’t either. That we have unfinished business.
I glance at his nose, see it running, a little red, and that anger threatens to flare hot again, but I push it back.
He needs help.
“He needs you,” Ella had said.
“Are you ready?” he asks me quietly, his hoarse voice sending chills down my spine. I’ve always loved his voice. Rough and raw, dirty and sexy even when he talks about mundane things. Like his favorite cereal. He liked fruity cereals best. I told him he was fucking crazy. Chocolatey ones are superior.
He’d laughed so hard at that, and I’d been in his lap, sharing a bowl of both with him, after one of our runs.
That was a few weeks before I left.
