Page 17 of Boy of Ruin
My eyes are heavy with sleep as I pull on one of his black T-shirts and a pair of shorts from the dresser. I rake my fingers through my wet hair and glance toward the door of our suite here.
Still closed, and I don’t hear anyone coming.
Sighing, I grab the fluffy white towel from the bed, hang it up in the bathroom, then brush my teeth, checking for any lingering blood on my face or neck. The black bandana is in the hamper with the rest of my clothes. Eventually, of course, I’ll tell him. But maybe when he’s sober, which I know won’t be tonight.
I rinse out the toothpaste, flip off the bathroom light and head to the bed, pulling back the soft white sheets and climbing under the covers, closing my eyes in the dark as I lie on my back, thinking of my husband.
Of Maverick’s rage on his behalf.
Mine, too. Listening to Pammie take her last breath. Choking on her own blood, before I wrapped that bandana around her throat.
A smile curves my lips, and a disturbing thought bursts through my brain.
I’m not much different than Jeremiah.
None of us are any different, taking pleasure in another’s pain.
Not for the first time, I feel a stab of my own pain at missing him.
I roll over on my side and try to push it from my mind. If it makes my husband happy, I’ll let it go for now. Eventually, when our emotions have cooled, I can bring it up again, and maybe then he’ll understand. Maybe, if we’re living in a fucking alternate dimension, Lucifer will even want a relationship with his half-brother.
Or maybe that’s just asking for too fucking much.
I scoff into my pillow, hands slipped beneath it as I try to get comfortable. It’s cold in here, and I love it, but damn, I want the warmth of my husband.
After a while, I drift off to sleep, only to be awakened by the sound of a door slamming shut.
I sit bolt upright, gasping, making to grab for the knife on my nightstand.
“What the fuck, Sid?” Lucifer’s raspy voice settles my nerves, but the tone…he’s angry. Fucking pissed.
What the hell?
“What’s wrong, babe?” I ask him quietly as he walks into the bathroom, takes a piss, then flicks on the light. I blink as I turn my head to him, see his blue eyes narrowed on mine. His arms are folded across his chest, and he looks as angry as he sounds.
My heart thunders in my chest as I clench the sheets in my fists, foreboding making me feel sick. Not another fight.
Not right now.
It’s like one in the morning.
I want to sleep. I want to sleep with him.
“Where were you?” he growls at me.
I frown up at him, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “What are you—”
“Where the fuck were you, Lilith?” his voice is a snarl as he steps closer to the bed, the light in the bathroom framing his silky black curls. His face is pale, circles beneath his red-rimmed eyes.
I wish he’d climb into bed.
I wish he would save this fight for the morning.
I sigh, knocking my head back against the headboard and closing my eyes. Someone told him. Of course, someone told him because the Unsaints are the fucking brotherhood from hell.
I know Mayhem didn’t. He promised he’d give me until at least Sanctum to tell him myself.
Fuck.
