Page 87 of Conjure
“I’m so fucking sorry, Dom.” My fingers tremble on the ropes as my eyes blur with tears. The knots are too tight. My nails catch more than once, and I release a sob, wiping the wetness from my cheeks.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” The deep rumble of his voice makes me pause. We gaze at each other as the seconds tick by. I can see what he’s not saying in that broken look. He’s sorry he couldn’t save me in time.
That Wilfred got his hands on me.
My eyes speak their own language, too.
I’m sorry I betrayed you.
He jerks his chin to the ropes. “Keep going.”
Torn from my stasis, I grapple with the ropes.
Wilfred chokes on the gun, his finger trembling on the trigger.
The first knot untangles, and I set to work on the second while Dominic shoulders out of the ropes.
Bang!
I flinch, untying the final knot, just as Wilfred’s body collapses to the floor. Dominic removes the last ropes before standing up and hauling me to my feet. He’s weak, swaying on the spot.
Palming my cheeks, he inspects my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“He shot me in the leg.”
Dominic looks down at my calf and then curses. Sliding his arm behind my knees, he lifts me against his chest.
“You’re injured,” I point out. “Let me walk.”
“Not a fucking chance. You’re bleeding.” He steps over Wilfred’s lifeless body on the floor, and we leave the room.
Everything else fades but his blood-smeared, sweaty face and tight jaw. I wish I could smooth the worry lines on his forehead, but exhaustion sinks its claws into me.
Outside, the sun blinds us. Dominic’s heavy footsteps thunder down the porch steps. He strides across the yard, past the chicken coop and the gap in the fence.
All around us, the breeze moves through the branches, subtly shifting the leaves. Whispering secrets of the past. Secrets that urge me to crane my neck to look over his shoulders at the woods. The fir and oak trees stretch tall behind the house, their roots buried deep.
Soothed by their lullaby, a song of woes, I glance at one of the upstairs windows. The curtains shift as though someone peers through the gap, watching us flee the property.
The curtains fall back into place, and I’m torn from my thoughts as we slip through the gate. It creaks, and then we’re on the move again.
I’m vaguely aware of Dominic opening the truck door and easing me inside, the leather seat hot against my bare legs and shoulders. When I wince, Dominic stills and tucks my hair away from my cheek.
The move is so tender that my eyes fill with more tears. I don’t deserve his gentle touch or his concern. Don’t deserve to be forgiven for what happened in that house, for allowing my curiosity to bring us there. I dragged him into hell, and now I’m bleeding all over his seat.
“Look at me, baby,” he coaxes, cupping my trembling chin.
His quivering fingers are too much. I try to look away, but he forces me to meet his gaze. To see the worry that mars his sharp features. “Tell me you’re okay. You have to be okay. Otherwise, I’ll go insane. I need you.”
“I’m broken, Dom… He touched me, and I….”
He digs his fingers into my chin, and the pain helps ground me. “Listen to me. You’re not broken.”
“You don’t understand… I liked it,” I whisper, my voice as haunted as the forest behind Wilfred’s property.
“Shut up,” he growls, jostling me. “You didn’t like him touching you.”
My chin wobbles as I stare at him through my tears.
