Page 143 of Painted Scars
“Barely counts,” I chirp, and we clink and take a sip. “While we’re on the topic, I need a deep dive on the Black Widow business back there.”
Harper smirks into her glass, hiding a secret none of us are privy to… except for Katar, who parks his ass on the edge of the sofa next to her shoulder, squeezing her. They trade a quick, lethal, and private glance that tells me the truth is only theirs.
“Not every guardian angel has white wings.” The story she shares is the kind that gives you blood for answers.
The truth sits heavy in my chest. I don’t press her for more. Some scars are better honored in silence. But I make a silent promise that she’s not carrying it alone anymore.
After that conversation is digested, Katar drives into town and grabs pizza, garlic bread, spicy chicken wings, and loaded fries, and brings them back for dinner. We celebrate our fortune, survival, and ongoing success, until our bellies ache and cheeks hurt from laughing.
Katar wipes his greasy mouth with a napkin. “Pictionary?” His smirk is disturbing and dangerous, but totally up Harper’s alley. “I bet Kelly can’t draw anything more complicated than stick figures. I’ll eat my boots if I’m wrong.”
“Your boots taste like murder.” Harper brushes a hand over his thigh.
He twists his neck and releases pressure, taking a seat beside her, finally relaxing for the first time in almost two hours.
“Game slander?” August grabs the box and brings it over to the coffee table. “That’s your tactic to intimidate me into losing?”
Harper raises a dark nail with vampire stakes on it. “You bled, Kate killed, and Katar stole the wine.”
Katar raises his empty glass in mock-offense. “Team effort.”
August lifts the lid and unpacks the board game. It’s time for a different kind of game.
CHAPTER 41 - AUGUST
The sun isn’t even up yet, and she’s wrapped around me like I’m oxygen, and she’s relearning how to breathe. Her head rests in the hollow between my chest and shoulder. One hand’s draped on my stomach, and her thigh tangles with mine.
PJ3 has taken my pillow hostage and snores in my ear. I’ve learned quickly that you give him an inch, and he takes a mile. Little Prince. I’m not bothered. He feels like home and family. The two of them are my center of peace… and I used to think peace was for suckers.
She stirs and shifts, her fingers dragging lower. Waking up to her squeezing me like she doesn’t want to leave the bed is better than perfection. I’m lucky she’s here with me, and not at one of my safehouses. The night at the Pluto club didn’t erase anything, but it cracked the door open to a second chance. Now we’re holed up in the mountains, and I can’t tell if it’s for survival, or if I’m her choice.
Kate wakes with a gasp that screams she forgot to breathe, and air claws its way up from her clenched gut. Tremors ripple through her body as she shakes off the nightmare and finds herself. Her hands pat me, Josh, the blankets and pillow,reminding herself she’s safe and not at the mercy of the men who touched her without permission when they kidnapped her from Spartacus’ former headquarters.
Her body curls into me, shoulders tight, fingers clawing into my side as the worst of the memory bleeds from her body. Moonlight slices through the blinds in cold angles. Shadows crawl over her face like monsters in waiting. Her forehead, lip, and chest are damp with sweat. She breathes like it hurts. Like the devil grips her throat. I’m her life raft in water that got deeper.
PJ3 snuffles in his sleep but doesn’t stir.
“I’m here, Glitter Bomb.” I brush her shoulder with my nails to yank her the rest of the way out of hell. “You’re safe.”
Her nickname earns a blink. And another. Glass sheens her eyes—unshed tears. Her lips part, but she can’t speak at first.
“Just breathe through it, baby.” I reach for the glass of water by the bed and pass it to her. She takes it, hands trembling, drinking it. “Was it him?”
Her head dips, heavy with shame, answering for her.
Fucking Blackthorn haunting her from the grave and rotting her from the inside out.
We’re a safe distance from the city’s chokehold, but that doesn’t mean we’re secure. Fools fall back on their laurels and believe they’re free. Wounded predators strike the hardest before they die. Our calm is temporary, especially when she plans to release more articles and discharge more truth bombs. In between fits of sleep, I’ve come up with a plan to protect us in the event of an ambush and get us out safely, with food and weapons.
Kate’s shoulders flinch like she braces for impact. “He had a camera this time.” Her voice is raw. “He said he’d make everyone watch. You didn’t get there in time.”
I grind my molars, and my hands curl into the sheet. Pressure spikes behind my eyes and ribcage. I want to rip through the mattress, the house, his fucking grave. There’s no damn magical pill to make her forget it all.
“He’s dead.” My voice is thinner. “It’s over, baby.”
She swallows, and I lift the glass to her mouth, forcing her to drink. She obeys, but it’s mechanical. I hate the way her eyes aren’t here with me. She gives me the glass, and I leave it on the nightstand.
My fingers tighten around hers. “You got out and lived. That bastard didn’t break you. And you didn’t need me. You were your own hero.”
