Page 19 of Brutal Knight

Willow is breakable. I know that. She’s been through hell and could probably survive more, but I don’t want to put her through that. She doesn’t deserve it.

If I push her, though, she’s going to run away. And I can’t help her if I can’t find her.

Our meeting is over after a few more short exchanges. We each have a lot to do. The discussion is over, and now it’s time to deal with the reality waiting for us. It’s time for me to deal with Willow.

She occupies my mind on the drive back to my house, and I’m still thinking about what I’m going to do with her as I get home, let myself in, and climb the stairs. I can imagine her hiding in her room, listening to the sounds of my footfalls coming up the steps. I wonder if she’s hiding, trying to make herself small.

I can only imagine what it meant when Dmitri would come home. I steel myself before I open the door, taking a slow, deep breath. I have to let her know I’m not him. She doesn’t have to hide.

But when I open the door, Willow is lying on the bed, still.

For just a second, my heart drops to my feet like a stone.

I cross the room in a few long steps and see her facing the wall, propped on her side, breathing soft and slow. The fear dissipates, but it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

She’s high as hell.

I know it even before I try to rouse her. She’s slow to respond when I hold her shoulders, shaking her. Her eyes are foggy when she opens them. She blinks, disoriented, trying to find my face. It takes too long.

“You took something,” I say, raising my voice enough to get through, but not quite yelling. “Was it pills? Where did you get them?”

Willow shakes her head and blindly pushes at me. Her voice is low, almost slurred. “Get off.”

I can’t help the frustration bubbling in my chest. I want to make her look at me, ask why the hell she’s doing this. I want to tell her I won’t hurt her, that I just want her to be sober if I’m going to walk her down the aisle.

I want to tell her I don’t want this just the way she doesn’t. I want to explain that this is a duty, a responsibility. That we can both live with it and live with each other, if she stops making it so damned difficult.

But I can’t say any of that right now. I have to focus on the now, so I hold her up and look in her eyes as she keeps drifting away.

“Look at me. Willow, look at me.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hey. Pay attention,” I say sharply, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Where the fuck did you get them?”

She shakes her head. For a second, I think she’s going to fight me. I think she’s going to keep her mouth shut and refuse to say anything. I know I won’t be able to get anything out of her. When Finn is drunk, he can be belligerent as they come and even more mule-headed than usual.

Something tells me she’s similar.

Finally, Willow caves. “My jacket,” she murmurs. “In the sleeves.”

Of course.

I try to squash the frustration I feel rising in my chest. I’m starting to realize what I’ve signed up for. This isn’t going to be smooth sailing. It may not even be survivable. I don’t know how realistic it is to try to get Willow sober.

She’s been Dmitri’s wife for so long, the damage might be too deep to undo. Maybe getting Willow sober is going to do nothing but clear up the last walls between her and all the shit she had to live through. Maybe if I do this, she’s going to hate me for the rest of her life.

Well, fine. I’d rather have an angry wife than one that hardly knows she’s married to me. And I don’t need her to love me or even look at me. I just need to ensure that the Raven Syndicate territory is kept safe.

I didn’t consciously realize I was hoping for something good when I brought her home, but now that the possibility has been crushed, I see that maybe I was more hopeful than I had any right to be.

She’s not just a widow. She’s not just suffering the death of a husband who was power-hungry. I know he hurt her. I don’t know the extent of it, but I know enough to recognize that this isn’t something a simple conversation can fix.

Helping her get sober is going to be hell.

Willow starts to struggle a little more. I blindly reach into a dresser drawer behind me. There are ties folded neatly there. I grab one and hold Willow, but she senses something is wrong. She starts to struggle against me, writhing on the bed.

I can’t ignore the way I feel her body beneath mine. I can feel her chest brush my arm as I reach over her, for her wrists. Her breath is warm on my neck.

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