A crash from the bathroom has Crow tucking the drive in his pocket and us rushing for the door. Malice gets to it first. He’s about to bust his way in, but the door opens and out billows a puff of steam to reveal averynaked Wraith standing in a sea of broken mirror. He’s a heaving spectacle of wild rage, teeth bared, and knuckles torn to hell.
It doesn’t take a genius to surmise what happened.
And the pervert I am, I can’t stop staring or my jaw from dropping at the sight of Wraith in all his magnificent glory.
Good Lord. The man is impressive.
Everywhere.
I was so busy gawking, I didn’t realize Jester palmed his Glock until he sticks it back in its holster. “The fuck, Wraith?”
Malice, who shoved Crow behind him, holsters his pistol, which I now recognize is an impressive Desert Eagle. “Done throwing a tantrum?”
“You okay?” Crow pushes Malice aside.
“Look what he fucking did to me.” Wraith gestures down his body, his roar filled with a heartrending mix of fury and anguish.
It’s easy to forget the dungeon didn’t have mirrors. Or that Wraith might not have given himself a once-over while on the drive home. This is his first unrestricted view of the damage done to him. Unfortunately, I know exactly what he’s going through because I’ve been there and have shattered my fair share of mirrors.
Luckily, there’s enough noz in Wraith’s system to stitch his knuckles together. And in time, his mind will mend, too. Like me, he’s a fighter. He’ll accept his new reality, this altered version of himself. This person who walked through the fires of hell and beat the devil at his own game.
What we suffered made us stronger. And therein lies the difference between someone who was victimized and someone who is a victim.
We are the former.
We willneverbe the latter.
Malice ushers Wraith out of the bathroom. “Move before you cut your damn feet, asshole.”
After they reject my offer to help clean the glass, I go to the kitchen to heat the pizza. With Wraith’s hand bandaged and him finally dressed in his own clothes, he and the others join me. The men devour two pizzas. I polish off two and a half slices myself. I can’t recall the last time I was this hungry. Wait, yes, I can. The day I agreed to marry David. I hadn’t eaten for days. Before that, my meal was comprised of what remained of a sandwich someone tossed in the trash.
After everyone’s fed and the kitchen is cleaned, Crow and Malice head out. Since Jester lives here, he retreats to his room, and once I’m alone with Wraith, I stand there awkwardly, not knowing where to put myself.
“Where am I sleeping?”
Wraith cocks a brow at my question, looking dangerously attractive in a black tank top and gray sweatpants. I bite back a smile when I notice his thick white socks. It must be cozy to have his feet stuffed in them after having spent months barefoot.
“My bed, unless you want the guest room.”
Wraith’s rigid. Like he’s holding his breath while he waits for my answer. Every cell in my body demands I do the smart thing and take the guest room. But when I open my mouth to speak, foolishness falls out. “Yours is fine.”
He releases his breath. “Go shower. I’ll meet you up there.”
Before I leave, I motion to his hand. “Promise me you’ll stop punching things. We’re out of noz.”
He shrugs. “I like to punch things.”
I tsk. “But you’re home now, so you don’t have to.”
“Doesn’t feel like I’m home.”
As if I have all the right in the world to do so, I step up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his. “It will.”
Wraith may be home in body, but not in spirit—and I doubt he will be until David is dead.
* * *
“Ineed to tell you something.”
