He would never utter another word. Or take another breath.
I jumped into his lap, wrenching the knife from his thigh and plunging it into the side of his neck. One, two, three times. His eyes no longer focused as I kept stabbing, the blade disappearing into the mangled flesh of his throat and face over and over. Hollow tears spilled down my cheeks, mixing with the bastard’s blood spray. I was covered, drenched. As was Silas, who was still beside me.
I was too fucking high on adrenaline to feel the ache in my muscles every time the blade came down.
“Leni, love,” Silas whispered, catching my arm. “That’s enough.” His tone was soft and empathetic as he pulled me off Rupert—what was left of him—and into his lap.
He pushed blood-caked clumps of hair from my face and rested his forehead on mine.
“Let’s go home.”
Flames lit the night sky at our backs as we climbed inside the waiting vehicle. Neither of us said a word as we pulled into the street. I was too focused on the side mirror and the burning car we’d left behind.
Twenty-Five
LENI
Silas’s eyes had been closed for the last five minutes, head against the edge of the tub, and a hint of a smile on his face as I sat over his pelvis and worked the lather into his scalp. Neither of us had said a single word since exiting Rupert’s car. Yet, in perfect synchronization, we shed our clothing and headed straight to the bathroom. Silas started the tub while I let that asshole’s blood run down the grates of the shower. His arms were around me minutes later, lips peppering kisses along my neck. I watched as the water at my feet shifted to pink once more and reached back, fingers in his hair, tears running down my face, and begged him to fuck me.
And he did.
Long and hard against the tile until my legs were useless. But it hadn’t been enough. I craved something more, a deeper connection. And maybe he had, too. Scooping me up, he’d brought me to the waiting tub, where he’d sprinkled my calming salts and activated the heating feature.
“Talk to me,” he murmured, eyes still closed.
“I don’t know what to say.”
He arched a brow and grinned. “That’s a first.”
I scooped up a handful of bubbles and smeared them over his face. Silas laughed and dipped under the water to rinse off. I held the tub’s edge to keep steady until he resurfaced.
Grabbing my nape, he pulled me in for a kiss. “You play dirty, love, though I’m glad it’s bubbles in my face and not a knife to the neck.”
I smiled against his lips and shook my head. “Not today.”
Silas tipped his head back and laughed, resuming his position against the tub. Once his laughter had died down, we fell into a comfortable silence again while I ran my favorite conditioner through his hair.
“Have you always kept it long like this?”
“I grew it out after…”
He hesitated, brows twitching as if debating whether to continue. I waited impatiently, my fingers no longer moving. The moment he opened his eyes and wrapped gentle hands around my wrists, I knew whatever he was about to say was significant.
“I keep it long to cover my scar.”
He released one of my hands, and with precision, like he’d memorized precisely where it was, he flipped over a section of hair on the right side of his scalp, revealing a long surgical scar.
“What happened?”
“I was about 18. It was one of my first jobs, or so they tell me, and some son of a bitch shot me.”
My stomach clenched, and I visibly winced. I know he noticed because his mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a smile, satisfied by my worry.
“What do you mean, so they tell you? Is that not how things happened?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember a damn thing before that incident. Hell, I don’t remember much, even months later.”
“Silas, I saw something along those lines in your file. Are you telling me you really do have some kind of amnesia and remember nothing before the age of eighteen?” He nodded casually, as if it was normal. “What about your family? Do youhavefamily outside of all this?”
