It sparkles in my hand, catching the sunlight as I turn it in my fingers, cutting the pad of my pointer finger.
Blood drips down on the documents on the counter. Fitting. I pierce another hole in my skin letting more blood decorate the white of the paper.
Then I softly start to tap the glass against my palm in the familiar pattern, each time drawing blood.
Deeper into my skin the glass sinks as I move closer to my wrist.
I’ve never been loved. All around me, I’ve tried to reach out. Maybe I’ve always just been a sheep surrounded by wolves.
Or maybe, I’m too broken for anyone…
The glass pierces the skin just where my hand gives way to the wrist, the pain finally registering.
But rather than frighten me, it calms me.
Pain, I know. Pain I can tolerate.
It’s life that I can’t seem to manage.
One sweep of the glass, maybe two, and it could all be over.
I could be done and then…
“Sasha.”
I don’t look back. Instead, I tap the glass lower.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ryker
If I could thinkpast the fear, I’d hate myself.
“Stop,” I growl out, my voice harder and rougher than I meant for it to be.
Sasha doesn’t even hear me, the glass sinking deeper into the skin of her wrist.
Vomit and blood are on the floor, on the counter, the contracts for the casinos decorated with splatters of red.
But I ignore the scene, crunching over glass to pluck the shard from her fingers, tossing it across the room.
She looks at me then, confusion coloring her unfocused eyes.
“Sasha,” I say again, this time though, it’s a desperate plea. Her hands fall to her sides, covered in her own blood. “Fuck.”
Grabbing her up, I haul her out of the glass and into my arms. She doesn’t resist but she doesn’t help either. She’s limp in my arms.
Cradling her against my body, I head for the bedroom. I need to look at her, but I don’t want her to be anywhere near the glass when I do.
She’s dead weight, and looking down, I realize she’s lost consciousness, her breathing shallow, her eyes closed.
Blood rushes in my ears as one thought drives me forward. I might lose her.
“Sasha,” I roar, as I lay her on the bed and then strip off my shirt.
I have no idea how bad the cuts are, there is so much blood all over her hands, but I take off my dress shirt, wrapping it around one hand and applying pressure.
Sprinting back to the bathroom, I grab up my phone. “Call Killian,” I bark out, before tossing it on the bed. Then I tug off my T-shirt off and wrap Sasha’s other hand.
