Sitting on the bed, I stare at the wall as scenes from a movie flash before my eyes. But it’s not a movie. It’s me. What I did. I did that. I killed him. I finally killed him. I thought I’d feel happier about it. I don’t. I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.
“Alexandria.”
I don’t look over at Liam when he quietly slips into the room.
“Don’t call me that,” I seethe on a rasp. Max always called me Alexandria. I never want to hear that name spoken again.
Liam’s large frame kneels at the foot of the bed. He stares at me with stormy, gray eyes, while I continue to stare at the wall, watching the movie of me killing a man. Not a man. The devil. I killed the devil.
Cold metal touches my limp fingertips as Liam pushes something into my hand. Jax’s knife. I killed the devil with Jax’s knife. I stroke the red handle. Jax would be proud of me. I miss him. I wish he was here. I look back at the wall.
Hours pass. I don’t know how many. The first rays of the morning sun glimmer along the horizon and through the tree line outside the window, slowly brightening the room with sunlight.
“Why are you here?” I ask Liam, slowly stroking the hilt of Jax’s knife. I have a painful blister on my thumb from the constant friction of rubbing it for hours.
Liam hasn’t moved the entire time from the foot of the bed. His legs must be numb by now.
“Because you’re here,” he says.
I’m finally able to tear my eyes away from the wall. My vision is screwed up from looking at one thing for so long. Phantom shapes float around my visual periphery.
“You knew who I was in Geneva.” It’s not a question.
Liam nods. “I did.”
Like a rabid animal, I launch off the bed at him, clawing and punching at his face, his chest, any part of him that I can connect with. He doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t stop me.
I sit on his chest and smash my fist in his face.
“You held a gun on me!”
I hit him again.
“You fucked me!”
And again.
“You lied to me! Everybody lies to me!”
I scramble off Liam, my sights set on the door, and finding my ex-boyfriend. I’m going to kill him.
Liam moves at the same time, banding his arms around me and holding me in place, as I scream, and scream, and scream, struggling with him to let me go.
I kick at his shins and scratch at his forearms. I’ve devolved into a wild thing without thought. I want to hurt something, the way that I’m hurting.
“Bella, calm,” Liam hushes in my ear, holding me close.
Like he flicked a switch, I go limp, every bit of fight in me gone. I’m reduced to pained whimpers as Liam turns me in his hold and cradles me like a child.
“He’s really my father, isn’t he?”
Liam brushes my sweat-soaked hair from my face. “Let me take care of you first, then we’ll talk.”
I’m too tired to argue. I’m just too fucking tired all around.
He carries me into the bathroom and stands me on my feet. With one arm still supporting me, he turns the handle to the shower. I watch as he strips out of his clothes. First his shirt, then his belt and pants. He leaves on his black boxers; they outline every hard inch of him. He’s aroused, fully hard.
Steam billows up and fogs the room, creating a cloudy mist of warmth. Liam slowly and carefully removes my blood-stained clothes. Max’s blood. I didn’t even realize I had gotten any on me.
