Like the way she’d brought me a bottle of whiskey—some rare label a bartender friend had recommended—because she’d thought of me. Because she remembered I drank whiskey. The way she’d laughed at my terrible joke about tort reform, and I’d felt it in my chest like something breaking open.
Or how she’d change the subject every time someone askedabout her past, that careful mask sliding into place. How badly I wanted to know what she was protecting, what she was running from. How badly I wanted to be the person she finally told everything to.
I was falling. Had been falling since that elevator. Maybe even before.
And the best—or perhaps worst—part? I think she was falling too.
She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet. Not to Blake. Not to our friends. Maybe not even to herself. So, I’d wait. I’d keep our stolen moments secret, keep catching her eye across crowded rooms, keep finding excuses to brush past her when no one was looking.
I’d never look at bridal suites the same way again—that was for damn sure. Hell, I’d never?—
The front door burst open with such violence that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the mansion like a gunshot. We all jolted to our feet, chairs scraping against hardwood, cards scattering across the table.
A figure stumbled through the doorway, and my heart stopped.
Faith.
But not the composed, carefully put-together woman I’d been thinking about moments before. This Faith was shaking violently, her breaths coming in short gasps. Crimson turned her white dress into a macabre canvas of red, and her hair hung wild and tangled, dark stains matting sections together.
And in her trembling hand, she clutched a blood-soaked knife.
What. The. Fuck.
For a suspended moment, I forgot to breathe, staring at the blade. Watching as it suddenly fell to the ground.
My attention swept back to her face.
Locking eyes with me, she muttered four words that would change everything.
“I need a lawyer.”
For a heartbeat, none of us took a breath. Maybe it was the shock of it or how our brains can only register so much information at one time, but whatever the reason, we stood, unmoving.
Until her knees buckled.
Blake lunged forward, but I was faster. Always would be when it came to Faith. I caught her before she hit the ground, my arms wrapping around her trembling body, pulling her against my chest. I told myself it was to preserve evidence, that holding her myself versus Blake doing it was the smart legal move.
Bullshit.
It was because if Faith fell, I’d be the one to catch her. Always.
3
RYKER
She weighed nothing in my arms.
Faith’s blood-soaked body trembled against my chest, her head lolling against my shoulder.
“Jesus Christ.” Blake’s voice cracked as he rushed toward her. His hands hovered over her body, fingers trembling as they traced the air, inches from her skin. “Faith, where are you hurt?”
“What the fuck happened?” Jace demanded.
Blake’s fingers gently probed along her arms, then moved to her neck, checking her pulse point. He slid his hand down to examine her legs. “I don’t see lacerations on her arms, neck, or legs,” Blake continued, clearly struggling to understand the source of all this blood because he was still presuming it washers. He leaned closer, squinting at her scalp. “But her head …”
“Dude, we should get her some towels.” Axel’s voice pitched high with panic. “Or, like—I don’t know—a hazmat suit? That’s a lot of blood.”
“I …” Her voice came out as barely a whisper.
