I kissed the top of her head. “Is she helping?”
“She is. Thank you for letting me talk to her.”
“You don’t have to thank me. She’s been good for everyone.”
“Have you talked to her?”
I shook my head. “No, but I made Sal talk to her.” Her smirk mirrored my own.
“Maybe you should give it a try.”
“Nah, I have my own way of dealing with my shit.”
I moved around her so she could go. Amber walked to the door and stopped. When I turned to her, I knew by the look on her face, I wouldn’t like what she had to say.
“It’s time to shit or get off the pot, King. Claim her or let go. It’s not fair to dump your shit on her and give her nothing in return. Letting her be your first lady in secret isn’t really letting her be anything.”
“She’s not my—”
“Bullshit. We all know.”
“I’m not fucking her.”
“I know. That’s the problem. You lean on her, you rely on her to dump your shit on, but she gets nothing in return. You’re hurting her.”
“I can’t let her go.”
“Then claim her.”
“I can’t do that either,” I said quietly, turning away. I knew I was an asshole. Knew I should walk away and let her live her life. But I couldn’t.
She was mine.
Mine to protect.
Mine to love.
Then love her!
I did love her. More than my own life. But I couldn’t do it openly.
I heard Amber’s hand hit the double doors, then listened to the swish as they closed behind her.
Ravage walked in as I stared at the envelope. He dropped himself into the chair across from me without a word. Setting the envelope down, I got up and grabbed the first aid kit I kept in my office. I sat down in the chair beside Ravage and motioned for him to remove his cut and shirt.
“I want you to know I just found out myself when Massacre was here. After you took off, Valhalla found Massacre hanging in the warehouse and cut him down. You must have just missed Yuri, because she did CPR and brought him back.”
I wished Indie hadn’t killed her. There were so many unanswered questions. Like, why did she save Massacre? Was it for Amber? Why did she save Aspen knowing she was Diana’s sister?
“She saved his life. After Daniel Scott was killed, that was when I learned you were Morpheus’ son. That didn’t meanfuck all to me. But you know Sypher; he’s fucking thorough. He explained that your mother was not Jane Craven like you thought.”
Ravage winced as I cleaned and stitched his wounds a second time. “Then who is she?”
“Her name was Gretchen Foster. And Morpheus loved her.”
Ravage scoffed. “Morpheus doesn’t know how to fucking love anyone.”
I shook my head. “No, he doesn’t. But Kane Baudelaire did.”
