Because if I was dying—if I died there tonight—who would save Penny?
Hardy’s orders were to hurt her. To draw blood. And no other man would hesitate on one of Hardy’s orders. They’d hurt her, cut her, take a part of her, and mail it to Razuuk in a cardboard box without hesitation.
I pushed myself to get the fuck up, pain ricocheting through my brain as I tried to move. I managed to get to my knees before dropping back down to the ground. Blood dripped from a gash somewhere on my head. I climbed up to my hands and knees, but I couldn’t bear any weight on my left shoulder. I moved my hand across it, hoping not to find any bones protruding from my skin, and was blessed to find it was only a dislocation.
I moved my hand over the area, gently feeling it out before finding the right part and pushing with all my might. I howled out in pain as the bone popped back in and fresh pain flushed my system. I retched, bringing up the whiskey I’d been drinking all night, before dragging my hand across my mouth and pushing myself upward. I stood up on my feet, swaying from side to side, barely able to focus on my surroundings as the darkness enclosed on me.
“Penny,” I gasped before falling back down.
I lay on the ground, willing myself not to die. Not to fall asleep.
“I’m coming,” I mumbled as I slid into the darkness that lived inside me.
~ 14 ~
Penny
I opened my eyes to the smell of coffee, blinking sluggishly into the dimly lit room. The Devil stood by the window. The piece of material that normally hung there was pulled to one side and he stared out at the world beyond.
He looked different, standing at a strange angle, his head cocked to one side as he smoked a cigarette. I blinked, clearing the sleep from my eyes, realizing that he was covered in blood.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice piercing the silence.
“Yeah,” he grunted without turning around.
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t reply, and even though I wanted to say more, I wasn’t sure what. Clearly he wasn’t okay. Something had happened, something bad, but if he refused to talk about it I could only hope that he wouldn’t take his pain out on me.
I heard him swallow and realized he was drinking coffee. I hadn’t had coffee in over a week and I longed for one. Even a mouthful. All thoughts of what had happened to make him like that went out the window at the scent of that coffee, until all my thoughts were consumed with the need for it.
In fact, the sight of him drinking coffee was probably the most normal thing I’d seen him do. The realization made him seem less scary.
“Can I have some?” I asked, tentatively. I knew he’d say no, but I had to ask regardless.
He didn’t move or reply to me, and I wondered if I’d said anything at all or if it had all been in my head.
“Hey, I said can I have some?” I asked again, louder that time.
He stubbed out his cigarette and pulled his mask back in place before turning around to look at me. I gasped, loudly, as my gaze landed on him. Blood was smeared across his forehead, and dark purple bruises were forming on his skin. He held his arm at a strange angle, and when he walked toward me, I noticed he was limping.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to me, propping the cushions up behind my head, and then he brought the coffee mug to my lips. I sipped on it, letting the hot liquid slide down my throat, but my gaze never left him.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Nothin’,” he grunted.
“Something must have happened.”
“Drink your coffee.” He brought the mug to my lips again and I took another sip. Some of it spilled over my lips as he pulled the mug away too soon. He frowned, watching the coffee spill over my chin and down my throat before putting the mug down and using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the drip from my skin.
He brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked it clean while he watched me.
“Are you hurt?” I asked. “You look hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
My gaze traveled over his body, finding bumps and scrapes everywhere. None looked too serious, apart from the gash to his forehead and the fact that he was holding his arm awkwardly.
