“When?” I choke.
His brows lower in question.
I wipe my tears and sit straighter on his lap. “How far back do you want me to go? Do you mean way back when my grandfather decided I’d never be free from him? Or a few weeks ago when they strapped me to a chair and fried my brains after I blew up at you in group therapy?” Rage bubbles up my throat. “When they tortured and starved me to find out who blew up the Science building? Or yesterday when my granddad locked me in a tub of frozen water for almost an hour because your fucking brother is a snitch?”
The blacks of Kohen’s eyes eat up the golden hues. “I’m going tofucking kill him—both of them. Who gave you the bruises?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing the silver tub and the way it would reflect the hanging light. “Me. When I was trying to get out.”
“I thought something might have happened to you. There was no sign of you in McGill’s office, or the doctor’s. I snuck into solitary and couldn’t find you there either. I—” He sucks in a sharp breath as if the thought is agonizing. “Where were you?”
Curling my trembling fingers around his shirt, my lips almost refuse to let the words come out for fear I’d be dragged back there. “The dungeon,” I whisper. “There’s a single tub there. It looked—” I clear my throat as a shudder runs down my spine. “It looked like I was the first person to use it in a while.”
“They left you in there the whole night?”
I flinch away from the fury rolling off him in tangible waves. “They kept me overnight at the infirmary for…”
“Hypothermia,” Kohen finishes for me, his hold tightening around my body.
All I can do is nod.
“Who let you out?”
“Boris.” I frown. “I think.” I could barely make out the face of the man who unlatched the lid. It was a blur of colors and dots as my eyes refused to stay open. “It’s all a haze… I just woke up in the infirmary and it felt like my body was on fire.”
The muscles in his jaw twitch and he clutches me tighter. One of his hands drop down to my wrist where he presses two fingers to my pulse point. His eyes drift shut as if he’s focusing on each beat of my heart to make sure I’m not as dead as I feel.
“What do you want?” The question rumbles out ominously from his throat.
My lungs contract as I look into his darkening hazel irises. “I—what do you mean,what do I want?Neither of us can change the past or anything that happened to us. What I do or don’t want won’t change any of it.”
“No.” He shakes his head and closes the distance between us, feeling his breath shudder against my lips. “What do you want?” He tips my chin up and gives me a look that says all he needs is a word, and he’ll go to war.“Anything. Ask me anything, and I will prove to you that I willalwaysbe there for you.”
Each exhale comes out heavy to match the rise and fall of his chest. “I—It—there’s…” So many things, but none I can find the words for.
Caressing his thumb over the burst blood vessels along my throat, he says, “They hurt you, didn’t they?”
I hesitate for a second, then nod, pursing my lips. Hurting implies they have power over me. Denying it won’t change that fact.
“I told you bad things happen to people who touch what isn’t theirs. Let’s make it to the morgue this time, shall we, Thief?”
I’ve never nodded so quickly. It makes the corners of his lips twitch up. Every corner of my heart fills and expands. He’s picking me. He’s choosing to be in my corner and be the support I’ve never had.
“But for now,” Kohen motions behind him, and I finally notice the two garment bags lying atop my unmade bed. “Will you be my prom date?”
It’s such a mundane question. It almost makes me feel like I’m an average teenager who will jump into bed squealing and kicking my feet because a cute boy asked me out. Isn’t normalcy a medication for a sick mind?
“From murder to corsages.” My lips twist into a coy smile thathurts to wear, but it’s enough to push back the darkness clouding my thoughts. “Are you giving me a choice?”
He shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You either walk in alone or with me by your side. Either way, we’re leaving together. I told you once, your death is mine, Thief. If anyone makes you cry, then their death is yours. I just need to know if you want it served on a silver platter or gold.”
I glance down at the dried blood crusting over my knuckles. “Silver. It looks better against red.”
“Knife or fists?”
“Baseball bat.” A slow grin spreads across my face. Damn him for knowing how to pull me out of my head. “Can we play classical music in the background?”
My breath catches when he kisses my forehead. “As my batshit crazy woman wishes.”
