I could scream my ex-husband’s name, list every single person in his family, mention every company they own, and Ordus still wouldn’t know who the hell they are, because this is another universe. I’m on Earth, but in another realm entirely.
“Tommy Gallagher.” I haven’t spoken his name out loud in over a year. It tastes bitter and liberating. I stop myself from mentioning pirates, because that probably has a different meaning to him.
Ocean blues turn stormy as a vein in his temple ticks. “Did he harm you?”
I flinch at the memory of my marriage. Ordus knows the answer. I think he figured it out long before I uttered my demon’s name.
“I will kill him,” he snarls, teeth bared, incisors on show.
It’s…touching. I forgot what it’s like to have someone in my corner. The only person to slay my demons has been me.
“Too late. I beat you to it.” I don’t mean to sound sad, but it’s the first time I’ve confessed my sins out loud, and it’s like this great big weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I can finally breathe again, release a hand off the reins and let someone else grip them for dear life with me.
It’s a premature feeling, but it’s there all the same.
“My mate is deadly.” Ordus dips his head in appreciation. Our gazes clash, and the glint of pride in his eyes makes me want to crawl into a ball and cry. “You will not need to kill again—not unless you enjoy it, in which case I will bring you many bodies.”
I blanch. Right, I forgot we both have a different set of morals and ethics. “You aren’t meant to condone murder, let alone enable it.”
No, the giddy feeling in my chest isn’t because his declaration of bloodshed is kind of romantic. If I’m swooning, it’s from the heat and the many near-death experiences I’ve had as of late.
“I would kill every male alive for you—monster and human. It makes no difference to me whether you take their last breath or I do.” I inhale sharply and still when he trails a finger down my jaw. “Ask, and I will make it so.”
“You—” I shift in my seat and clear my throat. He lowers his hand back to his side, disappointed. “You don’t need to kill anyone for me.”
Kill all the Gallaghers for me, and make it hurt, is what I want to say.
“I have done it many times before. There is no version of existence where I wouldn’t do it all again for you.” His voice is a deep rumble that sends a dark thrill through me.
Tommy killed in my name before, but it was neverfor me. The wounds he left behind have scraped and reopened a hundred times. They’ve been infected, inflamed, bloodied, and bruised, but they never healed. The best is a moderate itch begging to be scratched.
Because I lied when I said I’d sleep peacefully after killing Tommy. I haven’t known a moment of peace since I shoved that knife into his neck. I’m afraid it’ll never get better.
“How do you sleep with all the blood on your hands?” I whisper, staring at my plate. I’ve lost my appetite.
“Alone.” Ordus’ face betrays nothing. It’s only the tightening of his tentacle that tells me our words have any impact. I watch him soften when he looks back down at the braid, and my tummy does a low whoop despite the somber shift in atmosphere. “Sometimes, I rest still feeling their blood on my skin.”
My fingers twitch, remembering how it felt to pierce skin and sinew, how the warmth of his blood felt splattered on my face.
“Sometimes,” I start, thinking of the nights I’ve spent staring at my hand and the two-and-a-half-inch scar on my wrist. “Sometimes, it’s a blanket that warms you to the core.”
“Other times, it leaves you cold,” he finishes for me. My injured arm prickles under the heat of his attention. His hand covers mine, engulfing the scar and each of my sore fingers in his protective embrace. “But you are not alone anymore. You have no need to fear.”
Inhaling deeply, I explain. “His family will not rest until they’ve captured me.”
“No one will find you here.”
I know that. More than anything, I know that in my very soul. John and the rest of the Gallaghers won’t, but Tommy’s ghost will follow me wherever I go.
The second I think it, a knife twists in my stomach. It’s like a premonition. I’m setting myself up for failure. I want so badly to not see Tommy in every man I encounter, to stop running and hiding.
Just being able to mention his name without fear of repercussions is like having a stream of light break through the cracks so there’s one corner of the world where his ghost can’t touch me.
Ordus is nothing like the Gallaghers, who all hide their faces. Ordus sometimes wears his heart on his sleeve, and maybe I might have thought it was manipulative before, or a mask, but it’s clear this is just who he is. There’s nothing hiding in the closet. He’s just…sad.
“He was my husband,” I whisper, unsure whether I want Ordus to hear. I wince when I move my elbow to get more comfortable. Ordus freezes and snatches his hand away, like he’s worried he’s the issue. “It’s a…an old injury,” I assure him. “I’ve had it for years.”
The muscles in his jaw pulse. He touches the scar on his ribs, and a flicker of rage crosses his face. My heart sinks. It really is like holding up a mirror. When you survive certain things, you develop a knack for recognizing other survivors.
