Scorching lava floods my veins. My hand tightens around the bloody gauze, pain shooting through my mouth as I clench my jaw.
Marco crosses the room in three quick strides, picks up the razor blade sitting on Evander’s side table. The metal gleams under the harsh lights, still stained with my blood.
He closes the distance to Jason before the other man can react, pressing the blade against his throat. Jason’s sneer falters as the edge bites into his skin—not enough to cut, but enough to promise it could.
“I’m going to have this thoroughly investigated,” Marco says, his voice deadly calm. “And if I find out it was you, I’ll kill you.”
Jason’s face pales, his breathing shallow against the pressure at his throat.
“Slowly,” Marco continues, leaning in closer. “Very slowly. Until you’re begging me to end it.”
Marco holds him there for another beat, then steps back. “Get out.”
Jason doesn’t need to be told twice. He storms toward the door, yanking it open so hard it bangs into the wall.
“Why does every single one of you insist on slamming my door like you’re cavemen?” Evander seethes.
I swallow painfully, tasting metal and salt, and manage a hoarse whisper through the swelling. “Careful, Marco. You can’t kill him.”
“Why?” Marco snaps, the razor blade still gleaming between his fingers.
“You don’t want to start a war.”
Cas nods grimly. “He’s right. Jason has friends.”
“Deathball is every man for himself,” Marco says. I see it in his eyes when he looks at me—the unspoken addendum.Until you. Until us.
“Jason isn’t lying, though,” Cas says reluctantly, then glances at me with an apologetic wince. “Sorry, Robin. But everyonedoeshate you.”
I shrug. What else can I do?
“I heard Valentine talking shit about you in the shower just this morning,” Cas continues. “They all call you pretty boy, thanks to Jason. Valentine was talking about wiping the smug smile off your face. So there’s achanceit wasn’t Jason.”
“I’m ordering the guards to lock the cells each night from now on,” Marco says.
“What?” Cas groans. “But then how will we piss at night?”
Marco shrugs. “There are buckets.” He places the blade down, crosses the room back to me. Takes my hand again. “You’re coming home with me tonight.”
I shake my head slowly. We both know that might make things worse—more fuel for their resentment. And we both know Esme can’t see me like this, unable to speak properly.
Evander squeezes Marco’s shoulder. “Caspian and I will take good care of him.”
“Cas,” Cas corrects.
Marco steps closer, his hand reaching for the back of my head. His fingers thread through my hair with infinite tenderness, and he leans down to kiss my cheek—my good cheek, the one that isn’t swollen and torn. “Will you be okay if I return home?”
I nod.
“I’ll go tell Esme you miss her,” he whispers in my ear. “As soon as I see these fucks locked up for the night.”
The promise makes my throat close up with something that isn’t blood.
The door closes with a soft click this time, and I almost smile.
My tongue throbs. Tomorrow. I’ll have to eat tomorrow. And the day after that.
Every piece of bread could hide a blade. Every spoonful of stew might contain something sharp and deadly.
