I’ll be killed here, tied to this post, without knowing what his skin feels like on mine one last time.
I stifle a sob while Sidney bends over Shiloh’s prone form, screaming his own grief as he grabs at his still fingers. He howls into the basement as he holds them in his own like they’re the only precious piece of Shiloh, and I’m disgusted that this horrible man sees him that way. Tears slip down my face as I can do nothing but watch blood trickle out from beneath Shiloh’sbody, knowing that if I could get close, I’d be crying over every single piece of him, because he’s more than just his talented hands. I sniffle, turning my head to dash tears away on the shoulders of my T-shirt, but movement from the ground catches my attention, and I stop moving so I can watch carefully. Shiloh slowly opens his eyes and gives me a meaningful look, reaching out with his boot to carefully nudge the knife my way while Sidney’s distracted.
I scoop it up with the toe of my shoe, then while Shiloh watches through hazy eyes, I kick it toward my hands. I fumble with it, trying to get a grip so I can cut myself free, but when I do it feels like a chorus of success ringing in my ears. I saw and hack at the ropes that bind me tight as best I can until they fray away strand by strand, leaving me free to do as I wish with the knife and Sidney.
“Get off him,” I murmur, as I rise to my feet, my body tingling as blood rushes back to places it was hindered from traveling. My fingers itch and prickle, but I don’t dare loosen my grip on the knife.
Sidney looks up at me and then flies to his feet, taking a step backward away from Shiloh. He meets me with a sneer on his face that says the danger isn’t over.
“You did this,” he hisses, taking a step toward me. He takes another and I let go, swinging the knife at him and catching him in the shoulder. Sidney cries out as the blade slips free from his skin, still clutched tight in my hand. Rage boils inside me as I stare at him, blood slicking the shirt of the fancy suit he wears.
“Don’t move again,” I demand, holding the knife out in front of me as I take careful steps toward Shiloh. “I’m taking Shiloh and we’re leaving. You are not going to follow us.”
“You wrecked everything!” he shouts, leaping at me with gnashing teeth and clawed hands. I lash out with the knife again and stick it right into his stomach, forcing a gasp from his lungs.I shove him off me, letting him tumble to the ground, but I can’t stop myself now.
I should, but I can’t.
I kneel over him and thrust the knife into his chest, pressing hard between ribs as he screams and moans, blood seeping out of his mouth as he chokes on it. His hands fly up to grip my forearms and he tries to push me away, but I hold firm, watching him gasp and sputter. As his hands drop away from my arms, I pull the knife out of his chest and stab it into his neck, a watery gasp from his throat sounding like pure perfection to my ears. I stay to watch the blood spurt from his neck, coating the concrete beneath us in a sheen of blood. I need to be sure he won’t get up again. That I’m safe. That my Shiloh is safe. His eyes grow dim as he dies, and only then do I scramble off him.
Only then do I realize what I’ve done.
Dread twists inside me as I stare at the dead body on the floor of this dusty basement. The dead body I created. My stomach pitches and rolls knowing I did this.
I killed him.
“Donovan,” Shiloh mumbles, breaking through my spiraling thoughts, and I rise from the floor to his side.
“Baby,” I whisper, kneeling beside his body. “I killed him.”
“You saved me.”
“I love you, okay? I love you so much. Please don’t die. I’ll go call an ambulance right now, but please don’t die on me. I just found you, baby. Stay.”
“I’m not dying, Donovan,” he says, wincing in pain. “I’m not, I promise. Slice. Not stab. It’s fine. I’mfine.”
He rolls over with extreme effort, revealing a bloodied gash in the hoodie. With careful fingers, I peel it back to find that while he is injured and will probably need stitches, he’s right… it’s not that deep.
“Oh, thank fuck,” I breathe, letting go of the sliced edges of fabric before kneeling down and pressing my forehead against Shiloh’s. I feel each puff of his warm breath against my cheeks, tears of relief pooling in my eyes as I press my lips to his.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SHILOH
Donovan won’t stop touchingme. It’s not that I’m upset about it, but his hands are on my body and keep making a circuit, like he’s trying to make sure that the knife wound at my side is really just a shallow cut.
It hurts.
It hurts like a fucking son of a bitch, but Donovan’s okay, and I’ve definitely felt worse… so I don’t care if it hurts.
My hands lift, carefully cupping his face when he moves to check me over for a third time.
“I’m fine,” I say softly. And then, “Areyouokay?”
He blinks at me in a daze, but I notice his hand goes back to my side and presses against the wound.
Shallow cut.
I needed to tell him it’s a shallow cut, because if he realizes it’s a little deeper than that and probably needs stitches, he’s going to make me go to the hospital.
