Page 35 of What Remains

“What would have happened?” Wyatt grits out.

I haven’t had time to replay what I saw in that room, but I’ll never forget it. It’ll haunt me forever. Burn itself into the back of my skull. Because the bastard who hit my sister planned to rape Gwen.

My jaw locks tight as I bite down on my gum hard enough to taste both mint and my anger. “You don’t want to know,” I say when Gwen remains silent. “But we got to her in time.”

An eerie quiet fills the line before Wyatt asks in a low, gravelly voice, “Is he dead?”

Thank the Lord. “He is.”

“How dead?” he hisses.

“I only had five seconds.” I swallow. “I made them count.”

“I, um, know what you’re—you’re thinking, Dad,” she whispers, her voice still breaking. “But we were safe at the hotel. Supposed to be. I don’t know how they pulled it off, but it’s not your fault.”

There she goes again, trying to save everyone from the very thing she’s doing to herself. Blame. Guilt. Things I know all too well.

I slide my hand into her hair as her warm cheek presses against mine.

“Like I said,” she goes on but in a muffled voice, “they know us. I don’t think on a personal level, but they know of us.”

“What do you mean?” I drag my hands down to her shoulders and pull back to find her eyes.

Her trembling lip is all I need to see to understand. I should’ve gotten there sooner.

She catches a tear with her tongue, shaking her head. “You don’t want to know,” she repeats the line I just used.

“Tell me.” Wyatt’s definitely going to snap.

She squeezes her eyes closed and buries her face into the side of my neck again, forcing my hands to shift around from her shoulders to her back.

“The one g—guy said he planned to kill you, Dad. Same one who hurt Juliette.” She turns her face outward, away from my body, presumably so Wyatt will be able to better hear her. “But it didn’t sound like he wanted revenge, more like he wanted to stick it to you kind of thing.”

My blood heats. Every part of me aches. For her. And for a father having to experience this.

“What do you mean?” Wyatt asks slowly.

I swear I’m having an out-of-body experience as I wind up in that room. My spirit hovers over that man’s body as I take the knife to his throat. No regret about what I did aside from not having more time to handle him.

“He wanted to personally tell you he—you know—me just before he killed you. But it felt impersonally personal, if, um, that makes sense?”

I have no idea how she’s capable of sharing this and not stumbling over her words even more than she already is. It’s killing me to hear her relive it.

The line goes silent again.

Wyatt’s coming undone.

How can he not be? I am.

“He didn’t succeed,” she hurries out to remind him as her hands land on my chest. She fists my shirt like she needs something to hang on to.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wyatt’s voice catches on that last word.

She shakes her hair away from her face, then sweeps her gaze from Zoey to me. “I had two guardian angels, so yeah, I am.”

That’s the last thing I am. Angels don’t get blood on their hands. And tonight, I was nothing but a blade aimed at death.

“You feel safe holing up there until we can get to you?” Carter takes over, and I assume that’s because Wyatt’s probably spinning out. Thankfully, his wife is there for him.