Page 29 of Death Kiss

The thing that snaps me into reality is Kat’s face. Not just worried. But scared.

I’ve experienced enough violent men to know how she’s feeling.

And I hate myself even more for making her feel that.

TWELVE

KAT

Jagged shards catch the light, sunk into Liam’s knuckle. His eyes look unfocused and dark in the shattered mirror, causing my stomach to churn.

And there’s blood.

Not the blood of someone who deserves to have it spilt. This is the blood of the man I cherish, and it kills me to see him hurting.

I’m frozen to the spot. The urge to rush over and wrap my arms around his still-wet body, to kiss away his pain, fills me. And yet, I can’t move.

My pulse is the only sound I can hear at first, the scared whoosh-whoosh as it speeds around my head. Then there’s the drip. Crimson landing on the floor in splatter-edged dots.

A silent scream tears at my throat. My eyes sting with stuck tears.

I want to do something, but I can’t.

So we stare at each other in the broken mirror until I break myself out of the fear response.

‘Liam,’ I whisper, stepping into the bathroom.

He doesn’t answer. There’s only the ragged rise of his back and chest. For the first time, I’m scared of him. Not exactly of him—I know he’ll never lash out at me—but of what our mission is doing to him.

‘Baby,’ I say, my fingertips gently resting on his back. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, looking away from my reflection. It guts me.

Taking him by his undamaged hand, I lead him to the sitting room, grabbing a towel en route and putting it on the sofa. I gently push him to sit and throw the other half of the towel over his lap.

‘Stay here,’ I instruct him, going back to close the bathroom door in case Reggie steps on broken glass. Ellie left the first aid kit behind when she moved out, her mum having plenty of supplies at their house. I’m thankful she was grown up enough to buy one when we moved in, as I was woefully unprepared.

Liam’s staring at the glass sticking out from his knuckles when I return to him, supplies and tweezers in hand. Kneeling in front of him I set about removing the small shards of mirror, hoping I get them all. The biggest ones come out easily enough, but some of the thinner slivers are hard to grip.

No emotion passes on Liam’s face. So used to being hurt throughout his life. It kills me.

‘Hold still,’ I say. Not because he’s moving. Just because I need to fill the gap where his voice usually is.

‘I am,’ he finally replies.

Relief washes over me, and I swallow back emotion. The last thing Liam needs is for me to start crying.

Once I’m sure the glass is completely out, I gently bathe his hand with water-soaked pads before applying antiseptic. His sharp intake of breath is the first sign he’s feeling anything, and I have to concentrate to stop my fingers from trembling.

‘What happened?’ I ask as I start applying fiddly little butterfly strips, trying to knit the multiple slashes on his hand. It’s tricky with so many cuts. Every time I try to place one, the adhesive parts seem to hit another wound. ‘And don’t even think about lying to me. If you do, you’ll need more than butterfly strips.’

A tiny smile lifts the corner of his mouth. It’s enough for now.

He watches me work, and I begin to think he’s not going to answer at all. After a few minutes, he gives a stuttered sigh.

‘I went to Ashworth’s house.’

I can feel my brow knit as I stare up at him. ‘You did what? Alone?!’