Page 44 of Trigger Happy Ending

Chapter 21

Soren

Forty minutes have passed, and I’ve spent all forty of those minutes replaying the scene over and over again. I get angrier each time I hear her throw the deaths of my brothers in my face.

Who the hell is she, really?

I barely know anything about her, yet she seems to know the most traumatic moment of my life. How? How does she know about my terror squad? And more importantly, why am I putting up with her shit? I’m the intimidator, not the intimidated. Yet, this woman continues to poke holes in my armor. I stand in front of the half-fogged bathroom mirror and inspect my healing bullet wound.

Another souvenir from Raine that I didn’t ask for.

At least it’s healing well. A couple of small fragments remain lodged in my ribs, but that’s nothing new. I’m littered with shrapnel from past missions. I’ve managed to tattoo most of my skin to hide the battle scars. My eyes drift to the three names etched permanently on my body. I huff out a half smile and wonder what the boys would make of Raine. They’d probably love seeing me all torn up. Hang heaps of shit on me for going soft.

I’d give anything to have them here to see it.

I roughly scrub my face, tiredness settling in. I need sleep. Today has been one of the biggest mindfucks. Opening my bedroom door to grab a glass of water before bed, I stop at the threshold.

Raine’s slumped at the kitchen counter, head tipped forward, resting on her arm curled like a pillow under her cheek. Her hair’s a dark tangle, haloed around her face, and the tequila bottle beside her is now empty.

And she’s still wearing my fucking shirt.

Passed the fuck out, she looks harmless. Not like the psycho bitch who knifed my door an hour ago. Drinking ’til you pass out is never a good sign though. You can’t drown your demons. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I should leave her. Let her wake up with a crooked neck and a pounding headache. She deserves the hangover from hell.

Instead, I find myself stepping forward. I slide my arm under her knees, lifting her up off the stool. She’s lean muscle, but light. She sinks into me without resistance, a complete dead weight. Her head rests against my chest as I walk her to her bedroom. I scan her face, mainly to ensure she doesn’t stir, but also to view her beauty up close. She has a splattering of tiny, barely there freckles over her nose.

Her bedroom smells like her. Like rain on a summer’s day, cooling down the warm pavement. Reminds me of my favorite place in the world: my lakehouse.

I lower her onto the bed as carefully as I can. She stirs, fingers brushing my forearm, but doesn’t wake. I pull the blanket over her legs. My hand lingers too long on her warm, golden skin.

I should leave, but I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t help but think under the tough exterior and forked tongue, she’s broken in all the same places I am. Maybe that’s why she’s the splinter I can’t remove.

Because I see myself in her.

***

I’ve been watching her for a full ten minutes now. The pre-dawn moon spills across her face and neck, the light catching on her snowflake necklace. She’s dreaming. Having a nightmare, actually. After I put her down, I went to bed and fell into a restless sleep for an hour or so, waking to the shrill sound of her yelling in her sleep. I still have nightmares occasionally. Not so much anymore, but there was a period where I would dream about what happened night after night.

It was my fault they died. It happened under my command. For months afterwards, every time I closed my eyes, I saw their faces. Even to this day, I can feel the heat on my skin from the blast, the weight of Kade’s body slamming into me. Saving me from the fate the three of them suffered.

I should have died that day.

I have wanted to die every day since then.

I buried alive whatever shred of humanity I had left that day and re-emerged a darker, more unforgiving version of who I always was. But becoming as dark as I have brings with it its own share of problems. Sleep being one of them.

Watching Raine thrash about in hers gives me a sick sort of comfort.

It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who has demons that don’t strike in the daylight. Our kinds of demons prefer to wait until you’re at your most defenseless, your most vulnerable. And if she’s anything like me, her mind is a warzone. You don’t live a life full of death and destruction and dream of happy places.

You dream in violence, lives lost, lives taken, unspeakable acts all in the name of service and orders from people you thought you could trust. You can try and run from demons, but in my experience, they always find a way to catch up to you, drag you under, and rip you apart.

Being awake is torture, but being asleep? Even worse.

For a brief moment, I consider waking Raine. But why should I? Mere hours ago, she threw a bunch of knives at me.

No. She can suffer, and I will watch.