Page 55 of Shattered Souls

It’s the truth. I might not want to stay with them right now, but—because of that dream or not—this is simple. I’m fond of Hayze. Of the way he touches me, the way he speaks to me when the days are slow and calm, and the way he draws ravens almost subconsciously now.

It might not be love, because I don’t think that’s something I want to feel, but it’s familiar now. And I’ve wanted nothing more since I left my father’s that night. Something familiar—some form of a constant in my life.

He nods and tugs my arm once more, bringing me inside his room. On his desk, he has a tattoo gun and what looks like a bunch of different inks. He walks over to one of the chairs while motioning for me to sit. I timidly take the seat, eyes roaming over the different papers he has splayed across the desk.

I want to mark you. Make you mine.

I swallow. “What if I don’t want to be marked?” I whisper, my fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt, and my eyes pinned to the floor.

DO YOU?

When my eyes meet his once more, I give in. Not to being a prisoner, but to trying to make the best of this. If I leave and find the cops, I’m putting both men in a dangerous position, as well as risking them running my prints and finding Mae Evans.

I nod my head, the movement subtle and frail, but he sees it nonetheless. He rifles through the papers beside him, landing on one I can’t see, then he grabs some sort of cream. His eyes are bright with pride or joy as he asks me to lift my shirt. I do so without question, trusting him wholly.

He slathers the cream on my skin before sticking the stencil to my ribs. I don’t look at it, almost wanting to be surprised with the design. Instead, he directs me to his bed, turns on a lamp and positions it above his work, and before I can blink, the tattoo gun whirls to life.

18

Seek

Tonight has been long. Too many elderly patients falling and needing to be moved to the hospital. I swear something is in the air tonight. We’ve also had one dog bite to the left bicep. It needed serious stitches but the man wanted to refuse treatment—he ended up going when he saw the muscles in his arm flexing, internally.

The case that got to me the most, and the one I’m currently showering off my body, was the suicide of a man I’ve done welfare checks on in the past. He was thirty-three and the definition of a hermit. I saw Hayze in him, if I’m being honest with myself.

He was quiet, not wanting to talk to the other officers or paramedics when we arrived for the welfare checks. I managed to get him to open up to me and tell me he was just an introvert that struggled with social anxiety.

When we got the call tonight to do a welfare check, I figured I could cheer him up. When he didn’t answer the door—I knew what I was walking into. He was sitting on his bed, pistol lying limp in his lap. But what really hit me was the tears permanently stained on his cheeks, and the pleading look in his eyes—one that would be stuck that way until he went to the coroner's office.

I’m currently standing in my shower, head pressed to the cold tile wall, as I say goodbye to the sleep I was so excited for right before that call. I checked on Hayze when I came home. He was in bed with Rayvn draped across his chest. Both of them looked so at peace.

The relief I felt seeing him alive was short lived, quickly replaced with a cold feeling of jealousy.

I’m not jealous of Hayze—not entirely. I’m jealous that she’s clung to him and has shown nothing but resistance towards me. The plan was to share her, to bend her and break her until she was molded into something for each of us. But, I’ve yet to touch her more than the stolen touches I got on the couch.

I decided that night that I’d wait until she wanted me. Until she came to me and showed me she wanted both of us. Until then, I’m just happy Hayze is happy—and alive.

I dry myself and exit the shower, towel hung low on my hips, when I hear a noise. One hand clutching the towel, like that’s gonna do anything, and the other finding my gun on my nightstand, I prowl out into the hallway. I’ve killed people, yes, but never in my own self defense before.

The house is dark, barren of anyone at first glance. But, I can hear the shallow exhales of someone trying to hide. The door to my left opens, Rayvn’s groggy eyes meeting mine.

I place a finger to my lips, grabbing her shoulder and ushering her behind me. Her arms wrap around my middle, and her breath now comes out in short and panicked breaths.

“What’s happening?” She asks after a few more seconds of tense silence.

“Stay behind me and be quiet.” I demand, my voice clipped. I creep forward, gun leading us as I sweep the rooms. The living room is free of an intruder, and the kitchen as well.

When the only room that remains unchecked is the fun room, I fear the worst. I walk forward, turning the corner. The furthest wall, the one with our fucking barrel, is illuminated by a phone’s flashlight.

There’s a man rummaging around the cabinet in other the corner of the room. The same cabinet that holds my medical supplies and various weapons. He lifts his phone, the light going dark, and then the room is covered in a flash of light. A fucking picture.

Rayvn leans over to peer at the man. I shove her back behind me with the arm holding the gun. She shrinks away from the weapon, her body vibrating with fear.

I step, tightening my towel, turn the corner fully, and flip the light on, gun pointed on the man. He swings towards me, his own gun pointed in my direction. A small frame presses against my back.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growl, feeling suddenly protective over the woman pressed against me.

“Hmm, are you Hyde—or Seek?” The question makes me stare at him, trying to pinpoint where I’ve seen this man before. Rayvn peeks around me, eyes meeting the man across the room.