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My shoulders slump, the edge of my anger slipping away. The reassurance releases the tension in my shoulders.
“Where are we going?”
I shoot Ello a pin. He doesn’t comment on why I know his phone number. “There.”
It only takes us a few minutes. I’m pretty sure the old guy broke some rules, but it doesn’t bother me. He opens the door, and I step out, keeping Valentina from shifting.
“She’s going to need—”
“Me,” I cut off. “She needs me. You need to return to the mansion and play interference.”
Ello glares at me, clicking his tongue. I can see why he’s her guard—tall, intimidating, a real asshole. But I have the only woman I’ve ever loved, injured in my arms, and I grew up with literal bad guys. I’ll cut off his hand if he tries to take her from me.
“How will I know she’ll be safe?”
“She’ll be safer than she ever was,” I quip. “I think we both know I’m not letting anything happen to her.”
He stalls and shifts his weight. Then, he presses a chaste kiss to her temple and brushes her hair off her forehead. It’s almost tender.
“Call me when she awakens.”
Entering the high-rise, I nod. The elevator stops at my floor, and I stride through the barren loft toward my bedroom upstairs. The sun has set, and the stars dot the navy sky as I place her on my bed. Her hair fans out like a dark halo, and I know right then—I’d do anything for her. Willingly, gleefully, I’ll jump into the darkness, break every vow and become everything I hate, if it gives me her.
Because she’s worth all my morals.
She’s my soul manifested.
27
BRIAR
Going to my bathroom, I collect every piece of wound-cleaning product I have. It’s not much. I haven’t really thought about cleaning my scrapes, and now, it’s going to fuck over Valentina.
Dumping everything beside the bed, I roll her over onto her stomach and press speed dial four.
“What happened?” Collins asks, voice tired but alert. Glancing at the clock, I kick myself—she’s still on the clock.
“I need help.”
“Where are you?” I hear shuffling. “I’ll call Hayes and have him—”
“No, I need your expertise.” Rubbing my forehead, I clench my fist around the phone before asking, “How do you treat a burn?”
She exhales. “A burn. Is it a bad one?”
“Yeah,” I say, snorting.
“How bad?”
“Like a brand.”
“A brand,” she murmurs, tasting the words. I wait for the inquisition—of all the sisters, Collins’s curiosity gets her into more trouble than not—but it doesn’t come. “You need to clean it. Fresh water, mild soap, clean bandages. Then, keep it dry. You’ll have to do this multiple times a day.”
I nod, though she can’t see it. “Understood.”
“Give regular painkillers,” she instructs. “There will be a lot of pain and discomfort.”
“Got it.”
