My ears fill with cotton, the gunfire sounding dull, distant as I stand there, my body numb. I hate Isaac with everything I have. He took everything from me, and now he’s made me a murderer.

The door opens and I scramble for the knife, whipping around to face my new attacker, ready to fight for my life again.

It leaves me as soon as recognition dawns in my eyes. He’s covered in blood, darkly staining his light blue shirt, and I’m not sure if it’s his or someone else’s, but he’s standing under his own steam.

“Nox…” I breathe his name. He’s alive, and he’s here.

His eyes take me in, looking wilder than I’ve ever seen them. Then he closes the space between us and I’m in his arms. I hiss in a breath as my ribs flare with pain, but when he starts to move back, I pull him into me. I don’t want him to let go, not now I just got him back.

“The blood—”

“It’s not mine,” I assure him quickly, my eyes straying to the bed. Isaac’s crumpled form is still lying there, a pool of blood growing on the covers.

Nox holds me like I’m made of porcelain as his eyes take in every bruise, every mark from Isaac’s hands. Then he kisses every inch of my hurt face before moving to my split lip, as if he’s trying to replace the hurt and remove Isaac from my skin. I ignore the pain I feel as his mouth moves over mine. I need him. I need to feel him against me, know that he forgives my sins against him, that he still loves me. The tension slowly leeches out of my body as his warmth envelops me. When he pulls back, I don’t want to let him go, but I do.

“The fuck did that cunt do to you?” he demands, and his fingertips go to my bruised throat before touching my battered face. His eyes follow the same path, flaming anger.

“I’m okay,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him or me. Am I okay?

Nox’s hands cup my face and I lean into his touch, needing it, relishing it. He soothes the darkness that is growing inside of me, makes it recede so the light can escape.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

I put my fingers to his lips, shaking my head. “I would go through it all again and more to have you standing in front of me.”

Memories of Isaac shooting him race to the front of my mind. I peer at his blood-spattered chest, taking a step back at how close I was to losing him twice.

As if he can read my thoughts, he steps towards me. “None of it’s mine. I’m good.”

“You were shot.” Tears fill my eyes and spill over. He catches them with his thumb as a smile tugs at his lips.

“It just grazed me, baby. I’m okay.”

He brushes my hair out of my face, his eyes shining with love that melts some of the ice in my belly.

My thumping heart beat slows and I rest my head against his chest, holding onto the lapels of his kutte so tightly my knuckles whiten.

“I killed him.”

“Ain’t no one going to cry over that piece of shit being dead.”

“But I killed him. I’m a murderer.”

“No, Lucy, you’re a survivor.” He kisses my temple so softly, so gently I want to cry.

His words loosen the pain in my chest a little and I take my first easy breath in days.

“I’m sorry.”

Nox lifts my chin and meets my gaze. He lets out a breath. “I get it, but no more lies. No more fucking secrets. I’m your man. You can tell me anything, yeah?”

I nod. “I only have one more.”

He stiffens in my arms.

“Yeah?”

I roll to my toes and press my mouth to his. He reciprocates immediately, kissing me back like his life depends on it.

When I pull back, we’re both breathless.

“I love you.”

His mouth tugs into a grin. “Fucking love you too.”

30

Nox

Lucy looks like hell. Anger pumps through me. Every time I look at her another bruise seems to appear. Her face is a swollen mess and her throat is covered in a smattering of dark purple marks—finger marks, I realise—but she’s alive and breathing. Right now, I’ll take it.

I want to touch her, keep her close, but I don’t want to push her either. Isaac hurt her, I can see that, but I have no idea if he did worse to her than just beating the shit out of her. The thought makes my fury simmer to the surface, threatening to bubble over, but whatever happened to her, we’ll deal with it once we’re safe.

I move over to the bed and peer down at Isaac’s body, my lip curling into a snarl. Motherfucking cunt. I want to throttle him, pick up the knife my girl dropped and shove it through his dead heart, but instead, I reach out and feel the column of his throat, searching for a pulse. There’s nothing. No fluttering heartbeat, no slow pulsing, nothing. I watch his chest for a moment and see no air being drawn into his lungs either.

I smirk.

He’s gone.

Judging from the amount of blood on his chest, there’s no way he could have survived what looks like a frenzied attack from Lucy. I feel pride that she took control. She took on her devil and won. I know it was a fight for survival, and I’m so fucking glad it was Luce who survived.

With that thought, I step back to her.

“We need to get out of here,” I tell her, keeping my voice as soft as I can manage, scared my raised voice might push her over the edge she’s teetering on.

She nibbles at her bottom lip, her eyes wide like a frightened rabbit as they slide towards the massacre on the bed. “Isaac… the body…”

I bring her attention back to me. “Won’t be anything left of the house, or him, by the time we’re done, baby. Ain’t nothing going to blow back on you.”

Her brow draws down and I can see the cogs working in her brain, trying to figure out what we’re going to do. We’re experts at clean up, but I’m not about to offload that shit on her, not when she’s barely keeping it together.

I hold my left hand out to her, ignoring the pain that flares through my shoulder, and she slips hers in mine. She feels so small, so delicate, but I can see my woman is neither of these things. She took on a monster and survived. It took courage to do what she did. Killing a man with a knife is not easy. There are better ways, cleaner ways, to take a life. I know it will fuck with her head, but I’ll be right beside her to chase the demons away. No one is getting near my woman again.

I pull my gun free of its holster and open the bedroom door slowly, peering around the edge. The landing is clear, so I give her a little tug to get her moving. She stumbles after me and I can tell she’s in pain by how slowly she’s trailing after me. I notice she’s favouring her right side. I’ve had enough broken ribs over the years to know that’s what has her stiff. I turn, scooping my hands under her legs, ignoring her protests and the pain in my own shoulder.

All arguments die on her lips as gunfire sounds close to where we are, and I turn to the side, protecting her with my body as I inch up the hallway.

“Bury your head in my neck, baby, and close your eyes,” I whisper.

I’d cleared the house as I’d moved from room to room, looking for her, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still threats. She doesn’t need to see any of the bloodshed.