He leans down, brushing a kiss across my head, and that kiss is everything.
It’s everything.
Ten minutes later, I see a truck slowing down and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s Alarick. So far, no cops have gone past, but that’s not to say we won’t run into them soon. We climb in, and as soon as we do, Alarick turns and his eyes scan over us. “Where’s Kendric?”
“He’s coming,” Samson says. “He wanted to make sure nothin’ was left behind.”
Alarick’s eyes flash, and he glances off into the woods. He’s concerned, we all are, but there’s nothing we can do right now. We need to get out of here.
“We’re goin’ back to Mykel’s place. We’re goin’ to get rid of every single thing we’re wearing or have touched, and we’re goin’ to fuckin’ pray we’ve gotten away with this.”
Nobody says anything the entire drive home.
I press my cheek to Mykel’s shoulder and close my eyes. Over and over, I say the same prayer.
When we arrive back home, Mykel helps me out of the car and before we’ve even reached the front door, Briella is running down the stairs. She reaches me and takes my face in her hands. “Oh honey, oh. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I tell her, my voice crackly. “I just . . . I just need to sit down.”
“Come on. Let’s get you sorted out.”
We all enter the house, where Cohen, Bohdi, Merleigh and Briella have been waiting. The moment they lay eyes on me, their faces fall. I know I look terrible, but judging by their expressions, it’s a whole lot worse than I’d first thought.
Mykel turns to me when we’re in the light, and the second he sees me, his eyes flash with a rage that’s terrifying. “Waverly,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “Fuck.”
“Is it that bad?” I ask softly, rubbing my arms.
“What happened to you?” Alarick asks. “What did he do?”
I stare down at my feet, and I tell them what happened. I tell them about the bathtub, and how he tried to drown me. I tell them how he slammed my head into the dash, and how I kicked him to get out of the car. I tell them every single horrible thing he said, and every single horrible plan he had.
“Fuck,” Mykel barks, clenching his fists. “We should have killed that filthy fucker when we had the chance. I’ll make him suffer for this.”
“He’s gone,” I whisper. “He’s skipped town by now, him and Peter. They’re long gone, thinking they’ve gotten away with their perfect little plan.”
“Fuck,” Alarick barks, slamming his fist so hard into a lamp that it launches off the table and shatters onto the ground. Everyone goes silent. “I should have fuckin’ known. I should have fuckin’ picked it up. Fuck!”
“It’s okay,” Briella says softly, taking his arm.
He jerks it out of her grip and storms from the house, slamming the door so hard it nearly shatters. Briella looks to me, gives me a small smile, and then follows him out. I watch them go, and my heart sinks. I wish I had known. I wish I had figured this out earlier too. I wish we had realized just how manipulative Dax really is. Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this mess.
“We need to get you cleaned up in case the cops show,” Mykel murmurs. “You might need a stitch in your head.”
“We can’t go to the hospital,” I say softly. “If we do, and they find out . . .”
“We don’t need to go to the hospital. I’ve got everything we need here.”
Well.
I’m sure that’ll be enjoyable.
Mykel takes my arm and leads me down the hall to the bathroom, and once we’re inside, he walks over, leans down and begins running the water. I watch him, arms wrapped around myself.
“Bath is going to be kinder on your sore body,” he says, standing upright and turning to me. “Let me know if you need a hand.”
He goes to walk out, but in a soft voice, I call his name. He stops and turns back to me.
“Please stay,” I whisper. “Please, don’t go.”
His eyes hold mine, and he pauses for a moment. Then he takes a step forward and his hand reaches out and cups the side of my face. My heart pounds against my ribcage. He slowly releases me and takes hold of my muddy clothes, and gently, he undresses me. It hurts, every single piece of my body hurts, but knowing he’s here and taking care of me makes me feel so much safer.
When I’m naked, he helps me into the bath, which is warm, but not too hot. I slowly sink down, and all the scratches, grazes and wounds on my body sting. I clench my eyes shut and hold my breath, knowing this is the best thing for me right now. Once I’m sitting fully in the bath, Mykel sits on the side and soaks a washcloth with some water before slowly starting the big job of removing all the blood, dirt and grime from my face.
It takes a while, and it’s painful. Slowly, the bathwater turns an ugly shade of brown, a mix of blood and dirt. Mykel washes my hair, cleans me up, and then helps me out of the bath and into a fresh towel. “You’ve got some good scratches, but the one on your head is going to need a few stitches. You think you can handle that?”
“After tonight, I think I can handle anything,” I say softly.
He leads me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he sits me on the end of the bed and tells me to wait while he gets me some clothes. A few minutes later, he returns with some pajamas and then he helps
