Page 142 of Safe Word

‘My car’s three blocks away,’ he growled, more to himself than me, his gaze slicing across the empty streets as the wail of sirens looped in the background like a countdown. Urgency clung to us both as we looked left and right.

‘You’re not driving in this state. I’m taking you to a hosp—’

A dark chuckle broke my sentence in half. I looked up and met his feral, too-amused smile, completely unaffected by the fact that he was bleeding.

And still, he held me tucked beneath his arm – but I wasn’t stepping away.

He looked down at me, lashes clumped and damp with sweat, his hair messy. Strands curled across his brow, no longer combed back with polish but falling wild over a face that refused to relent.

His gaze lingered. Longer than it should have. Long enough that my lungs forgot what to do.

And somehow, the weight of Ghost’s leaving wasn’t there any more. It had been replaced. Not healed or erased, just crowded out by someone far more dangerous – because Cain was real.

Shame curled through me.

I looked away, searching for my cousin until I clocked her mid-argument with security. She spotted me, glanced at Cain, and shot me a smirk before winking and jerking her head for us to go on.

Fucking madwoman!

‘I’m not going to a hospital, DeLuca,’ Cain rumbled, his voice rough and coated in that musky scent that made me sway closer. I had to clear my throat just to make space for air as I refocused on him.

‘I’m taking you to my place,’ I said. ‘I have bandages, needles, stuff to stitch you up with. Creams for the bruises…’ I trailed off, trying to remember what was even in my cabinet.

That sobered him. His smirk faded, and something else slid into place behind his eyes. But he didn’t step away. He didn't exactly need my body for support – so why was he still so close?

‘Are you in pain?’ I asked quietly as we rushed towards my car.

I looked at him again – only to find those topaz eyes already on me, already digging. He was holding something in.

Even without words, I felt the His questions pressing in.

And the truth of my answers raking up my gullet: I had the creams and needles because I’d needed them far too often.

‘I’m always in pain,’ he said inaudibly.

And I could hear that little crack in my chest open wider.

I couldn’t lie to myself – it hurt to breathe. Weapons weren’t allowed in Obsidian’s underground. Which meant someone had let that fighter bring one in. Someone with authority.

By the time we reached her flat, the adrenaline had drained, leaving only the throbbing aftermath of my insanity.

The past crawled under my skin like a bad itch.

I shifted on Paula’s couch, the cushions sinking beneath my weight.

When I looked down, I caught the rust-coloured smear blooming across the dark teal armrest.

‘Shit,’ I uttered. ‘I got blood on your couch!’ Then cast a glance sideways.

My eyes found her reflection in the window glass – bent over, half inside a walk-in wardrobe, rummaging. A dim floor lamp shed a soft halo over her bookshelves that boxed in the room like a silent jury.

It made me feel a little at ease, though, being surrounded by books… something familiar.

I looked over my shoulder, at leather leggings hugging her like a second skin, every curve sculpted in black. She slid the door shut and turned, her eyes brushing mine before darting away.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ she rasped softly as she circled the couch. ‘Cold water, dish soap, hydrogen peroxide. It’ll come right off.’

She reached for my shirt—