Chapter 50 Evie
EVIE
Ikilled my brother.
Stepbrother, I remind myself, as if that makes it any better.
The scene keeps playing over and over again. I’m watching from above my body, seeing his face twisted in self-righteous anger. Like I’m the one failing him again by not understanding how his abuse was a good thing.
That’s what decided it for me. Jonathan didn’t feel remorse. He was proud of the torture he put me through, and was gloating about what was to come. About all the women who’d been taken before.
I don’t remember pulling the trigger.
He was talking, and I was dying inside… And then he stopped.
Bits of his skull blasted away, coating the church basement, and a single drop of red dribbled from the entry wound.
For a few moments, there was nothing but silence.
I swear there were a few seconds where he was aware of what I’d done.
Fleeting heartbeats where there was still enough oxygen and activity in his brain for him to realize I’d killed him.
“Evie.”
The tenderness in Silas’s voice brings me back from the swirling memories. He’s always had this strength about him. When we fucked, when he confessed his feelings for me, there was a possessiveness, a power underlying it all.
But not now. Right now, his deep green eyes are looking at me as if I might run. Concern, admiration, and something resembling regret all mashed together.
“Come, little fox. The water is ready,” Silas says, extending his hand. He’s standing just outside the shower, nude and waiting for me to join him.
Swallowing, I stare down at my blood-soaked clothes, fingers gripping the edge of my shirt.
I tug it off. Red stains are everywhere.
Dried bits flake from my hands, matting pieces of my hair.
I need to get it off. Need all traces of Jonathan gone.
Scrubbed from my body. And god, my jeans are stuck.
His blood hardening the fabric. And I’m trapped.
Suffocating.
“Breathe, Evie,” Silas commands as he grips either side of the zipper and yanks. Fabric splits, freeing my legs, and I scramble out of my underwear next, chest heaving as I start to scratch at the lingering stains across my body.
Silas captures my hands, throwing me over his shoulder before my nails break skin. The sudden change shatters the spiraling panic, leaving me feeling more defeated than ever.
“I can wash myself,” I start, but Silas gives my ass a sharp slap.
“I’m not leaving you alone, little fox. Don’t insult me by asking.”
Steam billows from the glass shower, the scent of eucalyptus filling the bright space.
The main house is different from Silas’s studio. Grander in an overwhelming way. We went to the studio first, but after realizing how shaken I am—how detached—Silas thought this would be better than his small washroom.
Part of me still feels like I’m floating outside my body. Even as the two of us step into the large shower, complete with two overhead spouts and a bench in the center, it feels like a dream.
Tempest and the others are at the house by campus, closer to downtown as they wait for an update. We have the Spanish-style mansion all to ourselves. Thank fuck for that, because I can’t seem to keep it together.
Silas brushes away a lock of damp hair matted with dried blood, his hand cupping my cheek as he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
He pulls away only for a moment, returning with a sponge that smells like him.
He scrubs across my breasts, my stomach, my legs, then moves my hair to the side as he washes my back, working soothing motions across my skin.
Silas takes his time, massaging the tension from my shoulders, combing through the tangles in my hair, erasing the tarnish of the day with each stroke until my skin is pink and the water runs clean.
And I just stand there, staring into nothingness. Trying to find a way to connect my mind to my body.
Noctis confirmed they’d found the Devil’s Lair while we were on the bikes earlier, but the place was empty. Silas hasn’t let a moment of worry show as the others monitor the space, putting my needs first as he anxiously awaits news. But that calm demeanor of his is cracking now.
He stares down, shifting as steam rises around us, and the uncertainty in his eyes breaks me all over again.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say. I don’t like the way Silas’s shoulders tense, as if he doesn’t believe me.
I close the distance between us, burying myself in his chest, inhaling the spice-and-leather scent of him.
“I need you, Silas. Need you to help me forget what I did. Or maybe remember who I am. I’m not sure. But I know I need you here. With me.”
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” His arms come around me, the warmth of his palms thawing every inch of flesh they touch. “You did well, Evie.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, holding me close. “He got what he deserved.”
“I don’t regret it,” I say, drawing back until I’m holding his gaze. Pieces of his dark hair have fallen forward, his large, tattooed body beaded with water, but he meets the challenge in my eyes unflinchingly.
“Killing Jonathan—I would do it again. I know I would, but everything just feels… off. Like I’m here but not really. This is my body, and I can feel you, but I’m also sort of floating and disconnected.”
Silas tilts my chin up, his thumb brushing away the tears across my cheeks like the evidence washed away by the shower. His lips meet mine, gentle and soothing. Sweet in a way I didn’t think he was capable of.
Silas kisses me like I’m his first breath of life, like he’s experiencing a miracle by sweeping his tongue across mine. Much too soon, he pulls back, fingers tangling in my hair.
“Let me bring you back.”