Chapter 35 #2
The knife comes toward my throat—I watch it rise, watch the edge catch the shower’s steam, watch Jason’s hand tighten around the handle.
My pulse pounds in my neck where the blade will open me.
Will I feel it? The hot rush as my blood joins the water circling the drain?
How long will it take? Seconds? A minute?
I can’t even close my eyes.
The blade veers.
My hair.
He saws through it in rough chunks. No precision now—just destruction. Blond hits the wet floor in clumps. Years of growth gone in seconds. The knife scrapes my scalp, nicks the skin.
“There.” He’s gasping. “Now you look like the nothing you are.”
My face meets tile again. The world grays out. Sound becomes distant—just the water’s roar and my heart struggling to beat around aching ribs.
In. Out. Pain. Darkness. Copper taste drowning my mouth.
“Fuck, Jason.” The guard’s voice, far away. Scared. “You’re going to kill him if you don’t stop. That wasn’t what we agreed.”
Jason grunts. “You got paid, didn’t you? What do you care?” I feel him shift. Drawing back.
His boot finds my stomach.
White.
Black.
Nothing.
Hands shake me awake. Gentle but urgent.
Pain shoots through my skull. My ribs scream. Every breath feels like drowning.
I try to speak but only manage a low grunt. The sound barely escapes my throat.
The cloth is gone from my mouth. The handcuffs too.
“Fucking hell.” Marco’s voice. “Wake up. Robin, wake up!”
His fingers ghost over my face. Tracing the swelling around my eyes. The split in my lip. He touches what’s left of my ruined hair.
“Birdie.” The word breaks. “Oh, birdie. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Marco slides his arms beneath me, lifting me like I weigh nothing. My head lolls against his shoulder. Every movement sends fresh agony through my ribs.
The corridor spins. Lights streak past overhead. He’s taking me to Evander.
I shut my eyes and bury my face in Marco’s shirt. Breathe in his scent—soap and sweat and sunshine. His heartbeat pounds against my cheek as he carries me.
This is a nicer way to die. Being held by Marco rather than crushed by the Deathball.
The door clicks open. The sound echoes through my skull.
I force my eyes open. Everything swims.
Evander’s slumped over Cas’s bed, clearly asleep. But he startles awake at the noise.
“Marco!” His voice bright with relief. “His fever broke! He’s going to—” His eyes fall to me. His face goes slack. “What the…?”
“Save him!” Marco rushes me over to Evander’s second bed.
Evander stares, mouth working silently. Blood crusted under my nose. Split lip. Whatever Jason did to my ribs. The jagged slashes in my scalp from the knife. He doesn’t know where to start.
“Evander! Please!”
That snaps him into action. His hands flutter over me, pressing each body part, checking for breaks. Professional. Clinical. His jaw tight.
I try to focus on Marco’s face, but everything blurs. Two of him hover above me where there should be one.
“Who did this?” Marco’s voice turns cold. Deadly. A pause. Then, “Jason.”
I can’t respond. Can’t even nod. My body won’t obey.
“I’m going to kill him.”
No. He can’t. He can’t do that.
“No!” The word tears out of me. I push desperately at Evander’s arms. “Marco, don’t!” The reasons line up on my tongue: they’ll send him to prison. He won’t be able to save Esme. We have our plan.
But it’s no good.
Marco is already moving. His boots hit the floor hard, purposeful.
I do the only thing I can. I try to throw myself off the bed.
My legs give out instantly. Evander catches me before I hit the ground, his arms locking around my chest. My ribs shriek and I cry out with the pain.
“Robin.” He’s trying to soothe me, guide me back. “Let me help you.”
“No!” I twist in his grip, every movement agony. My feet scramble for purchase on the smooth floor. “Stop him!”
“Nobody can stop Marco. You know that.” Evander’s voice is quiet. Resigned.
He lifts me—careful of my ribs—and sets me back on the bed. The thin mattress dips under my weight. I try to push up again, but his hand presses my shoulder down. Firm. Unyielding.
My head spins. Marco’s footsteps echo down the corridor, getting farther away.
“Robin?” A weak, croaky voice.
“Cas!” Cas is alive. He made it through. A tiny prickle of joy races through me. One good thing.
“Don’t you move, either,” Evander yells at Cas, one hand still pressed against my shoulder to keep me down.
“What’s going on?”
“Jason,” I tell him.
“That prick. I’ll kill him.”
“I think Marco is going to beat you to that,” Evander says.
Scuffling from outside. Marco’s voice, then Jason’s—high-pitched, protesting.
Fuck. What’s happening?
Shadows approach down the corridor. Heavy footsteps. Someone stumbling.
Then Marco appears, shoving Jason against the wall just outside the medical bay.
His fist connects with Jason’s nose.
Blood sprays. Jason’s head snaps back, cracking against stone.
“Marco!” I shout. “Stop!”
But Marco doesn’t stop.
He hauls Jason away from the wall by his hair, drags him down the corridor. Out of sight. The sounds continue—wet impacts, Jason’s choked gasps, Marco’s breathing harsh and controlled.
I weakly fight Evander’s restraining hands. Each movement sends fire through my ribs. Cas is saying something, but it all feels underwater. Distant. Muffled.
The room tilts. Spins.
A distant slam echoes through the dungeon. Heavy metal against stone.
The sound reverberates off the walls, final and absolute.
Marco has left the dungeon.
“What’s going on? Where’s he taking him?” Cas pushes himself up on his elbows, wincing.
I stare at the empty doorway. At the blood smeared on the wall where Jason’s head hit stone. At the silence that follows violence.
Evander’s hands still press against my shoulder, keeping me down. But his grip has loosened, his attention fixed on that doorway too.
“Evander? What’s he doing?”
Evander says nothing, and in that silence, something cold settles through me.
Whatever Marco’s doing, it’s bad enough that even Evander won’t say it out loud.