Chapter 34 What We Keep in the Dark
A fierce warmth cuts through my chest when recognition lights Aria’s face. She remembers my memory about the cabin.
Her long hair is mussed by the wind, and dark circles rim her eyes. She’s dwarfed by my leather jacket, which ends mid-thigh.
But she’s devastatingly beautiful. A fairy under the moonlight.
Ignoring the pain from my knife wound, I focus on her blooming smile before unlocking the door and flicking on the light switch.
The sight hits like a fist to the gut.
True to the caretaker’s promises, he’s kept everything untouched over the years.
I drift to the far wall of the rustic living room, passing by an aged leather sofa and a stone fireplace.
I drag my fingers over the lavender throw draped on a wicker armchair.
It’s the blanket Mom wrapped me in when she took me outside to see the stars.
The same children’s books rest on the shelves—a few volumes toppled over, some neatly stacked by color, which was Mom’s favorite way of arranging things.
On top of the mantel is a shotgun, proudly displayed next to a taxidermy buck’s head—the one from my first hunting kill.
Mom and Celia shrieked when Dad hung it up.
Mom said it was gross to have a corpse on display.
I remember the guilt that found me whenever I passed by the fireplace, thinking the buck was going to get its revenge someday.
“You said you didn’t want to come back,” Aria whispers.
I spin, finding her staring at me with furrowed brows, warm concern in her eyes.
She still cares about me.
I don’t deserve it.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow. “It’s the safest place I know. Cash payments to a caretaker every month. Untraceable.”
“But your memories?”
“Are beautiful.” My voice roughens. “And they just got more beautiful now.”
Because you’re here.
Aria’s breath hitches. She blinks rapidly, then rips her gaze away from me.
A sharp pain sizzles through my back, and wetness seeps through my shirt once more. I should fix the wound before it gets infected.
“Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
I lead her through the narrow hallway to the biggest room in the cabin. The furnishings are simple, with a four-poster bed in the corner, a nightstand, a dresser made from reclaimed wood, and a stained-glass lamp.
“There are blankets in the closet if you need more. But everything’s washed. The caretaker does that monthly for me.”
I jerk my thumb toward the smaller room next door. It seemed roomy when I was little. But in reality, it’s barely big enough to fit the twin-sized bunk bed.
“That’s where I’ll be. And there’s no reception out here, but I have a satellite radio. I’ll let the others know we’re safe and waiting for their updates.”
Aria nods and wraps her arms around herself, like she’s still cold. Her necklace with the diamond ring glints on her chest.
She looks so alone.
An urge to pull her into my arms floors me, but I force myself to turn around, to give her space.
She hates you as she should. Remember that.
A fresh wave of pain ripples through me. I don’t even know if it’s from the wound or her distance, but it doesn’t matter.
“Your shoulder!” Her quick footsteps float to my ears. “You really need to take care of that.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“There’s no way you can do it properly,” she mutters, indignation threading her voice. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”
“The bathroom.”
She quickly disappears down the hall and returns with the kit in question before pulling me to the bed.
Brow arched, she pats the navy comforter. “Sit.”
“Are you sure?”
Don’t be so nice to me. It’s taking every ounce of control for me not to grab her and kiss those soft lips. Not to throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness, because I’d do anything to have her back in my life.
“Sit, Ren Sima, before I give your knife wound a twin.”
“I thought nurses were supposed to have good bedside manners,” I mutter.
She growls, clearly remembering I’d teased her the same way in the ER before.
Biting back a smile, I sit next to her.
I’ll do anything she asks of me.
“Take off your shirt. I need to assess the injury,” she demands.
My voice deserts me when he whips off his shirt.
It’s the first time I’ve seen his naked chest in the light, and the room shrinks around all that bare skin.
Swathes of corded muscle meet my eyes.
The man looks like one of the live models in the anatomy class I took in college.
Except he’s sturdier. Thicker. Each muscle startlingly defined.
His skin is inked with tattoos—a skull, representing the Triads, three koi fish on his back, a Chinese character above his right shoulder blade, and the vines over his arms are ivy wrapping around roses and orchids, each stroke detailed and exquisite.
I want to trace his ink. Ask what each means.
Ignoring the tug between my legs, I fiddle with the first-aid box until I open it.
Calm down, Aria. It’s just a body. You see naked bodies every day at work.
But none of them mean anything to me.
Flustered, I shove the useless thoughts away, put on gloves, and get to work on his gash. He hisses when I touch him.
The wound is deep but appears clean. Local inflammation. Skin not hot to the touch. All good signs.
I disinfect the area before pulling out the thread and needle. But as I suture him up, the gravity of what happened hits me hard.
Ren threw himself on top of me with no care for his life.
No hesitation.
A few more inches to the left, and the knife probably would’ve hit an artery.
I would’ve lost him then.
A sob catches before I can swallow it as I drag my gaze over his back.
His body is riddled with scars from gunshots, knife wounds, and more. Much more. I want to touch those marks, to kiss away any lingering pain.
How close to death did he get each time?
The thought of him not being in my life is unbearable.
“I’m okay, Aria,” he murmurs. “Really.”
Even with his back to me, he still knows what I’m thinking.
He always did.
As Ren, Reaper, and Ghostface.
He embraced my darkness and accepted me, flaws and all. No one has ever done that before. Not Mom, who ran away from me. Not Grandma, who put on a brave face but was secretly hoping I wouldn’t turn out like Mom. Not Blake, who jokingly called me the gloom to his sunshine.
Ren made me feel like I was enough. Just as I am.
I make quick work of the sutures and apply a bandage over the area.
“This should do for now.” I clear my throat, but my voice is still thick. “You should get it checked out by a doctor later.”
“Thank you,” he rasps.
Ren stands and faces me. His eyes glitter with unsaid sentiments.
I wet my lips.
His gaze dips to my mouth for a beat before he pivots toward the door.
“Wait!” What am I doing?
He freezes, his hand resting on the doorway, muscles rippling with tension.
The distance between us seems to shorten with each inhale.
“Can you tell me why?” The hurt resurfaces again. “Why Ghostface and Reaper? Why did you come to me night after night? If you wanted a key, wouldn’t it be easier to hurt me—”
“I will kill myself before I hurt you.” The words are soft, but the conviction rocks my soul.
Slowly, he turns, agony clear in his eyes.
But he nods. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. It’s the least I can do.”
He doesn’t come closer. Instead, he leans against the wall. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, I’d think he were a statue.
“At first, I told myself it was a glitch.” He rests his palm over his sternum. “Because I got Blake’s heart. Somehow, his feelings must’ve transferred to me, as ridiculous as that sounds.”
He shakes his head. “But that was a lie. You see, over a year ago, a woman asked me random questions in a café, then grabbed my favorite book off the shelf. She was relentless. Persistent. She was fearless and seemed to make it her mission to get me to smile. And from that moment on, I’d find myself looking for her whenever I brought Lana to the café.
When I passed by the hospital, I’d wonder how this tiny nurse without a fear gene was doing.
If she was overwhelmed by the horrors she saw every day. ”
The words strike something awake inside me.
I never knew these thoughts swirled behind his searing intensity.
Ren lets out a half-chuckle. “But I convinced myself Si Shen doesn’t have a heart. My days were numbered anyway.”
“Si Shen?” Wasn’t that what the guards were whispering at the Kong residence?
“God of death in Chinese,” he explains. “That’s who I am. Your gift is to save lives. My curse is to take them.”
No, it isn’t, I want to tell him. He’s so much more than a killer.
“Then the hospital shootout happened. The only thing on my mind was how best to protect my sister after my death. But Aria,” a ragged exhale escapes his lips, “I would’ve killed Blake eventually, even if I hadn’t gotten shot that day.
Because that’s who I am. Si Shen. I follow orders.
No cost was too great if it meant Celia would be safe. ”
“B-But you didn’t. You didn’t kill him.”
His eyes flare.
“I asked Tristan to pull the ballistics. It wasn’t your bullet.”
“Don’t…” His gaze snaps away. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t forgive me. I can see it because you have a good heart.”
Am I forgiving him? I’m still angry. No matter his reasons, he still invaded my privacy, lied for so long, and slept with me under false pretenses.
“Was it all fake?”
He stills.
Tears threaten to appear, but I lift my head and look him in the eye. I can take the truth, whatever it is.
“Ghostface, Reaper, s-seducing me at night—was it all part of your…orders?”
A shudder moves through him. His hands clench at his sides.
“No. It was real. All of it.”
Something breaks—a chink in my armor. Relief. Sadness. Whatever it is.
“Listen to me, Aria,” he continues, those dark eyes heated and urgent.
“Everything I did—all those messages, chance meetings, gifts in the ER, kisses in the dark. Being with you in a way I’ve never been with anyone else.
It’s all real. Too real. Because I was selfish.
I wanted more from a woman I had no right to.
I wanted your smiles. Your jokes. Your crazy taste in movies.
Your lack of fear. I wanted your touches, your kisses, the way you fit perfectly in my arms. I knew I should’ve stopped and told you the truth.
I was going to. But I kept thinking, one more day. One more night. One more chess game.”
My face is wet.
His gaze drops to my cheeks. His knuckles are stark-white by his sides.
“I should’ve told you the truth and accepted the consequences, whatever they were. I shouldn’t have lied to you. Aria,” he rasps, “you deserve the world. Anyone who doesn’t see how amazing you are is a fool. I…I’m sorry for taking Blake away from you, even if it wasn’t my bullet.”
A sob rips from me. I clasp my hand over my mouth. His words, the heartfelt sentiments, the grief from losing Blake, then the devastation of losing Ren—it all becomes too much.
“You lied…how could you lie to me?” I whisper.
I understand him. His motivations, however twisted they may be, made sense. It doesn’t erase what he did, but it’s enough for me to realize that hatred no longer describes what I’m feeling.
And worse yet, I wonder, had he told the truth, would I have been strong enough to resist him?
“I didn’t want to lose you.” His words are raw. Torn out of him. I wipe the wetness from my eyes and look at him again.
The man I shouldn’t want but do.
The man I should hate but don’t.
The man who kills while I save lives.
His soot-dark hair. His bottomless eyes. The scars along his jaw because he used his body to protect his sister.
This man, who never got to have anything because his life wasn’t his…
Until me.
Until he stole those moments for himself.
“I know you don’t want me here,” he rasps. “I don’t even deserve these moments to explain myself. If you want me to go, I will. I’ll ask Sofia to come instead. I won’t take the choice away from you again.”
Silence falls between us, his confession soothing the ragged edges of my shredded heart. While it doesn’t change what happened, it gives me clarity.
I’m angry. Furious. I don’t know when I can forgive him, if I can even forgive him.
But if I had to trust one person to protect me with his life, it would be him.
And I know this too.
I don’t hate him. Because if I did, I wouldn’t have had sleepless nights, hoping he’d still show up.
I wouldn’t miss those hours when I couldn’t see him with my eyes, but saw him clearly through our games.
I wouldn’t crave more stories of his childhood and quiet conversations.
I wouldn’t have tucked away his little love notes from the breakfast deliveries.
The truth is painful and beautiful. Impossible, and yet mine.
I love him.
In this moment, in a dim cabin deep in the middle of the woods, away from bloodshed and betrayal, I want him.
Love isn’t perfect. It’s messy.
I won’t try to clean it up anymore.
With a cry, I barrel toward him and leap into his arms.
He catches me, as I knew he would.
A flash of wonder crosses his face before I curl my hands around his neck.
And I kiss him.