Chapter 20 Arlo #2
His breath stutters. “I was doing what we’re trained—she was just—” I slam the butt of my gun into his mouth. Teeth shatter.
He crumples. Gurgling.
I grab him again, forcing the barrel of my Glock between his eyes. His nose bleeds. His body shakes. He’s sobbing.
Click.
I pull the trigger on an empty chamber.
He lets out a strangled shriek, piss soaking his jeans.
Click.
Another pull. Another scream.
“Feels different on the other side of the barrel, doesn’t it?” I snarl.
He’s whimpering now. Mucus running down his face.
I lean in. “You made her think she was going to die. You ruptured her eardrums. You made her scream. And now you’re going to feel every fucking second of it.” I slam him back against the couch, straddling his chest, shoving the pliers into his mouth.
He fights, but I’m stronger.
I grip the base of that gold fucking tooth.
Twist.
He screams, and blood pours from his mouth. I twist harder, ripping the tooth free with a sickening snap of tendon and root.
He thrashes beneath me.
“This is mine now.” I hold up the bloody tooth between my fingers. “Just like your fear. And now you’re going to tell me every fucking thing you did to her.”
“Jesus, Priest. Where the fuck were you?”
Arsen’s voice barrels down the hall as I storm past the bunker kitchen, blood still drying on my hands. The team goes quiet. All eyes follow me.
I don’t stop.
“I took care of some unfinished business,” I mutter, peeling off my blood-soaked shirt as I make it to the sink. It hits the basin with a wet slap. I crank the faucet and let the cold water run over my hands. Pink spirals circle the drain.
“Unfinished—?” Arsen barks out a bitter laugh. “You out of your fucking mind?”
His accent thickens, hardening every syllable. “Every Sovereign in the South is hunting you. There’s a kill order with your name in red ink.”
He paces behind me, dragging both hands through his hair. “You think this is a joke?”
I scrub harder.
He keeps going. “We are in the middle of fucking coup, da? And you go rogue. You disappear without a word, without backup, with half the South ready to skin you alive.”
“Fuck off, Arsen,” I snap, not looking up. “I don’t need permission to breathe in this hellhole.”
He goes to open his fucking mouth again when Arlo’s scream rips through the bunker Not the sound of pain, but pure terror.
Arsen bolts. “Fuck.”
I’m right behind him, boots pounding the concrete.
We hit the hallway and he spins, blocking the doorway to her room.
“No. Fuck off. I don’t need you making it worse.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Priest. You showing your face is the worst thing. She flinches when she hears your name.”
Arlo screams again. My ribs crack under the sound.
I shove past him.
Inside, she’s thrashing. Tangled in the sheets. Her face contorted in panic, tears streaking down her cheeks. My body moves before my mind catches up—I’m on the bed, pulling her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her, anchoring her to me.
“Arlo,” I whisper, rocking her. “You’re safe.”
“Leave,” Arsen snaps from the doorway.
“No.”
She starts to quiet, her breathing hitching.
I stroke her hair, whispering her name again and again. Her body slackens against mine. Her cheek presses to my chest. She’s still trembling, but she’s no longer screaming.
Arsen doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
We both stare at her—at what’s left of her.
“This is fucked,” Arsen finally mutters. “Whatever the hell this is—” he waves a hand at the two of us “—it ends here. You’re not her goddamn savior, Priest. You’re the reason she’s like this.”
I don’t argue.
Because he’s right.
But I don’t move either.
My arms stay locked around her.
Arsen spits something in Russian under his breath and storms out, slamming the door behind him.
I shift us down onto the mattress, her back to my chest, my arm banded tight around her waist. I can feel every inch of her—every stitch, every bruise, every breath.
This isn’t something I do.
Comfort.
Holding.
But she shifts closer, pressing into me with this quiet trust she doesn’t realize she’s giving. Like her body’s already decided I’m not the monster who broke her.
She whimpers. A breathy, broken sound that slices straight through me.
I bend close, my lips brushing her hair. “Shhh, little one. You’re safe. I promise.” She softens against me, curling tighter in my arms.
And that ache in my chest returns.
Not rage. Not lust.
Something worse.
Something I can’t kill.
It burns low, deep—carved into my ribs. An echo of something I’ve never felt before.
I don’t know what the fuck it is.
But it doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t go away.
My hand finds her lower back. Her skin’s warm. Soft. My fingers drag over the shallow dimples, tracing them like I’ve done a thousand times in my head since the first time I saw them. Perfect. Every fucking inch of her is perfect.
I keep my palm there, grounding myself in her body, in the silence she gives me.
I don’t move.
Don’t let go.
Even when sleep starts to take me, I fight it—just to stay in this moment a little longer. Because for the first time in my life…
I don’t feel hollow.