31. Silas
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
T he plan was simple.
Show up. No scarf. No hiding. No b ullshit.
Just me.
Take her for dinner, or ice-cream, or whatever the hell she wanted. I didn’t care. I just wanted to spend time with her as myself.
I didn’t want her to leave. That was the truth. Plain and brutal.
It’d been circling in my head for days now, sharp-edged, digging in deeper every time I caught her looking at me like that. Like she’d made up her mind and was just waiting for the right moment to say it.
And honestly, I couldn’t even blame her. Not really. I’d kept her at arm’s length. Kept my face hidden, kept my name locked behind my teeth.
It wasn’t fair. Not to her.
The alternative felt impossible. Showing her who I was, letting her in, it felt like cutting the wires on a live bomb and hoping I didn’t blow us both to hell.
But if something bad was going to happen… wouldn’t it have happened already?
That was the thought that kept looping in my head, louder every time I saw her smile flicker and fade. Every time I caught her pulling away just a little more.
So what the hell was I doing? Keeping my distance sure as hell wasn’t fixing anything. If anything, it was making it worse. I was pushing her away. Driving her right to the edge, watching her slip through my fingers.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her. Her sharp tongue, her stupid jokes, the way she tried to pretend she wasn’t laughing when she absolutely was. I wanted the way she curled against me like it was her favourite place.
I wanted her. She wanted me. And she deserved whatever the hell she wanted.
And if I didn’t do something about it soon, I was going to lose her .
This was it. A fresh start.
The street was quieter than usual, the usual hum of late-night traffic dampened by the light drizzle. I pulled up outside the bookstore, engine humming low as I scanned the storefront.
The ‘closed’ sign glowed against the glass in soft red neon, casting a dull reflection onto the wet pavement below. The shop itself was dark, the inside empty.
They’d closed early?
My fingers clenched around the steering wheel and I eased the car forward, rolling past the storefront, then circled the block once.
No sign of her.
I tapped the brake, scanning the sidewalk, expecting to see her walking home like usual, head down, face buried in her coat collar.
Still nothing.
I pulled over, cutting the engine.
Silas
Where are you?
I hit send and set off again, pressing harder on the accelerator, scanning the sidewalks, the bus stops, the crosswalks. But there was nothing. Not a goddamn trace.
The knot in my stomach climbed higher, coiling tight beneath my ribs, pressing against my lungs.
I tried calling her.
No answer.
I swore under my breath and tried again, switching hands on the wheel, the other clenching my phone so hard the glass creaked.
She was fine. She had to be fine. She probably—what? Forgot to charge her phone? Turned it off? Left it at work?
Then why couldn’t I breathe?
I was about to speed towards her house when I caught sight of a group of people clustered on the sidewalk, phones out, screens glowing in the dim light, brows furrowed as they watched something.
Fuck it. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
I swung the car toward the curb and rolled the window down. “Hey!” My voice came out sharp, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. One guy turned around, brows raised.
A high-pitched scream of static rattled my skull. Christ . What was that? Were they filming a break-in?
“Have you seen a woman? Tall. About five-eleven. Long black hair, down to here,” I gestured roughly to my chest. “Probably wearing boots and a black coat?”
He shrugg ed. “Uh… dunno, man.”
Then—another voice. “That’s the guy off the news, right?”
My stomach twisted. What?
“Yeah,” someone else chimed in. “That Clark guy.”
I was out of the car, yanking my hood up before the name even fully hit me, my pulse hammering, instinct snapping into place.
Clark.
No.
A sharp shriek cut from just beyond the crowd.
My blood turned to ice. It was happening again. It was happening again.
No. No. No.
“Lilith!”
The small crowd wasn’t moving. They were watching. Fucking watching. Like this was some kind of entertainment for them. Like it wasn’t real. Like she wasn’t real.
I detonated. “Fucking move! Do something! Don’t just film it!” I tore through them, the ringing growing louder with every step.
Lilith was curled up on the cold, wet ground, not moving.
And him. His chest heaved as he towered over her like a predator, foot pulled back, ready to strike.
The sound that tore from my chest wasn’t human as I sprinted across the slick concrete.
My body collided with his like a wrecking ball of fury. There was a brutal, bone-deep crack, his ribs giving way under the sheer force as I slammed him into the brick wall, knocking the air clean from his lungs.
He gasped, clutching his chest.
Knuckles pressed bone-white against my skin, muscles coiling, every nerve in my body buzzing with rage.
And then I swung.
His head snapped to the side, a strangled noise escaping him. He lifted a hand, palm out like that was going to stop me. “I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—”
Crimson flooded my vision. “You didn’t mean it? Is that what you were going to say ?” Each word vibrated through my chest.
His mouth opened again, but he didn’t get a chance to finish whatever pitiful excuse he was about to spit out.
“Muori, bastardo!” My fist crashed into his nose.
His head slammed against the wall, blood spraying from his nostrils as he crumpled to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut, clutching his face with a choked, wheezing sound.
But I wasn’t done. Not even close.
I loomed over him, the world narrowing to only the two of us.
His hands were raised, shaking, like he thought he could stop me. Like he thought I’d show him mercy.
I cracked my knuckles, cartilage shifting with an audible pop. “Get up.”
He whimpered, knees digging into the concrete, cowering away from me.
“I said get the fuck up.”
He wavered on unsteady feet, his breath coming in shallow bursts.
“I warned you. Sooner or later, you hurt the wrong person!” Raw venom spat from my mouth.
“You—” he sucked in a ragged breath. “It’s you! The one who—who mugged me! I know you!”
“Shut the fuck up!” My fist drove into his jaw, the impact echoing in the narrow alley like a gunshot.
He staggered, slamming back against the wall, coughing—blood splattering across his mouth as he sputtered out apologies, denials, lies.
Goddamn coward.
The glint of something metallic sticking out of his arm caught my eye.
Oh. Good fucking girl.
He held up a shaking hand, face pale beneath the sheen of crimson dripping down his nose. “P-please, I—I swear, I didn’t—”
I lunged, grabbing him hard by the collar before driving my knee into his gut with every ounce of strength I had.
He dropped again, body curling inward like a crushed tin can, barely catching himself on shaking hands, coughing wetly, spitting red onto the pavement.
Not enough. Not fucking enough.
I spat on him. “Pezzente di merda.”
A soft cry came from behind me. I turned so fast the alley spun around me, the rage in my veins boiling into something worse.
Lilith.
Curled up on the damp concrete, trembling, her body tucked in on itself, one arm wrapped around her middle, like she was trying to make herself smaller. One hand pressed to the side of her head.
Dark red coated her fingers.
Blood.
Oh, fuck.
“Lilith.”
I was already kneeling, already reaching for her, but I hesitated, my hands hovering, useless, shaking. I was afraid to touch her. Afraid to make it worse.
Her jeans. Ripped at the knees, dirty, scuffed. But still there.
Buttoned. Belted. Secure.
Relief slammed into me like a sledgehammer, so hard it almost knocked me on my ass.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
She didn’t move.
I reached for her again, gentler this time, my palm barely brushing her arm. “Lilith. Stay with me, okay? I’ve got you.”
Her lashes fluttered open, her pupils blown wide, unfocused. She blinked up at me like she wasn’t really seeing me.
Footsteps.
Quick footsteps.
My head snapped up.
That son of a bitch.
He was running as fast as he could with his limp, clutching his ribs, cowardice etched into every step as he staggered toward the crowd at the mouth of the alley.
I should’ve gone after him. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Because she was still here. Still shaking. Still bleeding. She needed me more.
I turned back to her, my grip careful as I cupped her face, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” My voice cracked. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Her lips parted, a shaky breath escaping and my pulse stuttered.
“I’m going to lift you now, sweetheart,” I murmured, my hands already sliding beneath her. “It’s going to hurt, okay?”
She made a noise—small, weak, barely more than a gurgled breath.
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the snarl clawing its way up my throat as I tightened my grip, scooping her up as gently as I could. Her body slumped against my chest, limp, barely there. Too light. Too fragile.
I wanted to kill him all over again.
I adjusted my hold, cradling her closer as I stepped out of the alley, keeping my movements smooth despite the storm raging inside me.
There were people. So many fucking people.
Just standing there. Watching. Phones out, recording, whispering, gawking like she was some spectacle, like she wasn’t broken and bleeding in my arms, like she wasn’t a person.
“Is she okay, man?”
I snapped my head up, my blood roaring in my ears. The air shifted, the weight of my rage pressing into every single useless bystander.
“You do n’t give a fuck,” I snarled. “Make yourselves useful and get the fuck out of my way. And one of you—” I jerked my chin toward my car “—open my fucking door. Now.”
There was a beat of silence, then someone scrambled forward, yanking the passenger door open.
I lowered her carefully, trying not to jostle her, but even then, a small, pained noise escaped her lips.
“Shhh,” I murmured, adjusting the fabric of her ruined shirt, tucking her in as gently as I could before reaching for the seatbelt and clicking it into place. “I’ve got you. Just hang on.”
Her breathing was too uneven, her skin too clammy, slick with blood and sweat and rain, and my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I swallowed hard, fingers lingering at the buckle for a second longer before I pulled back and gently shut the door.
Then I stood there. For just a second—long enough to press the heels of my palms into my eyes, to take a single breath, to shove down the part of me that was barely keeping it together.
Then I rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
She didn’t move. Didn’t even stir as she sat there, slumped against the headrest, blood darkening the fabric of her clothes, skin too pale in the dim glow of the streetlights.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my breath to stay steady as I reached for the ignition.
“I’m so sorry, Lilith.”
The words felt useless. Like throwing a band-aid on a gunshot wound.
I pressed my foot to the accelerator, pulling out onto the road, my thoughts crashing into each other like a multi-car pile-up—twisted metal, shattered glass, screeching steel grinding through my skull, giving me no way to crawl free.
I was right.
I was fucking right.
She got close. She got hurt.
This happened because of me.