Chapter Twenty-Four
Remi
The ride back is a blur of cold air and engine roar. I don’t remember the gates. I don’t remember the clubhouse door or the way heads turned.
I only remember his hand on mine. Firm. Steady. Promising.
He doesn’t speak. I don’t either. But his words from earlier play over in my brain, trying to build hope in my chest, which I crush back down. We’ve been here before.
He leads me upstairs like he’s done a thousand times, as if I never left.
The door clicks shut behind us, and the quiet rushes in so fast, it’s dizzying.
He turns to me and slides the kutte from my shoulders, placing it on the hook on the back of his door.
Then he reaches for my shirt, lifting it carefully until I raise my arms like a child, and he removes it.
I don’t bother to cover up my bra-less chest. He’s seen it all before, and honestly, I have no energy.
In fact, my entire body sways with fatigue so heavy, I almost collapse.
Shadow sees it, steadying me before flicking the button of my worn jeans. My fingers twitch like they should stop him, but they don’t. He crouches before me, pulling them down my legs and tapping my ankle until I step out. Then the socks follow.
Shadow leans back on his heels, his eyes filled with pity as he scans my body.
I already know exactly what he sees—broken and dirty.
I can imagine the bruises littering my skin from where Colin kicked me, punched me, bit me.
There’s dirt under my nails from my endless cleaning tasks, and my fingers are sore from scrubbing.
And I smell, I know I do, like sweat and filth.
Colin wouldn’t let me wash my hands, let alone my body.
I wait, feeling exposed under the yellow lighting while shame silences me and pity plays out on Shadow’s face.
He takes a deep breath, pushing to his feet again, and then he begins to strip. I watch with a furrowed brow. He stops when he gets down to his shorts, then he gives me a warm smile before closing the distance and scooping me into his arms like I weigh nothing.
The bathroom light flickers on, and he sets me down in the shower. The tiles are cold beneath my feet. He turns the water on and checks the temperature with his wrist, silent the entire time. Warm water hits my skin, and I flinch. It hurts. Everything hurts.
Dirt runs first, washing down my body and hitting the white tiles, reminding how much I needed this. It’s followed by a thin wash of red, like watercolour bleeding out.
His jaw flexes as he watches it swirl down the drain.
He takes soap in his hands and works it into a lather then touches me like I’m made of glass. No questions. No accusations. No words at all.
He washes my arms, slow strokes. My shoulders. My back. Careful around the bruises.Gentle over the places that still ache.
And I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Instead, I watch the water as it runs off me and turns clear again, as though I’m becoming someone new.
When his hands reach my face, my breath catches. His thumb moves over my cheekbone, barely touching where the skin is swollen and purple.
His voice is a whisper, hoarse and ragged from everything we’ve said and not said. “Remi.”
A sob slips out before I can swallow it. He cups the back of my head and pulls my forehead to his chest. Water hits his skin and runs down mine. I breathe him in. Leather. Soap. Warmth.
And I don’t have to hold myself up any longer.
He does it for me.
We stay like that until the water runs cold, then he shuts it off, wraps me in a towel, and carries me back to the bed like I’m something small and breakable.
He takes another towel, wrapping it around my hair. Then he slides the sheets back, encouraging me to get in even though my skin is damp.
He sits on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, like the weight of everything is finally settling on him too.
We are two people in the same room, covered in everything we’ve done to each other and everything we can’t undo, both holding back entire storms.
My skin feels too tight, too new, like I’ve shed a layer of myself in that shower and now I’m not sure what’s left.
Shadow’s breathing is slow, controlled, but his chest rises like it hurts.
I shift under the covers, and the fabric brushes over a bruise on my ribs. I flinch before I can hide it, and his head snaps up. And there it is again.
That fire. That fury.
I look away, picking at a thread in the blanket. My voice is barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t have come for me.”
His jaw ticks. “You think I had a choice?”
“You did,” I say. “You could’ve left me there. You should have.”
He stands, pacing the room once, hand dragging through his hair like he’s seconds from exploding.
“I couldn’t breathe not knowing where you were and what you were doing.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t sleep. I just .
. . saw you in my head. Hurt. Alone. And I swear to God, Remi, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. ”
The words hit me deep, hard. I swallow around the ache in my throat. He turns to face me again. “You should’ve told me the second he hurt you. You should’ve come back.”
“I didn’t want you to fix it,” I admit, my voice trembling.
“I didn’t want to need you.” He stops moving, completely still, watching me like those words are a knife to the ribs.
“I’m tired of needing people,” I continue.
“I’m tired of being something to rescue or fix or protect.
I wanted to do it on my own. I wanted to be strong. ”
His expression softens, but it doesn’t turn pitying this time. It turns sad. Heavy. “You are strong,” he says. “Stronger than you know.”
I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. “No. I broke, like my mum. I went back, and I broke. I became weaker, softer, compliant.”
He crosses to the bed and sits beside me. Not touching but close enough that his warmth reaches me. “You didn’t go back because you’re weak,” he says slowly. “You went back because you thought you had nowhere else to go. That’s not weakness. That’s survival.”
My eyes burn, and I blink hard. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” I whisper.
His fingers lift my chin, tipping my face towards his. His eyes are steady, blue and dark and full of something that makes my chest ache.
“Then let me help you live.”
The words hit something deep inside me. I shake my head. “I hurt you. I lied. I stole from you when you were the only person that offered help.”
He doesn’t look away. “I’ve done worse,” he replies.
“Much worse. Loving someone doesn’t mean being perfect.
It means staying, even when it’s ugly.” My breath catches.
He shifts closer, slow enough to be sure I won’t pull away.
His forehead rests against mine, skin to skin, warm.
“No more running,” he murmurs. “For either of us. We stay. We talk. We fight if we have to, but we cool off and we talk.”
I close my eyes, and for the first time in days, I let myself breathe.
“I’ll stay,” I whisper.
His breath shudders out. “Good,” he says, his voice low and rough, “because I’m not letting go again.”
He lies down beside me, and I inch towards him. Only a little, but enough to show him that it’s okay, that I won’t recoil if he touches me. His hand finds mine under the sheets.
“Is Colin . . .” I trail off, not sure how to ask.
“It’s best you don’t know,” he mutters, his jaw clenching. “But trust he’s paying for everything he ever did to you and your mum.”
His words settle, and I exhale, releasing something heavy in my chest. “Good,” I whisper, resting my head on his shoulder. “Good.”
I wake with a start, sitting up as darkness surrounds me. My stomach growls painfully, reminding me that I need food.
I feel beside me, realising Shadow isn’t there, and for a second, I feel panicked. But then the door opens, letting in a slither of light. I reach for the lamp, turning it on to find Kasey entering holding a tray. Something smells delicious, and I stare at the tray, my mouth watering.
“Hey,” she says softly as she sets it on the bedside table. “Shadow asked me to come check on you. He’s just . . .” Her eyes flick to the door before finding me again. She smirks. “Sorting something.”
“Okay,” I say, wincing when my voice comes out croaky from the lack of water.
She smiles, grabbing the bottle from the tray and unscrewing the lid. I take it and gulp a few mouthfuls, not caring that it dribbles down my chin.
Kasey lowers to the end of the bed, raking her eyes over me. “He really did a number on you,” she says, her expression sympathetic.
“I haven’t looked in the mirror,” I mutter, glancing at the tray again.
She follows my line of sight and grins. “Eat. Don’t let me stop you.
” I reach for the tray. “I ordered so much,” she continues.
“I figured you’d like something amongst all that.
” I pick up the chicken kebab meat, using my fingers, and savour the taste.
“Good?” she asks, and I nod. I break some of the pita bread off and try that next.
“Thanks,” I mutter around mouthfuls.
She waits patiently while I eat some more, then I place the tray back on the table, stuffed from the bread and meat.
She looks around the room, standing and heading over to the mirror resting on the windowsill. “Do you wanna see?” she asks me.
I shrug as she grabs it and moves back to her position on the bed. “I mean, it’s bad, so if you don’t wanna look . . .”
I hesitate, then I take it. My reflection stares back at me. A swollen cheekbone, purple and green spreading under the skin. A split lip, healing uneven. Tiny bruises like fingerprints along my jaw. My eyes look hollow. Tired. Older. Like my mother.
“With some makeup,” Kasey says softly, “you’ll look like you again.”
I don’t speak. I place the mirror on the bed and stand, legs trembling. I walk to the bathroom, where the bigger mirror waits. The towel slips from my body and falls to the tiles.
Bruises bloom over every part of me in deep, rotting colours. Coloured shadows. Finger-marks. Boot prints. Pain mapped out like a story written on skin.
My breath leaves my lungs all at once. The room tilts. I turn to the side and see the bruise that wraps my ribs. Black and green, a violent halo.
The sickness rises too fast to swallow.
I lean over the sink just as it hits, painful, sudden, and food and bile splatter the white porcelain, streaking down the drain in ugly brown smears.
My hands grip the sink so hard, my knuckles go white. I heave again, my legs almost giving out. Kasey rushes to the doorway, “Shit, are you okay?”
And then I hear heavy boots, glancing up just as Shadow fills the doorway. He moves Kasey to the side, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the mess.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, more shame washing over me. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking at the mess. “I’m so sorry. I can clean it up,” I add, crouching as I pull the cupboard under the sink open and search for cleaning products.
“Remi.” His voice is clipped, urgent. “Remi, stop.” I feel his hand under my arm, and for a second, I freeze. He notices, and his eyes soften. “Please, leave it. I can sort it.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I rise to my feet. “But it’s my mess,” I whisper feebly.
He rubs a thumb over my lower lip. “What happened? Too much food?” He glances over his shoulder to Kasey. “I told you it was too much.”
“No . . .” I shake my head, and a sigh escapes me. “It wasn’t the food. I just . . . it was me. I looked in the mirror and I just . . .” I trail off, my shoulders slumping.
He spins on Kasey now. “You let her look in the mirror?” he accuses.
She arches a brow. “She’s gonna see herself at some point. It’s like ripping of a plaster.”
“Get out,” he snaps, crowding her until she backs up to the door. When he returns, I still see anger marring his brow.
“It wasn’t her fault,” I say. “I wanted to see, and then I needed to see it all,” I add, suddenly realising I’m still naked. I quickly wrap my arms around myself and give an awkward smile.
He gently takes my wrists, pulling my arms away. “You don’t ever have to cover yourself from me, Rem. And these,” he says gently, spinning me back to face the mirror and pressing my back to his front. Our eyes meet. “They’ll fade, just like the bad memories.”
I notice the bruising on his knuckles and frown. He sees me looking and pulls his hands away. “Get back into bed and rest.”
I follow him into the bedroom. “What did you do?” I ask. He shrugs, pulling back the sheets and waiting for me to slide into bed. I stand in front of him. “Tell me,” I whisper.
His eyes don’t meet mine as he finds the words, eventually saying, “I’m ugly on the inside, Rem, and I don’t want those parts to infect you.
So, there will be days like this, when I come back to you slightly more broken that when I left, but it’ll never infect you.
” He presses a gentle kiss to my nose. “Now, please rest.”