Chapter 34 Violet
VIOLET
Skeletal fingers wrap around my throat, the bones squeezing so tight, I’m wheezing.
Her amber eyes are dead, looking through me as two streaks of blood trickle down either side of her mouth.
She’s sitting on my chest again, crushing my rib cage and stabbing my heart.
“Ma…ma…” I strain, my breath leaving my lungs in short gasps.
“You know.” She adds another hand around my throat. “You’re a curse, Violet. Not only did you ruin my life, but you’re also destroying everyone else’s around you like a useless whore.”
“N-no…that’s not…”
“I told you, didn’t I?” She smiles, her canines looking like sharp fangs in the darkness. “You’ll be the downfall of anyone who cares about you.”
“No…”
“Didn’t Mario like you? Where is he now?”
“That’s…that’s…”
“How about Preston? You killed him in his prime.”
“No!”
I gasp awake, tears streaming down my cheeks and into my mouth. The salty taste explodes on my tongue as I pant, my whole body trembling.
“Vi!”
I startle at Dahlia’s voice, then release a long breath. It…was a nightmare.
The whole thing was a nightmare.
Dahlia, Preston, and I didn’t go to the park. He didn’t get shot.
All of it is…not real.
And yet the weight crushing my chest remains there, heavy and obstructive, and I’m sucking air into my burning lungs with short pants.
I focus on my sister and pause. She’s wearing an oversized jacket—probably Kane’s—and her eyes are red.
Why does she look as if she’s been crying?
Dahlia doesn’t cry. She’s the strongest woman I know.
“Are you okay?” She sits on the bed, taking my hand in hers. “The doctor said it’s just a graze, but…”
Her voice breaks, her hand shaking uncontrollably around mine. And that’s when I notice that my upper arm is bandaged.
“Hey…” I don’t recognize my hoarse voice. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“I know…I know that, but all I keep thinking about is when you were in a coma, and I guess I thought you’d be gone again. I’m terrified of losing you, Vi.”
“You won’t.” I pull her in for a hug. “I’m right here.”
She buries her face in my neck, sniffling softly, and I pat her back, my fingers trembling due to the pulsing pain in my arm.
Then I realize the room we’re in smells of very familiar antiseptic.
The type of smell I was surrounded with for months and could breathe even when I was in a coma.
The hospital.
“Dahlia,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“Yeah?” She pulls away, wiping at her puffy eyes.
My gaze strays to the blotch of blood on her sweater, visible beneath the jacket, and my heart burns. “Were you hurt?”
“Oh, no, no.” She touches the dried blood. “This is because I was dragging you away from Preston.”
“So…it’s true?”
Images of Preston lying on the grass assault me. A large spot of blood drenched the center of his jacket, and his usually mischievous eyes were closed.
His lips were already turning blue.
“Where is Preston…?” I stumble from the bed, and Dahlia catches me before I fall.
I’m standing on unsteady feet as my sister hesitates.
“Tell me, Dahl, please.”
“He’s in surgery.” She bites her lower lip. “I think it’s bad, Vi.”
A doom-like feeling tears through my chest as I grab onto both of Dahlia’s arms for balance. “Take me there.”
“It’s better if you rest…” She trails off, probably at seeing my shaky lips and the horrified look in my eyes, and releases a resigned breath. “Fine.”
We walk together down the hall, but everything is blurry—the patients, the walls, and the staff.
It’s like I’m not here.
“Do you know who it was?” Dahlia asks, interlinking her arm with mine.
“What?”
“I heard Jude tell Kane that this has happened before.” She rubs my arm. “I thought the guard who was following you around recently was Jude being overprotective, but apparently, you were in danger. Is that true?”
“I…received a couple of texts asking me to leave and was attacked a few times, yes.”
“Was one of those times before you were in a coma?”
All this time, I’ve tried to shield Dahlia from this mess, but she ended up right in the middle of it anyway. She deserves to know the truth.
“Mario saved me back then, and he ended up in a coma.” I choke on my words as she pushes the elevator button. “Preston saved me, too. Twice. And now… Oh my God—Jude! He shielded me, didn’t he? Did something happen to him… Is he…?”
I’m panting, my chest squeezing so tightly, I think I’m having a panic attack.
“No, no.” She strokes my back, ushering me into the elevator. “He did injure his arm, but I think it’s only a graze, just like yours. He’s been in front of the OR with Kane ever since we got to the hospital.”
A long breath rushes out of me, but the weight of dread still sits on my chest like doomsday.
The elevator doors open, and we walk to the OR’s waiting area. My steps are lethargic at best, my energy waning, but I put an effort into placing one foot in front of the other.
The gloomy energy hits us as soon as we arrive.
But then yelling follows.
“Get the fuck out of here, Marcus.”
It’s Jude’s rough and furious voice.
I hear him before I see him. Then he comes into view, slamming Marcus against the wall with one hand twisted in his collar, his muscles tight with unrestrained rage.
A thick bandage wraps his arm, already soaked through, and blood clings to his T-shirt and is smeared across his ink and his knuckles like war paint.
Marcus looks even worse; his jacket is covered in blood, and the same red stains his fingers and streaks across his face, making him look like a demon dragged out of hell. His usually mocking features are blank now, drained of expression, like whatever was inside him just…switched off.
“What is Marcus doing here?” I whisper to Dahlia.
“He came during the chaos,” she murmurs back. “He showed up out of nowhere, almost as if he was hiding in the trees the whole time or something, the creep.”
“I said. I’m not going anywhere.” Marcus’s eyes spark with something violent. “If anything, you’re the one who needs to scram for failing to save him.”
“The fuck you just say?” Jude snarls in his face.
“Want me to spell it out for you?” Marcus’s tone is mocking, but his body is tight.
“Go fight outside.” An authoritative voice echoes around the room.
The man is sitting on one of the leather-padded chairs, his fingers forming a steeple at his chin. He’s a striking older version of Preston, but his presence resembles the deep ocean—calm on the outside but with a turbulent energy on the inside.
“Lawrence. He’s Preston’s dad.” Dahlia tells me in a low voice, confirming my suspicions.
Marcus’s glare slides to Lawrence, even though Jude is still strangling him by the collar.
I’ve never seen Marcus this…mad. No. Enraged is an accurate description.
Granted, I don’t know him personally, but I’ve seen him all over the place, and he’s usually more unruffled than a monk.
Even that time he showed up in the club’s parking lot, he was the one provoking Preston, not the other way around.
Right now, however, he looks at Lawrence as if he’s slaughtered his entire bloodline.
“Is that all you have to say when your fucking son is facing death? Go fight outside? You have no other goddamn reaction?” He laughs, the sound unhinged.
“God, you’re all the same. Every single corner of your fucking empire is rotten to the core. ”
Lawrence doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at Marcus, his full attention remaining square on the door.
“That’s enough.” Kane’s firm voice slices through the tension as he stops pacing. “Leave before I have someone escort you out using unpleasant methods, Marcus.”
“And let you big shots handle everything, right?” He laughs in Jude’s face, clutching him by the collar. “Like you got him shot, right, Callahan? Useless piece of shit.”
“You fucking—” Jude slams him against the wall, the thud echoing loudly, but Marcus just laughs harder like a maniac.
“What? You’re going to stand there and tell me you didn’t, in fact, invite death upon your supposed best friend?”
“It’s not his fault.” I rush toward them, my voice and body shaking.
Both Jude’s and Marcus’s attention swings to me, and my trembling gets worse at Jude’s stare. It feels like it’s been ages since I saw him, and I almost forgot how brutally beautiful he is.
Like a rush of darkness in the light.
An anchor in the wild sea.
His brown eyes flicker over the length of me, observing, assessing, as if he needs to make sure I’m in one piece.
“It’s my fault,” I whisper to Marcus. “Preston did that to protect me—”
“That’s right. It should’ve been you.” Marcus barks, and Jude punches him in the face. Blood trickles down his nose and the corner of his lip.
“Shut the fuck up, Osborn!”
“But I’m right. She should be the one in that room right now—”
Jude punches him again, the sound echoing in the air as more blood drenches Marcus’s face.
And then they’re punching each other, the anger and absolute madness in their violence echoing in thwacks and grunts.
I try to intervene, but Dahlia pulls me away and toward Kane, who’s on the phone, calling someone to come escort ‘a raging bull’ out.
“Jude says this is yours.”
I look up at the sound of Lawrence’s voice, momentarily distracted from the fight.
He seemed completely disinterested in his surroundings earlier, but he’s standing now, and he’s so tall, with a presence that grabs you by the throat.
Lawrence’s hair is styled, his expression lined with years of experience and the look of a man who’s seen it all but wasn’t impressed. His eyes are a curious shade of blue and green—a familiar color I swear I’ve seen before.
But where?
He shows me his palm, where he’s holding the bloodied bracelet I gave Preston.
My lips tremble, but I shake my head and don’t reach out for it. “Pres…Preston said it’s an important family heirloom, so I must’ve had it by mistake. Mom probably stole it or something…”