Chapter 46
Today
Elowen
Tnk. Tnk tnk. Tnk.
The sound moves through me like electricity.
I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't do anything except sit on the arm of the couch and stare at Milo's hand as he rattles the soda can, listening to the sound I have been hearing in my sleep for three years.
Tnk. Tnk tnk. Tnk.
I look at his face.
At his eyes.
The man in the ski mask had eyes so blown out there was nothing left but black, pupils swallowed so wide they'd consumed everything. I couldn't see the color. I couldn't see anything human in them at all. Just black, enormous, and terrified.
I stare at Milo's eyes now, searching, trying to map one set of eyes onto the other, trying to find the shape of that night inside his face.
Milo is high right now.
His pupils are larger than they should be, the brown of his irises thin and ringed. I think about blown-out eyes and a ski mask, and the way that horrible man’s body moved.
Could it have been Milo?
Did he kill my parents?
Milo isn't shaking the can anymore.
He's looking at me, and the expression on his face is almost heartbroken. "You know," he whispers. "Don't you."
It isn't really a question.
My body goes cold from the inside out, a slow, spreading chill that starts in my chest and moves outward until I can feel it in my fingertips.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say. My voice comes out steady. Three years of practice.
I stand up, then I push every ounce of fear and panic I have straight through my bond, as hard as I can, like throwing my whole weight against a door.
Cliff. Come home. Right now. Please.
Something comes back through the bond immediately, a spike of alarm and then a fierce, certain warmth that says I'm coming. But I can't concentrate on it because Milo is standing up too. Slowly. His eyes zeroed in on my face.
"I didn't know," Milo says, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
“I promise.” His gaze drops, looking at the floor, his hands hanging loose at his sides, and he's talking like he's been rehearsing this for a long time.
"I didn't know that was your family. I swear to god, Elle. I didn't know."
I don't say anything.
"I just needed something." He swallows hard.
"Oxy. Maybe some Benzos. That's all I wanted.
I wasn't going to hurt anybody." His voice cracks slightly.
"She didn’t—" He stops and presses his mouth into a thin line.
"She wouldn't stop. She kept telling me to get out, get out, get out, and I had the knife out!
She could see the knife, and she just kept yelling at me like I wasn't being serious.
" He shakes his head, and there's something in his expression that I can only describe as genuinely baffled.
"What kind of person does that? I had a knife. "
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
"I was only trying to scare her," he says, finally looking up at me again. "I jerked the knife, only to show her I meant it, and I—" He stops and his face crumples. "I lost my footing. And I fell. And her husband was right there and I…"
He puts his hand over his mouth.
My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs I'm surprised he can't hear it.
Fear and rage are moving through me in alternating waves, tangled up together so completely I can't separate one from the other. This man.
This horrible man, crying into his hand, watched my father bleed out on the floor of his own pharmacy and then turned around and did the same thing to my mother.
And he lost his footing?
He lost his fucking footing!
"Everything after that was a blur," Milo whispers through his fingers. "I swear. I swear to god I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
He's crying now. Actual tears, tracking down his gaunt face. I stand very still and watch him cry, and feel nothing except cold.
“Please.” He looks up at me with wild, red-rimmed eyes.
"You have to forgive me.” He sucks in a sharp breath, his words coming out faster.
"I mean, that's why you ended up at the Morder.
Don't you see that? It was fate. It was fate so you could forgive me.
" His voice rises, taking on a desperate, unhinged quality that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"Please. Please, Elowen. I need you to forgive me. "
He rushes forward.
I let out a sharp yelp as his hands find the front of my shirt, gripping the fabric, His weight drags us down until he's on his knees in front of me, his fists twisted in my shirt, his face tipped up toward mine.
"Please," he sobs. "Please forgive me. I can't keep living like this. Please."
Perrin comes through the doorway so fast I barely have time to blink.
The beta doesn't say a word. He crosses the room in four strides, reaches down, and grabs the back of Milo's jacket in one fist. He rips Milo away from me with a force that snaps Milo's head back.
Perrin swings the asshole sideways and lets go.
Milo's body hits the coffee table, the wood groaning under the impact, his hip catching the edge as he goes down.
Perrin stands between us, his chest heaving, fists curled tight. I have never seen him look like this. Not once.
Every soft, careful, quiet thing about him has been stripped away, leaving something raw and furious underneath. His biceps flexed, his jaw set, and his eyes fixed on Milo with an intensity that makes the room feel cold.
"Don't you ever touch my omega," Perrin snarls, his voice low and dangerous.
I blink, stunned, and Adam's face comes into view.
He pulls me backward, away from the couch, and the second his fingers touch my skin, something breaks open in my chest and the words come out.
"He killed my parents!"
Adam goes still.
Deep lines settle between Perrin’s brows as he turns toward me. "What did you say?"
"He killed my parents." My voice cracks down the middle. "Milo killed my parents."
And then I'm crying.
Painful sobs jerk from my throat, completely beyond my control. My whole body shakes, and I press my hands over my face, trying to breathe through it but I can't.
"I'm sorry," Milo whispers, still on the coffee table, curled on his side, sobbing. He keeps saying it, over and over, wet and broken. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Please! I’m sorry.”
"Shut the fuck up!" Perrin barks, and his voice is so sharp and authoritative that Milo actually goes quiet.
Adam pulls me into his chest, both arms coming around me, tucking my head under his chin. His hand moves slowly up and down my back, then into my hair, and he holds me like he’s waiting for me to shatter.
"They're coming home," the omega says quietly, against the top of my head. "Raff and Cliff. I can feel it in our bond. They're already on their way." His arms tighten. "When they get here, they'll take care of everything."
I lift my head, forcing myself to look at Milo.
He's on the floor now, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. I stare at him and I feel something move through me that I have never felt before. Not grief. Not fear.
I want him to suffer.
I want him stripped down to nothing, broken and bleeding with his guts hanging out. The exact way he left my parents on the floor of their own pharmacy. I want him to feel every single thing he made them feel, and I want it to last, and I am not ashamed of it.
Not even a little.
Then I hear tires squeal outside.
Two car doors slam shut in rapid succession, hard enough to rattle the windows.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
They're here.