13. Ash
Ash
Her weight settles against my chest like she belongs there, head tipped just enough that her breath ghosts warm against my neck. She’s out cold, spent in a way that I know she’s never been before, body all worn out and used.
Her lashes lay heavy across her cheekbones, mouth parted just slightly as her even breaths fall out. I tighten my hold without meaning to, eyes tracking every rise and fall of her chest as I carry her through her apartment building.
The elevator doors slide open, all glass and steel, nothing like the rusted cages and cracked concrete I’m used to. I step inside and punch in the code to her penthouse, the code Kai gave to me the day after she wandered into our club.
The city glides upward around us in reflected lights, and I watch her face instead of the floor count. Every second. Every breath. Like if I look away, something will slip.
She stirs for a second, a soft sound leaving her throat, and I shift her higher against me, careful not to wake her. The elevator hums us towards her fancy little penthouse apartment.
I slip us inside, using the key I have copied.
It’s all glass and polish and views. Immaculately tidy just like I’d imagined it would be with marble floors and white furniture.
Money thrown into every basic little detail.
I stand here in my leather vest, blood-stained boots and unruly skin, and with this perfect angel in my arms, for the first time I feel the contrast bite.
This world she lives in is so fucking far above my world that I couldn’t even spot mine down in the sprawling city views. Too shiny. Too fucking perfect.
Yet, it’s paid for by Howard Dally, so it can’t be that perfect. In fact, this apartment may as well be coated with blood, with the money he uses.
I gaze back down at her, revelling in the fact that this girl is a descendant of that prick. I know she doesn’t know what her father is. A cold-blooded monster. But I can’t help the trickle of resentment creeping in.
How can she not see it? How is she so blinded to the truth?
I should tell her. I know I should. But those haunted eyes tell me she wouldn’t hear it even if I uttered the words.
And for now, I want her focusing on only me.
And I’ll have my fun waving her in her father’s face, when the time comes.
I only hope she’ll forgive me for it, once she realises who he really is.
I already know where her room is, helping myself into her ensuite bathroom. It’s bigger than most people’s living rooms. Reaching for a cloth, I place her softly on the side of the tub, her eyes fluttering open tiredly.
Warm water runs over my hands as I wet the cloth, wringing it out slowly, silence falling over us as I crouch down in front of her. She’s too tired to speak, body slack with exhaustion, eyes barely open as I ease the jacket I threw over her from her shoulders and set it aside.
Her gaze finds mine for a second, glassy and unfocused, before dropping down to watch what I’m doing.
I wipe carefully at her cheekbones first, clearing the tracks of makeup and dried cum from her pretty face. A line forms between her brows, as if she’s unsure of what I’m doing, but is too scared to ask.
I’m glad she doesn’t, because I have no way of answering. I’ve never once fallen to my knees to clean a woman before. Usually, they are falling to their knees before me so that I can dirty them up.
It's unchartered waters for both of us, it seems.
Yet she exhales, soft and slow, leaning into my touch without realising she’s doing it. It has a growly grunt falling out of my throat, possessive need making my cock harden again. My jaw tightens and I focus on the job in front of me.
No words are shared as I clean her slowly, until she’s breathing deep and even again, head tipping forward against my shoulder. She’s asleep before I realise it, weight sagging fully this time.
I lift her without effort, taking her to her pillow-laden bed. I’ve never seen such a stupid amount of pillows on a bed before.
The city stretches out beyond the glass, lights scattered across the harbour, cars moving like ants. It’s a view I know well, just from a different vantage point.
My angel’s fists grip the front of my leather tight as I lay her down in her soft bed, pulling the covers over her body, as much as it pains me to. When I look up, her eyes are on mine, clearer now.
But wide and nervous. She looks… scared?
My fingers skim through her knotty hair, pulling it away from her face. “Hey, hey, hey,” I soothe. “You did so good for me tonight,” I breathe, because it’s true.
She took all our minds off our grief and bloodlust, even if only for a few hours. It’s more than she realises.
She bites her bottom lip, blinking up at me. “Stay,” she whispers, finally easing her white-knuckled grip from me.
Just one word from her and the breath is being pushed from my lungs. It’s too hard to breathe. Too hard to speak. I’m the monster in people’s nightmares, not the person someone pleads to stay.
My thumb strokes her cheek as I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Sleep now, Angel,” my voice comes out gravelly. “I’m here.”
Heavy eyes blink, before she turns towards the window. We sit in silence; she watches the million-dollar view and I watch her. It feels like hours and seconds all at once, with only the sounds of our breaths around us. The pad of my thumb traces her cheek, her jaw, her button chin.
When her voice filters to me, soft and whispered, I almost think I dream it, so lost in her.
“I think I’d be dead if I didn’t have this window,” her quiet whisper sounds so matter of fact, as if she didn’t say words that make my heart speed up.
“I get to watch all these people... And I imagine they are all having the most exciting day. Like that car zooming down there is a group of friends going to a party, and those tiny people over there just fell in love.” She takes a deep breath, as if it’s all suddenly too heavy to think about.
“I guess knowing that people are living these full, exciting lives somehow makes me feel better about mine.”
The words land like a blow to my chest.
I follow her gaze down to the bustling city, still lit with life even at this late hour. The world going on without us. Without the club. Without blood and deals and rules. My jaw tightens, not with anger, but with recognition.
Because I have a place like that too.
A corner of the city I used to run to when it got too loud. When my dad’s belligerent words and my mum's frightened cries were too much. When I needed to remember that there’s more than survival and death. I’ve never told anyone about it.
I don’t answer her. I don’t trust my voice.
I just sit there a moment longer than planned, watching the city the way she does, feeling something shift inside me that doesn’t have a name yet... and knowing, with quiet certainty, that this is the part that’s going to cost me.
“Do I frighten you, Maddison?”
When her eyes find mine, the city reflects in the dark pools. A small line forms between her brows as I watch her think over my question.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I hold her tighter to my body, unable to help myself from smiling at her answer.
“Good.”