Chapter 32 – Damian
Chapter Thirty-Two
DAMIAN
We’re holed up in the vet’s office. Arden’s patched me up enough that I’m not actively bleeding, but every breath still feels like sandpaper in my lungs.
Marlowe hasn’t left my side, not really. She’s sitting on one of the cracked leather chairs, knees drawn up, her head resting against the wall. She’s worn out, barely keeping her eyes open, but she’s too stubborn to sleep.
Arden’s been pacing around the office, cleaning up, mumbling to himself about how much I owe him. Bridger’s whispering with Neve, trying to get the whole story of how they managed to get out of the card game. I still can’t believe she won more than what Vick stole.
Arden finally stops moving and says, “I’m heading outside. There’s a vending machine a few shops away. You guys need anything?”
Marlowe glances up, eyes still dazed.
“Get her something to eat,” I grunt. “And some water.”
Arden raises an eyebrow at me. “Anything else, boss? Maybe a bouquet of flowers while I’m at it?”
I glare at him. “Don’t be an ass. Just get some snacks.”
Arden smirks, his gaze flicking between me and Marlowe like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. He tosses his keys to Bridger. “I’ll be right back.” He takes off, and the room falls quiet again.
Bridger leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me carefully. I can feel his question hanging in the air, but I’m not ready to make plans yet.
The door swings open about five minutes later, and Arden strolls back in, carrying a plastic bag. He tosses a bottle of water to Marlowe, who catches it with shaky hands. “Got you some chips and a granola bar too,” he says, pulling out the snacks and handing them over.
Marlowe actually smiles at him, and something tightens in my chest.
Arden grins back. Yeah, I don’t like it. I grit my teeth. “Did you get me anything?”
Arden glances at me, brows furrowing. “You didn’t tell me to.”
I narrow my eyes. “Fuck off, Arden.”
He shrugs, not giving a damn. “If you wanted snacks, you could’ve asked for snacks. I’m not a mind reader, man.”
Marlowe opens the water and takes a long sip, and Arden’s eyes linger on her a little too long for my liking.
“So, Lo,” Arden says, leaning against the counter with a lazy smirk. “How’d you end up tangled with these idiots?”
Her shoulders raise, but she doesn’t answer. She looks to me questioningly.
“That’s enough,” I snap. I stand up.
Arden raises his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Damian. Just trying to get to know your friend.”
I don’t miss the way he says “friend.”
Bridger rolls his eyes. “If you two are done measuring dicks, we need to talk about where we’re going next.”
Arden doesn’t take his eyes off Marlowe, though. “You good?” he asks her, softer this time.
She nods but still doesn’t talk. She just picks at the edge of the chip bag.
The gentle way Arden’s talking to her is really starting to piss me off.
Arden looks back at me with an arrogant face. “You’re not mad because I’m being nice to her. You’re mad because you didn’t think to ask her first.”
My hands curl into fists, and Bridger cuts in before I can start something I can’t finish. “Arden, stop screwing with him,” Bridger mutters. “We’ve got enough shit to deal with.”
Arden shrugs, unbothered.
I glare at him.
Marlowe’s quiet, sipping her water, and I feel like an idiot for wanting to rip Arden’s head off just because he’s not being a dick to her.
Arden doesn’t miss the way my hands are shaking, even though I try to hide it. His smirk fades, replaced by something more serious. “You’re lucky I’m good at patching up idiots,” he says.
I grunt, leaning back against the wall, trying to ignore the pain twisting through my side. Marlowe doesn’t look back at me, and I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose.
The room settles into a weird, uneasy silence, and I try not to think about how much I hate that Arden’s right.
I push off the wall, careful not to move too fast. The pain in my side fades into a dull ache, the meds Arden gave me finally kicking in.
My head’s clearer, but there’s still this fog hanging over everything.
I walk over to where Bridger’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to solve a problem that keeps shifting.
Neve stops whispering with him and moves to sit next to Marlowe.
She’s coaxing Marlowe to eat some of the chips and the granola bar.
Marlowe hesitates, but eventually, they start sharing the food.
At least someone’s taking care of her, because I’m not sure I can do it without making a mess of everything.
I glance over at Bridger, lowering my voice. “We have to deal with Joel.”
He doesn’t argue, just nods slowly, his jaw tight. “Yeah. But eventually, we’ll have to deal with Clay, too.”
I rub the heel of my hand over my eyes, trying to scrub out the pressure building behind them. Feels like we’re constantly two steps behind. One problem solved just makes space for another. “If we leave Joel alive, he’s coming after Marlowe,” I mutter. “And us.”
Bridger’s quiet, eyes flicking over to where Marlowe is still picking at the food. Neve’s keeping her distracted, talking low and soft. I wish I could hear what’s being said. “She’s still got to worry about Vick,” Bridger says. “Even if Joel’s gone. You really want to kill her father too?”
I clench my teeth. No, I don’t. As much as I hate Vick for dragging Marlowe into this, for using her like some kind of pawn, I can’t bring myself to make that call.
Killing Joel is one thing. Killing Vick?
That’s something else entirely. “I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to do,” I admit, frustration leaking out in a low growl.
“If we take out Joel, Vick’s still a problem.
And if we leave Joel alive, we’re screwed. ”
Bridger scratches the back of his neck, looking about as done with this as I feel. “Well, Joel’s got to go no matter what. And then there’s Zero,” he says.
Right. The dead guy in the back of the SUV.
“What the hell are we going to do with his body?” I mutter. “Can’t exactly leave him in Arden’s parking lot.”
“We’ll have to move him,” Bridger says. “Somewhere remote. Clean up the mess before anyone else tracks us down.”
He’s right. We’ve got to take care of it, but the thought of driving out to the desert to bury him in the middle of the night doesn’t sit right.
But we don’t have a choice. When Joel finds out Zero is dead, things are going to get worse, fast. We need to get rid of the evidence and figure out our next move.
Bridger puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing tight. “We’ll figure it out,” he says. “One step at a time.”
I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what we do, we’re already too deep to come out clean in all this. No one can find Zero’s body.
“Cody’s got Mom?” I ask.
“Yeah, they’re good. No worries there.”
“Yeah, right.” I grunt.
Bridger keeps talking, throwing out ideas about what to do with Zero’s body, about how to deal with Joel, but my focus drifts.
I can’t stop staring at Marlowe. She’s sitting on the edge of the vet’s worn-out couch, legs tucked under her, fingers toying with the crumpled chip bag. Neve’s saying something to her, but Marlowe’s not really listening.
My eyes move lower, tracing the dark, dried streaks staining her dress, her hands, even the side of her face.
My blood. It’s all over her. It shouldn’t be.
A sharp, unwelcome twist works through my chest, something primal and wrong.
She shouldn’t be covered in it, shouldn’t look like that, like she’s been through hell.
My hands flex, aching to fix it. To make it better.
I cut Bridger off mid-sentence. “Give me a minute.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t question it.
I walk over to Marlowe, the ache in my side flaring with each step, but I don’t care. I stop in front of her, and she finally lifts her head, those tired, wide eyes meeting mine. “Come with me,” I say, voice low.
She doesn’t argue, just sets the bag down and stands, looking a little unsure.
I lead her down the hall to the small, dingy bathroom. It’s cramped, with a sink that’s seen better days. I close the door behind us, and for a second, the silence presses in.
She looks at me, confused. “What’s going on?”
I reach past her and turn the faucet on, lukewarm water trickling out. I grab a paper towel from the shelf, soaking it, and turn back to her.
She’s just staring at me, trying to figure out what I’m doing.
I take her hand gently, running the wet towel over her knuckles, wiping away the dark, rusty stains.
Her breath hitches, and I keep going, moving up her arm, careful around the scratches and bruises.
“You’re covered in it,” I murmur, almost to myself.
She doesn’t pull away, just watches me work. When I reach her cheek, I slow down, cupping her face with one hand as I wipe the blood from her skin. She closes her eyes, her lips parting just slightly.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “With my blood on you.”
Her eyes flutter open, locking on mine. “You’re the one who got shot,” she says, voice trembling.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. But I don’t want it on you. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
Her hands come up, resting lightly against my chest. “I thought you were going to die,” she says, her voice breaking.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just keep wiping the blood from her neck, her jaw. The more blood I wipe away, though, the more bruises I find on her skin. “Which one of them did this to you?” I seethe.
“Zero,” she answers.
“I’m glad I killed him.”
“I’m glad you did too.” She leans into my touch and I cradle her face in my hands. She doesn’t pull away.
“Marlowe,” I whisper, leaning closer.
She looks up at me, eyes so raw and open it damn near breaks me.
I lean down and press my lips to hers, soft and slow, testing the way she responds. She kisses me back, hesitant at first, then bolder, like she’s pouring everything she’s feeling into it: fear, anger, relief. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let her.
I deepen the kiss, one hand moving to the back of her neck, the other still cupping her cheek. Her breath mixes with mine, and the way she’s clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in the world makes something inside me crack wide open.
We break apart just enough for me to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I thought they killed you,” she whispers.
I close my eyes, trying to hold back the storm in my chest. “I’m right here. I’m fine.”
She lets out a shaky breath, and I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away the last of the blood. “I’m not going anywhere, Lo.”
She smiles, just a little, and it does something strange to me.
It makes me want to rip apart anyone who ever put fear in her eyes.
Makes me want to burn down the whole damn world, just to keep that little curve of her mouth right where it is.
I brush my fingers through her hair, letting the strands slip between them.
Her forehead stays pressed against mine, and I feel her breath on my mouth, warm and shaky.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
I know that. And I know what I have to do now.
To keep her safe, I’m going to have to do something terrible.
Something that will push her far away. Because I’m not good for her, and I never will be.
But if I want her to survive this, I have to make sure she never looks at me like this again.