Chapter 12
TWELVE
KAT
Jagged shards catch the light, sunk into Liam’s knuckle. His eyes look unfocused and dark in the shattered mirror, causing my stomach to churn.
And there’s blood.
Not the blood of someone who deserves to have it spilt. This is the blood of the man I cherish, and it kills me to see him hurting.
I’m frozen to the spot. The urge to rush over and wrap my arms around his still-wet body, to kiss away his pain, fills me. And yet, I can’t move.
My pulse is the only sound I can hear at first, the scared whoosh-whoosh as it speeds around my head. Then there’s the drip. Crimson landing on the floor in splatter-edged dots.
A silent scream tears at my throat. My eyes sting with stuck tears.
I want to do something, but I can’t.
So we stare at each other in the broken mirror until I break myself out of the fear response.
‘Liam,’ I whisper, stepping into the bathroom.
He doesn’t answer. There’s only the ragged rise of his back and chest. For the first time, I’m scared of him. Not exactly of him—I know he’ll never lash out at me—but of what our mission is doing to him.
‘Baby,’ I say, my fingertips gently resting on his back. ‘It’s okay.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, looking away from my reflection. It guts me.
Taking him by his undamaged hand, I lead him to the sitting room, grabbing a towel en route and putting it on the sofa. I gently push him to sit and throw the other half of the towel over his lap.
‘Stay here,’ I instruct him, going back to close the bathroom door in case Reggie steps on broken glass.
Ellie left the first aid kit behind when she moved out, her mum having plenty of supplies at their house.
I’m thankful she was grown up enough to buy one when we moved in, as I was woefully unprepared.
Liam’s staring at the glass sticking out from his knuckles when I return to him, supplies and tweezers in hand. Kneeling in front of him I set about removing the small shards of mirror, hoping I get them all. The biggest ones come out easily enough, but some of the thinner slivers are hard to grip.
No emotion passes on Liam’s face. So used to being hurt throughout his life. It kills me.
‘Hold still,’ I say. Not because he’s moving. Just because I need to fill the gap where his voice usually is.
‘I am,’ he finally replies.
Relief washes over me, and I swallow back emotion. The last thing Liam needs is for me to start crying.
Once I’m sure the glass is completely out, I gently bathe his hand with water-soaked pads before applying antiseptic. His sharp intake of breath is the first sign he’s feeling anything, and I have to concentrate to stop my fingers from trembling.
‘What happened?’ I ask as I start applying fiddly little butterfly strips, trying to knit the multiple slashes on his hand.
It’s tricky with so many cuts. Every time I try to place one, the adhesive parts seem to hit another wound.
‘And don’t even think about lying to me.
If you do, you’ll need more than butterfly strips. ’
A tiny smile lifts the corner of his mouth. It’s enough for now.
He watches me work, and I begin to think he’s not going to answer at all. After a few minutes, he gives a stuttered sigh.
‘I went to Ashworth’s house.’
I can feel my brow knit as I stare up at him. ‘You did what? Alone?!’
‘Just some surveillance.’
My hands still, too tense to keep working.
‘Without me.’
Liam touches my chin with his intact hand, those dark, soulful eyes softening. ‘I’m sorry, princess. I wanted to wait, but it was eating me up inside. The plan was to just check the place out. Note down cameras, lights and motion sensors. I didn’t go there to kill him.’
‘But did you leave without killing him?’
‘Unfortunately.’
Leaning into his touch, I sigh. ‘I’d have been pissed if you killed him without me, but I’d still be glad he’s dead.’
‘He’s not going to be easy. Not only is he careful and police, but he knows someone’s coming. The one thing we might have on him is that he doesn’t know who we are, or that there are two of us.’
‘Yet.’
Liam nods. ‘Yet. And worse still, a journalist showed up, knocking at Ashworth’s door.’
Sitting back, I pack up the supplies before taking them and the napkin full of shards into the kitchen. Pulling out two glasses, I pour us two indecently large slugs of vodka. Not ideal, but I think we both need it.
Liam pulls me onto the couch next to him, downing his drink in one shot. Bloody hell.
‘What did he want?’
‘Hard to say. Ashworth slammed the door in his face. But I got a name and a number plate. He did mention finding a link. No idea what.’ Liam leans his head against the back of the couch, his towel dipping on his muscular stomach.
‘I considered killing Ashworth, but the guy, Freddie, stuck around on the driveway.’
‘Probably for the best. And the mirror?’
Liam rubs his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I got back from Ashworth’s, and my brain went into turbo mode; it felt like my skull was going to explode. It had to come out somewhere. I didn’t mean it. And I’ll fix it.’
His voice is quick, almost like a child’s when you catch them out doing something they shouldn’t. I don’t want to push him into that place.
‘Come here,’ I say, pulling Liam’s head into my lap and running my nails through his hair. It calms me, so it can’t hurt to try it on him.
We sit like that for a while, Liam’s yawns interspersed with silence. Eventually, he speaks. ‘We’re going to have to do this faster.’
‘I know.’
‘It’s easier to make a mistake, but it gives them less time to investigate. They’ll make mistakes too if they rush.’
And just like that, stress rises in my chest, squeezing my lungs. I don’t want Liam to feed off my negative energy, so I just breathe through the panic, never stilling my fingers in Liam’s hair.
‘Faster gets people caught,’ I whisper.
‘So does waiting for them to fix their net.’ His voice is tainted with sleep, so I keep my fingers moving, swallowing down the tornado of emotions I’m hit with.
His breathing lengthens, his shoulders unknotting as I continue to stroke his hair.
I don’t let myself crumble until I’m sure he’s asleep. Fat tears roll down my cheeks as the pressure releases from the turmoil in my head. My fear and sadness cascade unbidden as I cry silently. The solid weight of Liam brings comfort, but I can see he’s losing control. I can feel that I am.
It’s feeling like a near-impossible task to survive without incarceration is becoming impossible. Even if we survive it, will we be left looking over our shoulders forever?
What will be left of us even if we make it through together?
There might be nothing left to salvage.
Liam needs time to rest and to heal, so I sit there statue-still until my tears dry to salty streaks. I daren’t move, in case I don’t get to hold him like this again.