Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
EMMA EASTON
I clutch the phone like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to him, to the chaos I can’t see but can feel in every tremor of Micah’s voice.
“He...he had to—he snapped and killed people,” Micah says, his hands trembling slightly as he keeps the line steady. “He’s in bad fucking shape, Emma.”
My stomach drops, and I press a hand to it, trying to force my racing heart to slow.
He...he what?
My mind scrambles, but then Micah’s voice cuts through again. “He didn’t want to do any of it. He never does.”
He never does?
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
I try to picture Jude, high and wired and full of anger—snapping, acting before he could think or stop. The man that I knew back then...I can’t imagine him doing anything like that. My hand tightens on the phone as I realize just what my Jude has become. This is what he never wanted to talk about…
Micah’s voice softens. “Emma...his shirt—he’s...there’s blood. On his hands. Please. He told me to call you.”
I close my eyes, and it’s like I can see it anyway. I’m panicking. “I am on my way,” I say quickly. “Text me the address.”
Micah hesitates. “Thank you. But...he’s—he’s a mess. Just...just be prepared for that, okay? Don’t call the cops. Please.”
“I am,” I promise, even though my chest is caving in. “And I won’t.”
People don’t “have to” kill unless someone makes them.
I see them immediately as I pull up in front of a luxury apartment building. My eyes travel up to see lights on in the penthouse suite. That must be where they just came from.
Micah has Jude’s arm slung over his shoulder, and they stumble toward the car. He looks...broken. Blood smears his shirt, his pants are unbuckled, and his body sways like he’s barely holding himself together. I swallow hard, my throat tight, and try not to look too long.
“Jude,” I murmur softly, as if my voice alone could steady him. He doesn’t respond. He slides into the back seat like he’s too tired to stand. Micah huffs, tossing their bags in the trunk, then climbs in beside him. Jude collapses against Micah, his head falling into his lap.
I turn in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like it can anchor me to reality since I’m seriously about to lose my shit. “What the fuck happened?” I demand, though my voice is filled with fear.
Micah exhales, running a hand over his face. “He...he killed someone for...someone,” he says slowly, like the words are just normal for him. “And then...he shot someone else while he was...uh, high.”
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp. My heart twists, shatters in a way I didn’t know was possible. The car feels too small, and yet I can’t stop driving.
“Are the cops going to be looking for him?” I ask, voice filled with more fear than I want. “What do we do? I’ve never—”
“No,” Micah answers quickly. “Don’t worry about that.”
Jude’s chest rises and falls against Micah’s thigh, shaking. I can hear him crying, or maybe it’s the adrenaline, but it rips at me anyway. I’ve seen clients that are broken like this, and saving them? It’s the most difficult thing in the world.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay even. “It’s...it’s only a short drive. We’ll be at the hotel soon.”
Micah just nods, his fingers stroking Jude’s hair. I steal a glance in the rearview mirror, seeing the blood, the exhaustion, the rawness of him, and my chest feels like it’s splitting in two.
I can’t lose him—not like this, not to them, not to anything.
My hands are tight on the wheel when we pull into the hotel lot, my knuckles white. Micah gently nudges Jude upright, his head still leaning against his lap, and I can see the blood stains on his shirt, the red claw marks along his neck and shoulders. My throat tightens, and I swallow hard.
“Jude…” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He blinks up at me, eyes glazed, too far gone. He’s trembling, and it’s not just from exhaustion. “What’s in his system right now?”
“Alcohol and meth,” Micah mutters as he opens the back door for him, guiding him carefully toward the elevator. “Let’s get you inside.” I follow, trailing behind, trying to stay steady.
In the hotel room, Jude collapses onto the floor, breathing hard. My chest tightens. I carefully kneel beside him. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” I whisper, my hand brushing against his arm. His pulse is erratic, his skin hot and clammy.
He groans, voice cracked. “No...I’m s–sorry. I’m f—fucking sorry, b—baby.”
I shake my head softly. “I know. I’ve got you.”
With Micah’s help, we get him into the bathroom.
I turn the shower on and test the water until it’s warm.
I peel off Jude’s shoes, shirt, and pants.
I leave his boxers on, though. I can see the red marks Adriana left, the tiny scratches along his back and shoulders, and my chest caves in.
I completely forget to take off my clothes as I get in and stand under the showerhead with him.
“Here,” I murmur, carefully washing the blood from his skin. My fingers are gentle, tracing over the claw marks with a tenderness I hope he can feel. His body shudders under my touch. I don’t speak much; the quiet is heavy but necessary.
Micah sits on the bathroom floor, his gaze fixed forward. A small sob works its way out of me, and I try to swallow it down. But it’s no use. I’m devastated. Jude’s eyes can’t even focus, and his head keeps shaking as if he’s attempting to wake himself from some nightmare.
He suddenly squints at me, cupping my face in his rough hands.
“I love you,” he whispers suddenly, so quietly I almost don’t hear it over the water.
My throat tightens, my chest squeezing. It breaks me.
Just that. Three words I’ve been starving to hear for seven years.
My throat closes up, and I have to clear my throat before I can breathe again.
“I know,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
He exhales a heavy sight and drops his head, allowing the water to pour over his hair.
Once he’s clean, Micah hands over a fresh set of clothes he packed.
We help him into his black sweatpants, my hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on his shoulders.
I lead him to the bed and settle him against the pillows, tugging the blankets around his tired body.
Micah collapses on the other bed, exhausted.
He runs a hand through his shoulder-length blonde hair, sighing, finally still for a moment.
“He does everything bad, so I don’t have to,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for me to hear. “He’s killed so many fucking people, Emma…”
I feel my stomach twist, nausea rising. “He—he never told me,” I whisper, voice breaking. “I didn’t know...any of this.” I choke back a sob, absolutely blown away at what tonight has turned into.
Micah shakes his head. “He loves you. Always has. But he’s trapped. Tours traffic drugs, launder money...he kills for Nolan, now Alexei, too. Gets—fucked by Adriana. He’s a prisoner, Emma. We need to get him out because I’m worried he doesn’t have a lot of time.”
My heart is pounding so hard. I grip the blanket, trying to ground myself, trying to remember that I’m here, that he’s here, that he’s still alive.
I didn’t know it was this bad…
What can I do?
I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to calm myself even a little bit. Jude stirs, finally. His eyes open slowly, unfocused at first. He looks at me, and despite all of the blood, drugs, and exhaustion tonight, I see the man I’ve always loved, the one who’s ensnared in a hell I never imagined.
I reach out, hand trembling, and touch his cheek. He leans into it slightly, letting the contact calm him. The hotel room is quiet except for his shallow breaths and the hum of the air conditioner.
“Em…” he whispers, barely audible. “I’m so...sorry—”
“Shhh.” I press my lips to his temple softly. “I know,” I whisper back. “I’ve got you. Just rest. Please.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight it. He closes his eyes, his body melting into the bed, finally letting the weight of everything fall off his shoulders.
I glance over at Micah, watching him now get into his gray sweatpants.
His eyes catch mine, and we stare at each other for a long moment.
With a heavy sigh, he comes over and sits beside me on the bed, Jude behind us, passed out.
“I had no idea that he was living this way,” I whisper, sitting cross-legged, my hands fidgeting anxiously in my lap. “I just thought...that they owned him through drugs and money. I didn’t know he…” I swallow, glancing back at him. “Killed anyone.”
Micah leans forward, his hands on his knees. Tattoos are scattered across his shoulders and biceps like Jude’s. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone. It’s very, very complicated. When he’s awake, he’ll explain more.”
I nod, my breathing still shallow. Why can’t I breathe?
“Don’t beat yourself up about anything, trust me. He had his reasons for ending it with you all those years ago, but it’s not my place to explain. I’m sure he will now.”
I pull my lower lip between my teeth to keep from crying.
“He didn’t want to leave you,” he murmurs, sitting up to look at me. His blue eyes are so kind; they bring me comfort. “I didn’t show up until a couple years later, but I know his story. And he’s regretted that decision every damn day since then.”
I can’t stop them now. Tears fall silently down my cheeks. These people, these horrible fucking people destroyed Jude and robbed us of a beautiful life together. And they have him killing people?
Micah reaches a tattooed arm and pulls me into a side hug.
I scoot closer so my body is resting against his warm skin.
I don’t even know this man too much, but right now, we’re united over our pain and love for the damaged soul sleeping behind us.
My body shakes with the quiet sobs, and he rubs my arm, resting his cheek on my head.