Chapter 34
Chapter thirty-four
JUDE GRAVES
The SUV pulls away the second I’m out of my car, rolling off into the dark like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just slice a man’s throat and get worked over in an alley for having a spine.
I stand there a second, steadying myself. My ribs and knuckles are both throbbing. My shirt is stuck to me in places where blood has dried. I smell like iron and sweat and alley grime.
I walk, even if every step hurts.
By the time I reach our front door, the adrenaline’s wearing off, leaving only the pain and the clawing need I hate so goddamn much.
My hands shake as I unlock the door. The hinge squeaks when it opens.
Micah is half-asleep on the couch despite the pulse of music playing from his computer in his bedroom. He jerks awake the second he sees me.
His face goes white. “Jude?” His voice cracks on my name.
I quietly close the door behind me. I’m numb. I’m not here. The world is muffled and fuzzy. Like static.
He stands. “What—what happened?” He takes a step toward me, then hesitates like he’s not sure if getting closer is safe.
I shrug off my black jacket, and the movement sends pain tearing through my ribs. I don’t hide the wince fast enough. Micah sees it.
“Jesus Christ.” His hands fly to his mouth. “Who did this to you? Alexei? Nolan?” He’s shaking. Actually shaking. And something inside me snaps. Not at him.
At myself.
At Alexei.
At Nolan.
At the man who died under my knife tonight.
I don’t have space for Micah’s worry, softness, or, especially, his breaking. “Don’t,” I rasp. My voice sounds like gravel. “Just...don’t.”
Micah steps closer, ignoring me. “Jude, your ribs, your hands—fuck, you’re bleeding. Let me get the first aid kit. We should call Heather.”
“Micah.” I look up.
He freezes.
I’m not glaring or yelling, but the look in my eyes must be wrong enough, gone enough, that he stops breathing. “Shut up,” I say quietly. “Or get the fuck out.”
His face crumples, like he’s pained seeing me like this. I can’t fucking stand it. “Jude…” It’s barely a whisper. Pleading.
I walk past him, limping toward the hall. He reaches out, fingertips brushing my shoulder. I flinch. I know I’m hurting him. Scaring him. And I can’t stop. I can’t be soft right now without falling apart. Without sobbing or breaking or begging him to save me.
I can’t be saved. I know that now.
I close the bathroom door behind me and strip off my shirt, hissing when the fabric drags across the bruises. The shower hits me like a thousand needles. I scrub hard, trying to get the blood smell off, the alley off, the man off.
By the time I walk out, dressed in new jeans and shirtless, Micah’s waiting in the hallway with this shattered look. “Oh my god, dude—” His voice cracks, obviously seeing the fresh bruises. “Your ribs...please talk to me.”
“Stop,” I snap.
He flinches like I hit him. Good. I need him to shut up. I need the world to shut up. Because the crash is already coming.
Fast.
Hard.
The high I had earlier that got me through the meeting with Alexei, Nolan, and Adriana is fading. I feel it slipping out of my bloodstream, taking whatever numbness I had with it, leaving everything raw.
No. Fucking no.
Micah must see it happening because he whispers, “Jude...don’t. Please. Not again tonight.”
But my body is already moving. I check the coffee table and see that the black case isn’t there. He must have used earlier. I go into his room, and he tries to follow, but I slam the door in his face.
His desktop screen glows faint blue across the bed, Dark Beach by Pastel Ghost spilling from the speakers. It’s loud, dreamy, and eerie. I find the case sitting on his bed.
“Jude, stop.—” His voice is muffled on the other side of the door.
I ignore it. I sit on the edge of his bed, pull the tie tight around my arm. The bruises bloom dark up my torso, but not on the face—Nolan’s orders. Keep the face pretty. Keep the product clean. My hands shake, but never enough to stop me.
The needle finds the vein on instinct.
The rush hits in a single violent flash, like lightning under my skin, burning through the fear, the guilt, the kill, the bruises. My heart kicks up. My thoughts sharpen and scatter at the same time. The faster part of the song suddenly matches my heartbeat. They’re in sync, dancing together…
Micah pounds on the door, voice cracking. “Jude.”
I pull the plunger back out, toss the needle onto the desk, and open the door.
Micah looks at me like he’s watching me destroy myself. “How much did you use?”
“Shut up,” I bite out. “Enough to be fucking fine. Obviously.”
His eyes go glassy with tears.
I grab my shirt, wincing as I pull it on. My skin buzzes because the meth high didn’t smooth the edges the way heroin does. It just sharpens them.
I head for the front door.
“Where are you going?” His voice is careful.
“Emma’s.”
Micah shakes his head, almost stepping in front of me. “Dude, you can’t. You’re not good right now. You’ll scare her.”
I shove past him. “No, I won’t,” I mutter.
And even if I do...I need her anyway. I need something to pull me back from whatever Alexei is turning me into.
What happened tonight ripped me closer to an edge I am terrified to fall over, and she’s the only fucking thing that has a chance at bringing me back.
From being swallowed and becoming a goddamn demon.
Because she’s light in human form.
And I need her.
I knock on her front door, my knuckles stinging more than the ribs already do. I hate myself for being here. I feel myself slipping. The man at the beach the other day is different from this one right now. How so? I don’t fucking know.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…
I wince at the racing thoughts ricocheting inside my skull. The door opens a crack, and there she is. Brown hair messy, eyes half-lidded like she was sleeping. “Jude...what’s going on? Is everything alright?”
I don’t answer. I shove the door open, letting it slam softly behind me.
Darkness swallows us. Her house smells like her—coffee, laundry detergent, vanilla.
It’s safe and warm and everything I need right now.
Before she can react, I press her back against the wall.
My mouth finds hers. Her lips are soft, her breath catches, but she doesn’t push away. She melts into me immediately.
I can feel the bruises along my ribs, and the meth thrumming through my veins. I need this. I need her. Because soon, I’m going to lose her forever.
Her hands fly to my chest, gripping me, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me and why I’m so urgent. I move against her anyway, rough, frantic, because every second without her is a storm inside my skull.
“Jude…” she gasps, caught between warning and want. She bites my lip. Hard. I hiss. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and for the briefest second, panic flickers, but I push it down.
I pull back just enough to see her face in the dim light. Groggy, wide-eyed, and confused, but still responding. Still letting me in.
Please, Emma. Save me. I’m drowning.
She gasps again, and I kiss her with every jagged emotion and dark thing I’ve done. My hands are tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, when the lock clicks.
What the—
The door swings open before I can process. Heather’s there, key in hand, face twisted between panic and fury. Behind her, Micah stands frozen, eyes wide as if he’s seeing a ghost. And by all accounts, he is.
“Jude—what the hell are you doing?!” Heather shouts.
I freeze. Emma presses against me instinctively, confusion flashing across her face because she hasn’t realized what’s happening yet.
“Micah?” I rasp, voice rough, high from the meth and adrenaline. “Why...why are you—”
“Shut up!” Heather cuts me off, stepping forward. “You’re not in your right mind. You could hurt her.”
Emma must feel me tense, because her hands push against my chest, soft but firm. “Jude...calm down.”
I can’t. My chest hammers, my blood screams, and I can feel every bruise, every ache, every horrible thing from this night. I feel like I’m losing my grip, and I’m only trying to anchor myself to something human.
“Jude, step back,” Micah’s voice cracks. He’s holding his hands out, pleading.
Heather moves closer, like she’s going to shield Emma if I lose it completely. I won’t. They should all know that I would never hurt her.
I love her more than anything.
Rage and desperation twist in my stomach. I’m caught between everything I want and the suffocating reality of being watched, judged, and cornered.
My breathing is harsh, ragged. “I just...I need her…” I croak.
Emma looks between us, now in her professional mode. “Let’s talk about what’s going on. What happened?”
A sharp and brittle laugh escapes me.
I can’t stop. The only way out is if I stop breathing, don’t you fucking understand?
Heather steps closer again, like she’s genuinely nervous.
Everything snaps. I’m on fire inside, but Emma’s there. Her. Her eyes are wide and scared. She’s the tether that keeps me from spiraling completely.
I hate my life. I hate everything that’s happened to me. I just want it over.
I swallow, looking down at the only woman I’ve ever loved. The one who, in another life, I could have married and given children to. I realize...she’s the only thing that keeps me tethered to any shred of myself. Without her, I fear I’ll disappear.
Her hands softly grip my forearms. “Jude...breathe. Please. Just...breathe.”
I want to laugh. Breathe? My chest is a drum of panic and desperation. My hands twitch, still on her hips, but I can feel the pressure of their eyes, the judgment, the fear.
“Step back, now,” Heather says, voice sharp. I can feel the authority in it, and it pisses me off. I want to shove her away, but I can’t.
Micah’s eyes are wide, trembling. “Jude...man...look at yourself! Look at what you’re doing!” His hands are halfway out, hesitant. Protective, pleading.
I swallow. “Emma…” I rasp. My voice is raw. “I...I am going to die.”