Chapter 21 A Stranger in My Skin #2
He kept drinking until the haze finally darkened and the shadows rose up to yank me under. And somewhere in that growing nothingness, I felt the voices finally slip away completely, their hold on me dissolving like smoke through a closed fist.
And then there was nothing at all.
* * *
Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing through deep water, my limbs heavy and unresponsive as I fought my way up through the murky depths toward a light I could barely see.
The first thing I registered was presence.
Someone sitting to my left. My hand being held.
A thumb brushing slow circles against my skin as if the contact alone could pull me the rest of the way back.
The touch tugged me further toward awareness, though some part of me wanted to stay in the dark where everything was simple.
My eyelids felt heavy. Too heavy. But I forced them open anyway.
The soft glow from the lamp painted everything in warm amber. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, cataloging, taking everything in. The cotton sheets beneath me. The faint ache in my wrists. Metal cuffs.
Movement drew my attention to the right. Dominic rose from the armchair he’d been sitting in and crossed over to me in two strides as Trace tightened his hold on my hand resting above my head on the pillow.
They both looked like they’d aged a decade in the span of however long I’d been out. Hair disheveled. Shadows carved deep under their eyes. Blood on Trace’s shirt.
My blood.
Dominic’s hand came to my face, his cool fingers brushing against my cheek as he searched my expression. His other hand pushed matted hair away from my forehead. On my other side, Trace leaned in closer, his eyes moving across my features like he was looking for something specific.
“Angel?” Dominic’s voice sounded almost too tense to be his. “Can you hear me?”
I managed a nod, but the movement felt mechanical.
The tension in his jaw loosened just a hair as Trace let out a sharp breath.
But underneath all the relief and worry and noise they were making with their fear, another rhythm pressed against the edges of my awareness. A heartbeat.
Steady. Insistent. Not mine.
The Son of Perdition’s heartbeat.
It pulsed somewhere out there in the dark. Closer than before. So much closer. I could feel him like a beacon, pulling at something deep in my chest that had nothing to do with the two men standing over me. His presence droned at the edges of my awareness like a frequency only I could hear.
I noted it. Filed it away. Then buried it somewhere they couldn’t reach through our connections.
“Are you okay?” Trace’s voice was rough. Scraped completely raw. His thumb brushed across the inside of my wrist, away from the cuts that the handcuffs had carved into my skin.
I nodded again.
Dominic’s hand moved from my face to my hair, pushing more of the matted strands away from my forehead. “You need blood. You’ve lost too much.”
I shook my head.
“Angel—”
“Bathroom.” The word came out flat. Empty. My first words since coming back, and they sounded foreign to me. Detached. Like they belonged to someone else entirely. “I need to use the bathroom.”
They exchanged a look. I could feel their hesitation bleeding through the bonds. The nervous energy that hadn’t quite fully dissipated. But underneath it was something else. The belief that the worst had passed. That I was back. That everything was going to be okay now.
They were right about that.
Dominic reached into his pocket and produced a small silver key. He leaned over me again, his movements careful and deliberate as he unlocked the first cuff. The metal fell away with a soft click. Then the second. The chains followed, sliding free with a whisper of sound.
I sat up slowly. Methodically. My hands moved to my wrists, fingers ghosting over the torn skin where the restraints had cut deep. The wounds were still wet with blood, edges swollen and angry. They should have hurt more than they did.
I should have winced. Should have reacted, but I didn’t.
I just stared at them for a moment, taking inventory of the damage with the same detached interest I might have given a stranger’s injury, before sliding off the bed. My legs held beneath me. Stronger than they had any right to be after what I’d just been through.
I crossed the room without looking back. Without checking to see if they were watching. I already knew they were.
The bathroom door closed behind me with a quiet snick.
I turned on the water immediately. Let it run cold and loud, filling the small space with white noise that would mask whatever came next. My hands moved on autopilot, pulling my hair up into a knot at the back of my head. Securing it.
Then I turned to survey the room.
The wooden storage cart sat tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind the towel rack. Three legs. Thin but sturdy enough. The kind of thing you’d never notice unless you were looking for it.
I carefully removed the bath products from it and then placed it down upside down in front of me. Pressing my bare foot against the first leg, I applied pressure until the wood splintered with a muffled crack.
The water was still running.
I snapped off the second leg the same way. Quick. Efficient. Then I tucked both pieces of wood into the waistband of my shorts at the small of my back, adjusting them until they sat flat against my spine.
They don’t understand. The thought arrived clean. Calm. Matter-of-fact. They’ll only get in my way.
Something stirred beneath the surface then. A flicker of resistance. Horror, maybe. Or recognition. It clawed its way up through the numbness as if to remind me of something.
I pushed it down. Drowned it in the same emptiness that had swallowed everything else.
It’s the only way.
I turned off the water. The sudden silence felt louder than the rushing had been. I adjusted the stakes one more time, making sure they wouldn’t slip, then glanced up at my reflection. It felt like a stranger was staring back at me. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Empty and pitiless.
I recognized the features, but the expression was all wrong.
A knock at the door pulled my attention away from the mirror.
“Everything alright in there, angel?” Dominic’s voice drifted through the wood. Casual, but edged with concern.
“Yeah.” I was surprised by how normal I sounded. How even. “I need a glass of water.”
A beat of silence. Then Trace’s voice from somewhere further away. “On it.”
I waited. Counted his footsteps as they retreated down the hallway. One. Two. Three. Four.
Then I wrapped my fingers around one of the stakes, pulled it free from my waistband, and opened the door.
Dominic stood directly in front of me. Close enough that I could see the exact moment confusion flickered across his face. Close enough that his eyes started to form a question.
But I didn’t give him a chance to ask it.