Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
JESS
The darkness swallows me whole when I wake, and for one merciful second, I forget. Then the pain hits, a burning ache that crawls from my toes to my thighs, reminding me I’m still here. Alive and trapped in this broken body, married to a man I barely know.
I blink, willing my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, and my gaze drifts to the chair beside my bed—the one where Lucifer sat, watching over me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
It’s empty now, and his absence leaves me feeling conflicted.
He married me while I was unconscious, suffering from a trauma he caused.
He may not have been the one to light the match, but I’m no fool.
He’s the president of an outlaw motorcycle club.
He has a million enemies and a bounty on his head.
Whoever threw that bomb into the bar wanted to hurt him, and I’m the one who paid the price.
Now I’m indebted to a man who’s always looked at me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. I’m supposed to be grateful he gave me his name so I can live and stay trapped in a body that will never be the same. I wonder how long it will be before I’m expected to get on my knees for him.
Men like Lucifer don’t do anything without expecting something in return.
I press my fingers against my face, tracing the rough ridges of stitches that cut across my forehead.
It’s the least of the damage, and maybe that’s what I should be thankful for.
I don’t mean to sound vain, but my face has always helped pay the bills.
From the moment I started working as a bartender, it earned me tips, and it’s made men look twice when I poured their drinks.
My personality sealed the deal. I was good at reading people and making them feel seen. I built a life on a pretty face and a welcoming smile, and now I’ve lost both things.
What am I supposed to do now?
I’m twenty-three years old, and my life is over. One flaming bottle, and I’m in a position I fought so hard to never be in. One that leaves me dependent on others and at the mercy of a man.
Just like my mother.
I meant it when I told Lucifer he should’ve let me die.
Death is a million times better than this.
I lose track of time. The days and nights all blur together, and I’m not sure if that’s because I’m so doped up on pain meds or if I’m just depressed. It’s probably a combination of both, and yet there is no end in sight.
Tori was hopeful that my mood would change once I was transferred to the new hospital, but honestly, it feels like I swapped one prison for another. The room is somewhat different here, though. Smaller, but brighter, with a window that lets in sunlight.
“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Tori says, jarring my attention back to her.
She’s been talking nonstop since she arrived an hour ago, unpacking a duffel bag she brought from our apartment.
Every few minutes, she holds something up—a framed photo, a throw blanket, my favorite pillow—and waits for me to react.
“Wait, I almost forgot.” She spins around and makes her way to the cubby where she hung my clothes.
Lounge sets I’m not sure when I’ll ever wear since my attire consists of hospital gowns.
She grabs her purse and pulls out a stack of drawings.
“Poppy made these for you. She gave me specific instructions to tape them to the walls so you can see them when you wake up and know she’s missing your pancakes. ”
My heart clenches at that, but I can’t summon the energy to react. Instead, my gaze drops to the thick bandages wrapped around my legs.
Yesterday, the nurses changed my dressings, and for the first time since I woke up, I allowed myself to take in the damage.
Raw, angry skin stretched taut over my calves, patches of pink, red, and white stitched together from parts of myself that weren’t meant to be there.
The sight made me gag, and I had to look away before I threw up.
Could you imagine how a twelve-year-old girl would react?
Tori hums softly as she tapes the last drawing to the wall. When she finishes, she steps back to admire her handiwork, then turns to me with an expectant smile.
I stare at the drawings but can’t summon the appropriate reaction.
“Hey.” Tori’s voice softens as she crosses the room and lowers herself onto the foot of my bed, carefully avoiding my legs. “Talk to me, Jess.”
I shake my head, my throat tightening. The words won’t come, and even if they did, what would I say? That I’m drowning? That I wish the fire had taken me completely? That I’m terrified of what comes next?
She doesn’t want to hear that anymore than I want to say it.
Tori sighs, reaching for my hand. “I met with your new doctors before the transfer. They all seem wonderful. Dr. Patel especially seems to know his stuff.”
I remain silent, staring at the ceiling.
Only the best for Mrs. Holland.
“They also mentioned you’ll be starting counseling soon.” She squeezes my hand. “It’ll be good to talk to someone professional about everything you’re feeling. Process it all, you know?”
I close my eyes. Therapy won’t fix me. I can talk until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t change the facts.
My life before is gone. Pain and suffering, horrific scars, and staring at the ceiling—it’s all my new normal.
I know it would be easier for her if I just accepted it.
If I just plastered on a smile and thanked God for allowing me to live—but I can’t do it.
“I, um . . .” Tori hesitates, and I open my eyes to find her staring at our joined hands. “I’m going back to work tonight. Max has been understanding, but I’ve used up all my sick days and then some.”
The thought of being alone in this hospital room sends a spike of panic through me, but I bite it back. Tori has her own life to live.
“It’s going to be a little difficult for me to be here every day,” she continues.
“Between work, taking care of Poppy, and the hospital being over an hour away now . . .” She trails off, her eyes searching mine before she slips off the bed and returns to her purse.
Rummaging inside, she produces a sleek new phone and places it on the rolling table beside my bed, along with a charger.
I stare at it blankly for a beat, then lift my gaze to her.
“What happened to my old phone?”
“It wasn’t recovered from the bar.” She picks up the new phone and holds it out to me. “I programmed my number in. We can add anyone else you want to . . .” She pauses, her gaze hopeful. “Maybe Amelia?”
At the mention of my coworker, my eyes snap to Tori’s face. I hadn’t even thought about Amelia. She was there the night of the fire, working the floor alongside me.
“She’s okay,” Tori says quickly, reading my expression. “She’s called me a few times to check in on you. I’m sure she’ll visit when you’re up to it.”
Tori adds Amelia’s number to the contacts, then looks back at me. “Anyone else?”
I shake my head.
“I can’t accept this,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re already doing too much, Tori. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to work again, or where, for that matter.
The bar is . . .” I swallow hard. “It’s a heap of rubble.
And you count on me for half the rent. I can’t let you spend money you don’t have on a phone I don’t need. ”
Tori’s expression softens, and she picks up the phone, turning it over in her hands.
“I didn’t pay for this, Jess.” She meets my eyes, and something shifts in her gaze. “Lucifer did.”
Shock courses through me, but it quickly fades, giving way to anger.
“Take it back to him,” I demand.
I do not want to be anymore indebted to him than I already am.
“Did you know?” The question comes out sharper than I intended, and Tori flinches. “About the marriage. Did you know what he was doing?”
The silence that follows is deafening. Tori’s eyes drop to the phone in her hands, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
“They needed a copy of your signature to forge the documents.”
The betrayal cuts deep.
“Why?” I croak.
Tori’s eyes fill with tears. “Because I was terrified, Jess. I didn’t find out what happened until Poppy and I got back from vacation, and when I got to the hospital, he was there.
He had already told them you were his wife, and as mad as I was about that, I respected him for it.
If he hadn’t done that, God knows what would’ve happened.
He made sure you weren’t alone, and that you got the medical attention you needed.
” She sighs heavily, dragging her fingers through her hair.
“Look, he is not my favorite person. I think he’s shady as fuck, and .
. .” Her voice trails, and she closes her eyes briefly.
“ . . . the man drained his savings, Jess.” Her eyes spring open.
“I had nothing to contribute.” She reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
“I know it was wrong. I know it was a violation. But it was the only way to keep you getting the care you need.”
“So you sold me to him,” I say flatly.
Tori flinches as if I’ve struck her. “That’s not?—”
“Isn’t it?” I turn my face away. She knows my biggest fear has always been that I would end up like my mother, and she all but paved the way for me to follow in her footsteps. “I’m his property now.” My voice breaks. “And you helped make that happen.”
There’s a part of me that knows I’m being unfair to her and, well, even to Lucifer.
The truth is, before the fire, the man intrigued me.
I mean, the night everything happened, I remember I kept staring at the table reserved for the Fallen Demons, wondering where he was, desperate to feel the high that came whenever he looked at me.
But that was then, and this is now.
“You don’t mean that,” Tori says, her voice cracking. “You’re just upset, and I get that. But I would never make the choice I made if your life wasn’t at stake. I need you to know that.”
I turn my face toward the window, unable to look at her, but I can feel the weight of her stare as she waits for a response. But I have nothing left to give her or this fucked-up situation.
After a long moment, Tori clears her throat.
“You’re allowed to be mad,” she says softly. “At me. At what happened to you. At everything. I’m going to give you time to process everything. Just know I love you, and I’m here for you.”
Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
“I’ll try to come and visit tomorrow,” she continues. “But if you’re feeling lonely, you can call me.”
The bed shifts as she stands, and I hear the soft pad of her footsteps as she crosses the room. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my pain, and my anger.
Several minutes pass, and guilt churns in my gut.
Jess didn’t deserve what I said to her. She’s been my rock since the day we met at the shelter.
Took me under her wing and gave me a shot at making a decent life for myself.
That’s a lot for a young, single mom, and she never once asked for anything in return. I should text her to apologize.
My fingers move to type a message, but when I go to pull up her number, my gaze catches on the third name on the list, and my stomach drops.
Lucifer.
My thumb trembles over the screen. I should delete his contact, but my fingers won’t move.
Instead, I just sit there, staring at his name.
After a while, I close the contacts app and lock the screen, setting the phone face-down on the rolling table.
The anger that had begun to soften toward Tori hardens again.
How convenient that she forgot to mention she had added his number to my list of contacts.
The clock on the wall reads 2:47 AM when I jolt awake, my heart hammering against my ribs. The scream dies before it can escape my lips, but the sounds and images of the nightmare play over in my mind.
It felt so fucking real.
Fire licking at my skin, the crushing weight of the mechanical bull, and the smell of burning flesh. I can still feel the heat and taste the smoke in my throat. My hands tremble as I clutch the thin hospital blanket.
Panic rises in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I reach for the call button, my fingers fumbling in the darkness until they find the plastic remote. I press it hard, and I begin to count.
One.
Two.
Three.
No one comes.
The nightmare flashes before me, and I close my eyes. I remember screaming for help. Those calls went unanswered just as they are now.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I press the button again, and a moment later the door opens. A sliver of light from the hallway spills across the floor, and a nurse I don’t recognize steps inside.
“Mrs. Holland? Are you okay?”
I try to speak, but my voice fails me. Instead, I drop the remote and reach for her, my hand trembling in the air between us. She crosses the room quickly, her scrubs rustling as she moves.
“You’ve been pressing this for a while,” she says, her tone gentle but curious. “What do you need?”
“Light,” I murmur. “Please.”
She reaches for the lamp beside my bed and switches it on. My breathing slows slightly, but my heart still hammers against my ribs.
The nurse checks my vitals as I try to calm down.
“Your heart rate is elevated,” she notes. “Did you have a bad dream?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Would you like something to help you sleep?” she asks, already reaching for the medication dispenser.
I shake my head. I don’t want to sleep. Not with the memory of the flames still so vivid in my mind.
“Okay,” she says. “How about some water?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
She pours me a cup and holds the straw to my lips. I take small sips, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat. When I’m done, she lowers the cup back to the table.
“Do you want me to call your husband?”
The question hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I actually consider it. The thought of having someone here to chase away my demons makes my chest ache with longing.
But I can’t call Lucifer.
“No,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Can you just . . . can you hold my hand until I fall asleep?”
The nurse’s expression softens, and she pulls the chair closer to my bedside. Without hesitation, she takes my hand in hers, her fingers warm and steady against my trembling ones.
“Of course, sweetheart,” she says.
I close my eyes, but the darkness behind my eyelids is too similar to the darkness in my nightmares, so I start counting aloud instead.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .”
The numbers become a mantra, a rhythm to focus on instead of the memory of flames.
“Four . . . five . . . six. . .”
The nightmare begins to fade, replaced by the steady sound of my own voice.
“Seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .”
My breathing slows, and the panic that had gripped my chest loosens its hold.
“Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve . . .”
The nurse’s thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, a gentle, grounding touch that reminds me I’m safe.