Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
When we step out of the guest house, I should feel cleaner, farther away from the blood, the screams, and everything trapped inside those walls. Instead, I feel filthy.
I keep my hand wrapped around Cassidy’s the entire walk back to the main house.
Not because she’s frail, but because she feels far away.
As though if I let go even for a moment, she’ll go somewhere I can’t follow.
While we walk down the path leading to the main house, I look over at her, the blood splashed all over her exposed skin, mostly on her arms, neck, and face.
She didn't register it; she stopped seeing it halfway through what she did there.
Her movements are almost mechanical, and that’s what worries me.
Not the violence anymore.
I’ve seen Cassidy angry. I’ve seen her brutal. I’ve seen her carve men apart while shaking with rage afterward.
But this? This is different.
Something in her went cold in that room, clinical.
The line between justice and vengeance vanished, and she didn’t care where it disappeared to.
She aligns her strides with mine.
I close the distance between us warily.
“Cass,” I whisper.
No response, not even a glance.
Blood drips down her arms, hanging on the tips of her fingers before hitting the gravel below.
An agonizing ache tears through me.
The back door to the house opens as we step inside. The house is deathly silent compared to the nightmare behind us, but the metallic scent of blood smothers me.
My grip on her hand turns protective.
She stills immediately.
Her eyes lift to mine; there’s barely anything behind them.
A terrifying emptiness people have when their mind hasn’t caught up to it yet.
She left pieces of herself back in that guest house.
My thumb circles the pulse inside her wrist.
Needing her to understand the truth under all the darkness, that the woman inside her isn’t gone. That there is still compassion beating through her veins under all the blood and rage.
“You need to come back to me,” I plead with her.
Her throat bobs, but no words come out.
I reach up tenderly, sliding both of my hands along her jaw, forcing her focus to stay on me.
“Look at me,” I rasp out. “Don’t think of them. Really look at me.”
Her breathing falters, and her eyes dart over to the door leading to the guest house. I sense her internal struggle with what she is about to say.
“I liked it.” Her voice is so faint that if I wasn’t standing so close to her, I would have never heard it.
The words hit like a blade between my ribs.
She sounds detached.
“Cassidy.”
“I wanted him to hurt,” she continues, eyes unfocused now. “And when he did, it felt good.”
A tormenting ache in my chest coils for her. I fear that she’s drowning in this, and the further we go, the less she’ll know how to climb back out.
I plant my hands onto her shoulders and shake her more harshly than I should, forcing her to stay present.
“Right here. Stay right here with me.”
Her eyes round with surprise, finally locking onto me, the fog inside them lifting.
I pull her against me before she can sink back into her own head again. Her body is rigid before the tension loosens, her fingers knotting the front of my vest.
“There is nothing wrong with wanting monsters to suffer,” I tell her grimly. “After what we saw in that house? After what they did?” I let out a bitter scoff in disbelief, “You are not what they made you become in that room.”
The steady cadence of her breathing splinters apart. “But I lost control.”
“You lost yourself in it,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
I press my mouth against the top of her head.
“Cassidy, listen to me.”
I lower my forehead to hers, letting it rest there for a flash of time, like I’m trying to hold together the pieces she thinks became something monstrous tonight.
“You came back to me. You don’t get to disappear on me,” I murmur. “Not into that darkness. Not alone.”
I lean back enough to look at her again; blood coated on our skin now from where she anchors herself to me.
That finally breaks something open inside her.
Tears spill down her face, silent and devastating.
Relief hits me so hard my legs nearly give out.
Tears mean she’s feeling again.
I gather her back against my chest, supporting her while the weight of everything crashes into us both.
We stay tangled together, grounding ourselves in each other.
The room feels suffocating now. Thick with death. With rage. With everything that transpired tonight.
Her lungs finally stop fighting for air as her breathing regulates.
I bury my face against the side of her neck and close my eyes, attempting to stabilize both of us.
“Cass.” My voice comes out controlled.
She doesn’t answer.
I reposition my hands around her waist instead.
“You need to get out of those clothes.”
She’s slipping away somewhere I might not be able to guide her back from if I wait too long.
She wets her lips and swallows.
“I can still feel it,” she whispers, sounding hollow. “That room. Them.”
Shudders roll over me hearing her say that.
She meets my eyes and her stare is vacant again.
I cup her jaw possessively.
“Go into the bedroom and let me take care of you for a minute.”
For a heartbeat, I see past the steel and sharp edges. I see the woman underneath, bruised by memories, exhausted by the weight of them, and still somehow standing. Then she tucks it all away again.
When her eyes find mine, the vulnerability is gone. In its place is something else entirely, a restless hunger. A need to outrun the emotions threatening to consume her.
To pour them into something tangible.
Into me.
I know that look. It’s not about desire alone. It’s about grounding. About finding something real when the memories get too loud. About shutting out the ghosts for a little while and anchoring herself to the one thing she knows is here, now, and hers.
The storm is still there, raging beneath the surface, but now it has a direction. Somewhere to go. Somewhere safe to land.
And when she takes a step toward me, I understand exactly what she’s asking for without her having to say a word.
“Come back to me, Cassidy.” My voice lowers, strained. “That’s all I’m asking for right now.”
I arch my eyebrows in the direction of the primary bedroom, and for the first time since we walked into this hell, something close to playful bounces over her face.
It’s enough to loosen the pressure wrapped around me.
She’s covered in blood and sweat, and the sight of her like this makes my dick twitch.
As she works to center herself, I make my move, hurriedly scooping her up off her feet with one arm while my other hand fists her braid.
Her lips find mine instantly, coaxing at first, but fiery need laced with it, like she needs the contact as much as I do.
I hardly have time to breathe before her arms slide around my neck and her legs wrap around my waist, nestling herself against me completely.
A gravelly sound escapes my throat as I brace my hands beneath her thighs and start carrying us backward toward the bedroom.
The kiss intensifies.
What started gently turns impatient with her mouth moving against mine with a kind of urgency that feels less like desire and more like survival, as though we’re both battling to extinguish the images burned into our heads by replacing them with each other instead.
My back hits the wall briefly as she kisses me deeper, fingers threading into my hair while my hands tighten around her, holding on as though I can keep her here through stubborn determination.
Every breath catches and tangles together until I can’t tell where hers ends and mine begins.
She expertly pushes her core harder against my erect cock, grinding up and down in a way that wrenches a clipped hiss from my throat, “Fuck.”
A current seems to pass between us. The weight of the night morphing into something reckless, overwhelming all my senses.
My hands flex against her ass instinctively as I carry her farther into the bedroom, every kiss turning rougher, hungrier, as if we are attempting to scrub the horrors still sticking to our skin.
My eyes notice the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror tucked into the corner of the bedroom, and something dark shifts inside me at the sight of it.
Without breaking the kiss, I carry her in that direction, stopping only when her back is inches from the glass.
A jagged breath leaves me as she rolls against me again, purposeful, winding every nerve in my body taut.
“My little reaper,” I growl against her mouth; my fingers widen around her legs while our reflections blur together behind her.
“Undress,” I grit out against her ear, the word low and commanding as I catch her earlobe with a punishing tug between my teeth before releasing it.
A fierce shudder wracks through her.
Then she descends slowly down my body until her boots hit the floor, her gaze never leaving mine. The look in her eyes has changed now, still haunted around the edges, but alive again.
The dim light spilling across the bedroom picks up on the blood saturated along her tactical gear, the black fabric molded to every hard-earned contour of her body.
My heart races at the sight of her standing there in the middle of all this destruction, looking dangerous enough to ruin me completely.
“We don’t have long,” she offers, voice frayed by leftover adrenaline and something far warmer now. “We still have to call the cleanup crew.”
The reminder of reality collides temporarily into the room, but I shorten the space between us anyway, extending my hand up to skim my knuckles down the curve of her cheek.
“This won’t take long.” My eyes roam over her body.
Lust is plastered over both our faces.
Then she starts peeling the tactical gear off, intentionally taking her time, piece by piece.
First, the boots hit the hardwood floor with a dull smack. Then her fingers move to the straps and fastenings, stripping away the layers that turned her into a weapon tonight.
My gloves come off next, dropped carelessly somewhere behind me while I watch her like I’m hypnotized by every movement she makes.