Chapter 36
HAYES
It’s well into the night by the time we get back to the mansion, and my mind is a mess, torn up by guilt and anger. How did I not know? Why didn’t Collins tell me?
Killian drops me off at the front door, the air so brisk that puffs of vapor leave my lips. Before I leave, I give him a dry look, hanging over the open window to stare him down.
“Any chance you’ll leave her alone?”
Killian smirks. He knows who I’m talking about. Looking up to the ceiling of the car, he taps his inked hands on the steering wheel.
“Would you leave the person who holds your heart alone, Prince?” In my silence, he nods once. “Exactly.”
Tires squealing, he whips the car toward the back of the manor, and I enter the front door, nodding to a few of the guards there. The house is silent, dark, with the lone Tiffany table lamp on by the entrance.
The urge to find Collins, confront her is overwhelming. But that isn’t fair to her.
It’s her secret to share. I can’t force it from her.
But I’m fucking pissed. At Ferguson for fucking with her life, for trying to break a strong woman. I can’t kill him, but there is some joy in knowing I killed Simon. I hope he tells the old mobster who did it and why.
And I’m angry—furious with Collins, though I have no right to be.
Instead of returning toward bed, I head past the office, intent on haunting the halls until I calm down. But the lights are on, the door is open and Maeve is nowhere to be seen.
Grabbing a bottle from the cart, I turn the corner into the dining room, the fresh roses nauseating and rich. Maeve has tried to stop the chef from putting them out, but the guy is old and set in his ways. She finally gave up.
Sitting in one of the armchairs, I drop my head back, taking a deep swing of the scotch, the burn of oak and the sting of salt sliding down my throat. I don’t wince, but instead embrace it. I deserve this penance.
Was I really this dense to truly never see Ferguson’s damage?
I think back to our time. To the mornings where she has bags under eyes and told me she was up late studying.
Her tense shoulders. Her disregard for blood but her stoic face when a sibling was hurt.
She bandaged them, sure, but she never let it affect her.
I rub my eyes, taking another swing. I’m a piece of shit. The signs were there and I ignored them.
A shadow falls over my face, and I startle, looking up into Collins’ ethereal visage. Dressed in nothing but a silk robe, I drink in her pale thighs, tight waist, and the black glasses on her nose.
“I waited up for you,” she whispers, crossing her arms.
Guilt, strong and fierce like a gust of hurricane wind, cracks my heart. She waited for me, and I’m stuck in my head, hiding from her.
But I’m still mad—horribly, terribly mad at her.
“Sorry.”
She bites her lip. “Are you alright?”
Holding up my white bandage, covered in soot, blood and tree sap, I shrug. “I’ll live.”
“How do you feel?”
“Peachy.”
“Okay, what is going on?” She plants her hands on her hips, that silver flash brightening the green of her pretty orbs.
“Are you being a dick because you’re in pain, or just in a shitty mood?
” She yanks the scotch from my palm, slamming the bottle to the table.
“And for the love of God, stop self-medicating. It fucks with your healing. You had a severed artery.”
“So we’re giving commands now, viper?”
She glares. “If it keeps you alive? Yes.”
“And we share everything?”
Sighing, she looks to the ceiling exasperated. “Of course, we do. Why? Think I’ve been talking to someone else?” Those eyes fall to mine. “No one compares to you.”
There’s a part of me that wants to needle her about that. Dig for gold and hear all the ways I’m the only man for her. But that icy rage in my gut won’t relax.
Standing, I tower over her form, one hand planted on the table to keep from grabbing her. “Then tell me. Were you ever going to tell me about your lessons with your father?”
She flinches so deeply, like I laid a hand on her. My heart shatters and I step close, but she retreats.
“Who told you about that?”
We’re already in this. I’ve picked the scab, opened the old wound and forced the issue. Time to own it.
“Simon.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “He’s dead, by the way. Hope you weren’t too close with him.”
She lets go of a strangled laugh and a tear falls down her cheek. “Hardly.”
“I told you,” I begin, voice hoarse, “about my family. Where I come from.” I hold up the ring, the blue so dark it looks black in the shadows. “I gave you something no one else has touched.”
“Hayes—”
“You don’t trust me, is that it?” I release her hand.
“That’s not it at all.”
“Then explain it, Collins. I told you shit that could destroy me if anyone found out.” My family name. My abuse. The terror I grew up with. “You seemed to have trusted me when I was between your legs.”
It’s a low blow, we both know it.
But she doesn’t cry at the unfairness. She steels her spine, this tiny, vengeful woman, and pokes my chest.
“It has nothing to do with you.” She seethes, shoving at my chest. I don’t move, incensed and hurt but desperate to understand.
“Do you know what it’s like to be locked in a torture room, watching someone be brought to the brink of death, and then you’re forced to bring them back?
” Her eyes water and I’m stuck. “Do you know how that can change someone? The power, the control of holding a life in your hands?”
“You know I do.”
She scoffs. “You understand how to kill. I became Death.” She glares, seeing through me to a memory I’ll never know. “I was a child and I had the ability to bring a man to Death’s door, and then bring him back. It fucks with you. It makes you hungry.”
Hungry for more. For that high. To spit in the face of Death, enjoy the pain of almost destruction, and then live. To win against the laws of nature.
“I broke down their spirits,” she says, hiccuping, but no more tears fall. “And I liked it. I started to cope by enjoying their pain. Pops liked it—so I did. And then, the lessons stopped.”
“He was breaking you.”
She nods. “I didn’t know it then, but I do now.”
I don’t dare tell her why. I’m cruel—but not soulless.
“So, no Hayes,” she whispers, pushing her hair over her shoulders, “it’s not because I don’t trust you. I didn’t want to relive it. I didn’t want to hear their last words. Feel their blood on my hands. It’s easier if I don’t think about it.”
The need to avenge her—dig up her father’s corpse and stab him all over—rears its head. I want to take all those horrible memories from her, wash her clean of her sins and steal them for myself, so she’d never hurt again.
But I can’t.
So I do the next best thing.
Wrapping her into my arms, I release the ball of rage and soothe her worries. She clings to me, her beacon of hope in a sea of black, and buries her head. Running a hand through her hair, I hold her tight, infusing her with my strength.
“I’m madly in love with you.” I’ve told her multiple times. Saying it is as natural as breathing. “Madly, Collins.” She’s yet to say it back.
This anger stemmed from maybe her not loving me back. It’s soon—weeks of dating, forced together and that doesn’t always equate to love. But I hoped—begged the universe, that she would soon.
“Even after…?” She trails off, still hiding in my chest. Yanking her head back, I cup her jaw.
“Viper, there isn’t much you can do that would ever make me stop loving you.
” I kiss her forehead. “I love the way you fight me.” A kiss to her nose.
“I love the way you care about me.” A light one to each of her eyelids.
“The way you take my cock.” She smirks at my joke and my heart soars.
“Nothing you’ve done could make me stop. I’m in it for life.”
Gulping, she chuckles. “You don’t think I’m horrible?”
“Oh, the worst,” I reply solemnly. “But so am I. I’m selfish, terrible. We both don’t think twice about killing someone. If anything, all this shit that happened to you, just makes you even more perfect.”
She brightens at that. “Perfect?”
Nodding, I brush my lips to hers. “Perfect for me.”
She tries to smile, but it’s heavy with the memories that won’t leave her. Her mind is her best asset but it can also be a real dick to her.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It’s quick, firm.
Having her trust is almost as good as having her love.
“Good.”
The only way to break the memories is to give her something else to focus on. And I know what to do.
“Get on the table, Collins. I won’t tell you again.”
She jerks back, looking from vase of roses, to the lacy runner, confused.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re in your head,” I explain, crossing to the pocket doors. “When that happens, you spiral. We’re not doing that tonight.”
“So, you want me to get on the table?” She pouts and it’s so fucking adorable, I smile.
“Baby, at this point, I will take you any way I can have you. The table is just for aesthetics.”
She glares at it like it offended her. “You must have sustained a brain injury. I’m not getting on the table.”
Surging across the room, I grab her neck, bodies curving to match like two halves of a whole. Her breath stutters and I inhale her arousal. Picking up the bottle, I take a large gulp.
She tracks my throat, bobbing as I swallow.
Yanking her head back, I take another swing and spit the scotch into her mouth, snapping her jaw closed.
“Swallow, viper. We both know you can.”
Her cheeks flush, liquor dripping down her chin. My tongue laps it up and her knees begin to shake as she listens.
“Now.” My rough hands pull her up by her ass, swiping all the things on the table off to the floor. Everything crashes and I smirk. “Where were we?”