My stomach drops, and I press a hand to it, trying to force my racing heart to slow.
He...he what?
My mind scrambles, but then Micah’s voice cuts through again. “He didn’t want to do any of it. He never does.”
He never does?
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
I try to picture Jude, high and wired and full of anger—snapping, acting before he could think or stop. The man that I knew back then...I can’t imagine him doing anything like that. My hand tightens on the phone as I realize just what my Jude has become. This is what he never wanted to talk about…
Micah’s voice softens. “Emma...his shirt—he’s...there’s blood. On his hands. Please. He told me to call you.”
I close my eyes, and it’s like I can see it anyway. I’m panicking. “I am on my way,” I say quickly. “Text me the address.”
Micah hesitates. “Thank you. But...he’s—he’s a mess. Just...just be prepared for that, okay? Don’t call the cops. Please.”
“I am,” I promise, even though my chest is caving in. “And I won’t.”
People don’t “have to” kill unless someone makes them.
I see them immediately as I pull up in front of a luxury apartment building. My eyes travel up to see lights on in the penthouse suite. That must be where they just came from.
Micah has Jude’s arm slung over his shoulder, and they stumble toward the car. He looks...broken. Blood smears his shirt, his pants are unbuckled, and his body sways like he’s barely holding himself together. I swallow hard, my throat tight, and try not to look too long.
“Jude,” I murmur softly, as if my voice alone could steady him. He doesn’t respond. He slides into the back seat like he’s too tired to stand. Micah huffs, tossing their bags in the trunk, then climbs in beside him. Jude collapses against Micah, his head falling into his lap.
I turn in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like it can anchor me to reality since I’m seriously about to lose my shit. “What thefuckhappened?” I demand, though my voice is filled with fear.
Micah exhales, running a hand over his face. “He...he killed someone for...someone,” he says slowly, like the words are just normal for him. “And then...he shot someone else while he was...uh, high.”
My hand flies to my mouth, stifling a gasp. My heart twists, shatters in a way I didn’t know was possible. The car feels too small, and yet I can’t stop driving.
“Are the cops going to be looking for him?” I ask, voice filled with more fear than I want. “What do we do? I’ve never—”
“No,” Micah answers quickly. “Don’t worry about that.”
Jude’s chest rises and falls against Micah’s thigh, shaking. I can hear him crying, or maybe it’s the adrenaline, but it rips at me anyway. I’ve seen clients that are broken like this, and saving them?It’s the most difficult thing in the world.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay even. “It’s...it’s only a short drive. We’ll be at the hotel soon.”
Micah just nods, his fingers stroking Jude’s hair. I steal a glance in the rearview mirror, seeing the blood, the exhaustion, the rawness of him, and my chest feels like it’s splitting in two.
I can’t lose him—not like this, not to them, not to anything.
My hands are tight on the wheel when we pull into the hotel lot, my knuckles white. Micah gently nudges Jude upright, his head still leaning against his lap, and I can see the blood stains on his shirt, the red claw marks along his neck and shoulders. My throat tightens, and I swallow hard.
“Jude…” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He blinks up at me, eyes glazed, too far gone. He’s trembling, and it’s not just from exhaustion. “What’s in his system right now?”
“Alcohol and meth,” Micah mutters as he opens the back door for him, guiding him carefully toward the elevator. “Let’s get you inside.” I follow, trailing behind, trying to stay steady.
In the hotel room, Jude collapses onto the floor, breathing hard. My chest tightens. I carefully kneel beside him. “We’ll getyou cleaned up,” I whisper, my hand brushing against his arm. His pulse is erratic, his skin hot and clammy.
He groans, voice cracked. “No...I’m s–sorry. I’m f—fucking sorry, b—baby.”
I shake my head softly. “I know. I’ve got you.”
With Micah’s help, we get him into the bathroom. I turn the shower on and test the water until it’s warm. I peel off Jude’s shoes, shirt, and pants. I leave his boxers on, though. I can see the red marks Adriana left, the tiny scratches along his back and shoulders, and my chest caves in. I completely forget to take off my clothes as I get in and stand under the showerhead with him.