“And recently?”
I stare down into the amber swirl of whiskey. “Quieter,” I admit. “Harder. He started looking at rooms we entered as if he were clocking exits rather than enjoying himself anywhere. Started sleeping less. Drank and used more. He still cared, but it was buried under…anger, I guess. Guilt. Shame. The list goes on, man.”
“Men like Alexei Morozov don’t just hurt you physically,” Rafe says quietly. “They reshape you. And knowing that Jude is beingused like a hunting dog...I can tell you with confidence that Alexei is chipping away at his sense of self.”
I swallow hard. “I know.”
“And if Jude’s been under his control for any length of time…” Rafe trails off. He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. I know that my best friend may come back different. He may not come back whole.
He may not come back at all.
I knock back the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down harder than necessary. “He thinks death is his only way out,” I say quietly.
Rafe’s gaze sharpens. “Did he say that?”
“He’s said it before.”
Another heavy silence settles in.
“Well,” Rafe says at last, voice steady, “then we make sure he has another one.”
I nod. Because that’s the only option.
I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. Emma is to my right, snoring softly. Heather is curled into my left side, one hand resting lightly against my ribs. Jude’s voice keeps replaying.
What the fuck are you doing in New York?
The anger.
But worse than that, the fear underneath it. He sounded like a scared, cornered animal, likely thinking that he’s already dead. I swallow hard. The house is perfectly quiet at 1am. Carefully, I slide out from between the girls. Heather stirs slightly, but she doesn’t wake. I stand there for a second, watching them both breathe.
I will not let anything happen to you.
I swear to whatever shit god exists that would even allow such cruelty in a world meant for beauty. I slip into the bathroom and close the door gently behind me. The mirror greets me with a version of myself I barely recognize. Blonde hair’s a mess. Blue eyes filled with exhaustion. Jaw tight as fuck.
I grip the edge of the sink and lean forward. “You can’t give up on him,” I mutter to my reflection. "Ever. No matter what it takes."
A quiet creak behind me makes me straighten instantly. The door opens just enough for Heather to slip through. She closes it softly, and for a second, she just stands there. Her braid hangs loose over her shoulder, slightly undone from sleep. Her brown eyes are wide, searching my face.
“You okay?” she whispers.
I offer a sad attempt at a shrug. “Can’t sleep.”
She steps closer, reaching for my hands. “Is it something I can help with?”
I tilt my head, admiring how much she's always wanting to help. It makes all the sense in the world that she and Emma are best friends, given their professions. “I'm just…thinking.”
She studies me like she can see the fear behind my eyes. “I saw you in Rafe’s office earlier,” she murmurs. “What were you talking about?”
“Just venting about this shit.” I exhale and reach for her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, letting my fingers linger. “Don’t worry, blondie. I’m good.”
Her lips curve softly. “Meekah. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.” I cup her face and kiss her sweetly. I don't know if it's her soft skin, her chamomile lotion scent, or what. But I kiss her deeper. Her lips part with a surprised gasp that I swallow, and then her fingers are in my hair, sliding through the strands of my hair, tightening just enough to pull a quiet, needy sound from my throat.
God, that feels good.
My hands drop from her face and find her waist through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. Then her hips. I draw her fully against me, the cool porcelain of the sink digging into my lower back.