Slaughter
The house was silent when I finally moved.
Everyone had gone to bed hours ago. Faith retreated to her room with a worried glance in my direction. Charity and Joy whispered as they climbed the stairs. Joan followed Shadow with her hand on his arm, as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded. Stella and Digger had left for the motel after making sure I was settled, Stella kissing my forehead and telling me not to be a stubborn asshole, and Hope had stayed with me until I pretended to fall asleep on the couch.
I felt her watching me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, her breathing soft and steady in the darkness. She stayed for a long time. Long enough that I had almost believed she might stay all night, but eventually she stood, pulled the blanket higher over my chest, and whispered, “Goodnight, Chapman.”
I’d kept my eyes closed and kept my breathing even. And when I heard her footsteps fade up the stairs, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, counting the minutes until the house settled into sleep.
Now, in the deep quiet of three a.m., I pushed myself upright.
Pain exploded through my ribs, sharp and vicious, stealing my breath. I bit down on a groan and gripped the arm of the couch, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Sweat broke out across my forehead. My vision swam.
Fuck.
Ghost had done a number on me. Digger had evened the score, but that didn’t change the fact that I was held together bysheer stubbornness and whatever painkillers the Diamondback medic had given me. I stood slowly, testing my balance. The room tilted slightly, then steadied. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a dull ache that promised to get worse if I pushed too hard.
I didn’t care. I needed to see her. Needed to tell her the truth before Ghost or Shadow or the entire fucking world came crashing down on us.
The stairs were a nightmare. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through my torso. I gripped the railing with white knuckles, pulling myself up one step at a time, breathing through clenched teeth. By the time I reached the second floor, I was dizzy and nauseous, my shirt clinging to my back with sweat.
But I kept moving.
Hope’s room was at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Not bright—just the soft glow of a bedside lamp.
She was awake.
I pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make a noise. The hinges creaked softly, and I froze, waiting.
“Chapman?”
Her voice was quiet, surprised but not alarmed, as I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for support. She was sitting up in bed, her long brunette hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. The lamp on her nightstand cast a warm light across her face, highlighting the concern in her eyes.
“What are you doing up?” she asked, already moving to get out of bed. “You should be resting.”
“I needed to talk to you.”
She stopped, her feet touching the floor, but her body still half-turned toward me. “Are you okay? Do you need more painkillers? Water?”
“No.” I pushed off the door and took a step toward her, then another. Each movement was careful and measured. “I need to tell you something.”
Her expression shifted, concern giving way to wariness. She stood fully, her hands twisting together in front of her. “Okay.”
I made it to the edge of her bed and sat down slowly, biting back a groan as my ribs protested. The mattress was soft. The blankets smelled faintly of jasmine and something uniquely Hope. I wanted to lie down, to close my eyes and let the pain fade, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
“Can I?” I gestured to the bed. “Lying down might be easier.”
She nodded quickly, moving to help me. Her hands were gentle on my shoulders as I eased back against the pillows, her touch careful and deliberate. When I was finally settled, she sat beside me, her legs tucked beneath her, watching me with those wide, worried eyes.
“Chapman, you’re scaring me,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, gathering my thoughts. The words felt heavy in my chest, tangled up with everything I had been carrying since the moment Reaper had walked into that small room. “I lied to Reaper,” I said finally.
Silence.
I turned my head to look at her. She was watching me, her expression unreadable. “When he asked me about us,” I continued, my voice rough, “I told him we were married.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t speak.