Page 42 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
As soon as I see that it’s Cat, I want to puke.
My eyes widen as he appears in the hallway, and I reach out to grab Reba’s wrist, the little silver bracelet her grandmother gave her jangling as I pull her back toward me and into another hug. My lips move next to her ear, stirring her hair.
“I love you, so please just walk out of here and don’t come back. Please.” I let go and catch the shocked expression on her face as she pulls away. But in my gaze ... she must see it, right? There's nothing but cold, gray gravestones and lonely ravens in my eyes. “Please,” I repeat, and there's a quivering in my voice that catches her stubborn ass off-guard. Even when I'm serious, I'm never serious. You know?
Right now, I'm fucking dead serious.
Dead.
I swallow hard as Cat sweeps into the room with Crown, Beast, and Grainger on his heels.
There's a prospect behind them that I don't recognize, but … I could never forget the smell of blood. Blood on my sister's chest, blood on my hands, blood leaking beneath the pantry door.
“Miss Reba, I think it's about time you headed home,” Cat says, his voice as dark and cold as the empty cavern where my heart should be. I'm shaking now, even though I want to stay strong. It's easy to throw up a force field of false bravado when you're pretty sure things are going to be okay.
I don't feel like anything's going to be okay ever again.
“I don't rightly—” Reba starts, rising to her feet and putting her hands on her hips in that obstinate way of hers that I've always loved. I pretend to be the tough bitch in this relationship, but in reality, it's Reba. Reba's the strong one, the one who knows who she is and where she stands. While I don't always agree with her morals and ideals, at least she knows what hers are, what she's fighting for, what she fucking stands for.
Me? I don't stand for anything.
I'm just adrift in a wind that blows so hard and so fast, I can feel my bones being crushed to dust.
“Not today, Reba,” Cat says, and Beast steps forward, like he's going to escort her off the premises if she doesn't go. The way my dad looks at my best friend in that moment, I can see that he cares as much about what happens to her as he does me. That is to say: not at all. “Go home and read your bible.”
“This ain't about any of that,” Reba continues, and my hand lashes out to grab her sleeve, to beg her to shut up. If she isn't careful, she could disappear just like that poor girl from camp. If she did, I'd die. I'd really die without her. Reba, she's fucking special. She's one of the last good ones left in the world. Besides, I don't exactly have an awful lot to live for.
“Beast, take her home,” Cat says, and the bearded asshole steps forward, sweeping Reba up and tossing her over his muscular shoulder. She screams and kicks and flails, but railing against Beast is like kicking a brick wall in bare feet. I watch helplessly as my best friend is dragged down the stairs and out the front door. When Beast finally does put her down, she breathes deep and carefully fixes her hair, straightens her skirt. When Reba looks up, our eyes meet. With mine, I say a silent goodbye and turn away to look at Cat.
The coldness inside of me overtakes the fear, obliterates it until there's nothing left but ash, drifting in an icy afternoon breeze. But this time, there's no tree to hide beneath, no Sin to hold me in his arms. Instead, he's staring at me like all the rest of them.
“Gidget.” Cat says my name, and it's an accusation, threat, and sentencing all in one breath, two syllables, an instant in time I will never forget.
“Where is that blood from?” I ask as hot salty things drip onto my shaking hands. I'm crying. I'm crying?! Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Gidget,” Cat continues, kneeling down in front of me, his head wrapped with a red and white bandanna, his eyes covered with dark shades. He pulls them off and carefully closes them up, slipping them into the pocket on his cut. The way he looks at me … it's indescribably awful. “You know what you did wrong, don't you?”
I just look at him because there's no right way to respond to that.
“Caper,” he says, gesturing with his head for the prospect to weave between the other officers. They're all staring at me, these men, these demons, these devils who fucked and worshiped my body once upon a time. But none of them are really looking at me. No, the only person who's delving into my soul with their eyes is Cat.
