Page 60 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“You have to stay the fuck away from that building, from Salvatore, from all of it.”

“Salvatore was actually in the process of firing me when the attack started. But I can’t think about that right now,” I say, sitting back into bed. “People lost their lives. Families are grieving.”

“You’re incredibly lucky to be alive.”

The nausea turns to guilt. I sit in bed, staring into the abyss, hating myself for not acting, for listening to Salvatore and running. I could have helped. By leaving that person to die on the floor, I failed their family. I chose myself. I prioritized my own safety and needs. I paid my respects to the dead by being selfish.

“I should try and get some sleep,” I say, sliding down the headboard. “I’ll speak to you later.”

I end the call, tossing my phone aside. I stare vacantly into space, my pulse beating rapidly as I relive last night.

I was curled up under Salvatore’s desk for a while, clutching my heart. I felt as though it was going to jump right out of my chest.

I wondered if Salvatore was even still alive. The pain was unbearable, like a cold ache in my chest.

I heard he was taken to the station, and the ache has subsided, but now I’m panicking about other things.

He had a knife on him…

I reach for my phone, scrolling through endless notifications. I could scroll through social media forever. Everyone and their mom is talking about the attack, about the victims who tragically lost their lives.

I throw away the covers, leaping out of bed. The truth is unfortunately very clear—someone is trying very hard to keep the Crows a secret.

Salvatore was right. I was being too messy. I left a trail, and because of my carelessness, innocent people have died.

A tear forms in my eye. I feel sick to my stomach as I walk into the bathroom, unable to look at my reflection. I brush my teeth in silence, averting my eyes from the mirror. Staring at a spot behind the sink, I notice my birth control pills, abandoned, shoved into the corner.

“You might want to start taking birth control,” is what Salvatore told me after I spilled the coffee.

I shove those thoughts aside for the time being. There’s only so much one person can handle, and I’m already on the verge of having a fucking breakdown, which is incredibly overdramatic. People lost their lives last night. I can deal with a possible pregnancy scare and a full-blown mental breakdown.

Shuffling back into my bedroom, I throw on simple clothes and rummage through my shoe collection until I find a pair of flats.

I head out onto the streets of New York wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses I own. The air is humid, heat trapped between the buildings. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other as I head to Central Park. I need to tune out the world for a moment, to lose myself in nature. Living in New York City can make that difficult, but I work with what I have and wander through the park, inhaling sap, exhaling all the tension out of my shoulders.

But each breath I take, the worse I feel.

I see the knife again, the blood, the white mixing with the red…

I’m far too entangled with Salvatore’s world. I know too much. He was supposed to throw me over the edge of his building, not tell me about his life and make me care.

My heart hurts for someone evil. Salvatore has committed all kinds of sins, but all I see is the broken man underneath who can be fixed. To be broken is to be human, and I feel honored to know this side of him, no matter how twisted all of this is.

A message pings through on my phone. My heart misses a beat, hoping Salvatore has messaged, even though I don’t have his number.

AUNT VIV: Please give me a ring. I’m here any time you need to talk.

I click off my phone, guilt striking through my chest. I focus on the trees, on the birds bouncing across the branches. According to Aunt Viv, taking deep breaths is meant to be the best form of medicine, but the deeper I breathe, the more I see the knife, the dripping blood, the dead body abandoned on the floor.

I make a U-turn on the path, heading away from the trees and leaving the park.

I decide to catch the subway to the Financial District, shuffling along the platform in my flats while I wait for the train to arrive.

“The sun continues to shine, even when someone gets burned,” says my mother, her voice so clear it almost feels like she’s right beside me.

I hop onto the subway when it arrives, taking my exit ten minutes later.

Climbing the stairs is a challenge. I lug myself up each step, holding onto the rail as my center of gravity changes. Returning to the scene of the crime was a bad idea, but anything is better than walking through Central Park, pretending I’m okay.