I had no idea, though, just how much I was going to be disgusted with myself when his hand suddenly grabbed my chin, fingers digging in.
"Told you," he said, eyes as cold as his voice.
And with that, he yanked his pants back into place, sidestepped me, and made his way out of the room, closing, and locking the door.
Leaving me there on the floor feeling pathetic and rejected.
Which was fitting, I guessed.
Because I had been pathetic.
What the hell was going on with me? Why would I want someone who had treated me like he did?
Maybe it was something primal.
There was no denying Ace was extremely alpha, dominant, the leader of this group of men and women. As such, he had all the pride and arrogance that came with that position.
And maybe some long-buried, cave woman part of me responded to that, recognized that his would be virile genes, that he would be a fierce protector.
That was why women—smart, educated, mature women—often found themselves with hot bad boy loser sorts, wasn't it?
It was chemical.
Not personal.
I could come to terms with that. I could even, now that I recognized it for what it was, avoid it in the future.
At least that was the plan.
Because the last man in the world I could ever actually want—on more than a physical level—was that grandpa-sweater-wearing, poetry reading, egotistical, asshole.
I mean the man's eyes went crazy when he was annoyed. If that wasn't a red flag, I didn't know what was.
And, sure, I clearly had a track record of liking jackasses.
But I was trying to be a better person.
Whether or not my lady business wanted to agree with me.
Desire was mind over matter, right? That was why as soon as your boyfriend became your ex, you were disgusted by the idea of them touching you again.
I just needed to remind myself to be disgusted by Ace.
It proved easier than I thought because for the next three days, I didn't see Ace.
He came in every night to read to Red, but I pretended to be asleep, and he didn't call me out again.
I mean, his voice was still like liquid sex, but when those thoughts came up, I ran the highlights of his assholeness across my mind. It helped.
As did the physical distance.
Until I all but forgot the attraction was there anymore.
Eventually, the other men rumbled up the driveway.
Drex came in to replenish the supplies, casting curious glances at Red who had been weaned down on the pain medicine, but still showed no signs of coming back to the world.
I didn't say—namely because no one asked—but I was really starting to worry about her. Not so much on a physical level. She was healing, slowly but surely. But mentally, emotionally. I couldn't think of a reason she was still trapped inside her mind. Other than the psychological impact of the events that left her whipped, beaten, and horribly injured.
That kind of thing was enough to cause some sort of psychological break. I mean, I couldn't claim to be an expert in that field, but I'd seen several assault victims come in very much shut down to have their kits done and wounds treated.
I hadn't even been able to do a kit on Red. If anything like that had happened. Even if it hadn't, the damage she'd endured everywhere else was more than enough to traumatize her.
It was the night after the other men returned home that I woke up to a different type of voice in the room.
Ace's, but not the slow, comforting timbre he used when he recited poetry to Red. This was a pained, desperate tone I'd never heard from him before.
"You've got to fucking wake up, Red," he demanded.
I slit my eyes to look over at him, finding him with his usual poetry book in his hands, but leaning his arms on the bed beside her, his shoulders slumped, his head hanging.
"I need to know who did this." The way he said it made me believe that he wanted to know not because he wanted to report them to the authorities, but because he planned to take justice into his own hands.
I'd never been a fan of vigilante justice. I'd seen too many instances of people being ugly with each other in the hospitals I'd worked at. But just this once, I was pretty sure I could condone an eye-for-an-eye sort of vengeance.
I'd never seen anyone as badly abused as Red had been.
Someone needed to pay for that.
It would feel like the scales were tipped toward evil in the world until that happened.
"This never should have fucking happened," he added, voice rough. "I'm supposed to take care of you all."
I didn't want to feel bad for him.
But there was a rawness in his tone that I hadn't heard before. And some part of me responded to it.
Because, clearly, he felt responsible in some way or another. Because he was their leader. Because he thought it was his job to protect them all. And she'd been horribly abused without him being able to stop it.
It wasn't his fault, of course. People did wicked things every single day, and no amount of love and protection could help at times. Wicked things happened because wicked people existed. No one has any control over that.
"It wasn't your fault," I said, wincing, knowing I was breaking my rules about not talking to him, not connecting with him in any way.
Ace's head shifted, gaze finding me.
I saw the pain there that I'd heard in his voice.
"You don't know what you're talking about." There was a hint of that condescension I had begun to associate with him, but it sounded more forced than usual.
"Did you whip her?" I asked, folding up on the couch.
"No."
"Did you hold her down while someone else did? Did you stand by and do nothing while they did that to her?"
"No."
"Then it's not your fault. People are evil sometimes," I told him, shrugging. "There's nothing we can do about that. And beating yourself up over it isn't going to change what happened."
"I'm not looking to change what happened," he told me, rising. "I'm looking to peel the skin off the bastards who did this," he told me, tone icy as he made his way across the room toward the door.
The scariest thing, though, was the fact that I felt like he meant every word. Not only did he mean them, but I absolutely thought he was capable of something that horrific.
It wasn't until about half an hour later, after I took care of Red once again that I realized something.
He'd stormed off.
He'd slammed the door.
But he hadn't locked it.
This might be my only chance to escape.
Chapter Nine
Ace
"Why isn't she snapping out of it?" Aram asked. "She's looking better."
On the outside, yeah, she was.
The swelling was going down on her face. The wounds the stitches were holding together were less angry-looking.
She was healing.
But only on the outside.
I'd been operating under the misconception that only humans had issues with their heads. It seemed like something that came with the pesky shit like a conscience and a soul. Anxiety, depression, and psychosis issues were nonexistent in our world. At least as far as I could tell.
So watching Red seem to suffer with it was frustrating for many reasons.
First, because we needed to know who'd done it, so we could pay it back.
Second, because I didn't know the protocol for a psychotic or traumatized fucking demon. What were the possible repercussions of that? It wasn't like there would ever be an end to that torment if I couldn't figure it out and fix it.
"I'm looking into it," I assured Aram, trying not to sound as frustrated as I was by his running monologue about Red's condition.
We were all fucking worried.
We didn't need to be constantly reminded.
"What is the nurse saying?" Drex asked, swirling his glass, but not drinking.
"Just wondering if you were being your usual charming self is all, boss man," Daemon said, shooting me that cocky smirk of his.
"He's got a point," Drex agreed, nodding. "I mean, you did stick her with ketamine. Twice."
"Did you geniuses have another way to get her across the country without raising alarm bells with the humans?" I asked, turning to face them. "It's not my job to be nice to her. Someone else wants to charm information out of her, you're welcome to."
"Charm, he must be talking about me," Daemon decided, getting an eye-roll from Bael, but none of us moved to stop him, knowing that he was likely the only one of us who could get anywhere with her. Especially after I fucked with her head and body, confusing her, making her hate me.
Deamon, in his short time on the human plane, had proven time and time again that he had a way with the human women. The shit that didn't work on the women of our kind was like catnip to the ones here.
"Daemon," I called, hating myself already, but not being able to stop the words from coming out either.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Don't fuck her," I told him, getting a brow raise.
"I have other charms," he said, shrugging. If he was reading into my warning, he didn't let on.
I knew better than to hope the others would show me the same respect.
"We don't fuck hostages," I clarified before they could read too much into it.
"Except for Ly," Drex clarified.
"Watch it," I snapped, sighing.
"This place is a morgue," Drex declared, throwing back his drink, then moving to stand. "I'm going to the club."
"Is this really the time for that?" Aram asked, annoyed. "Red is—"
"Practically catatonic? Yeah, noticed that," Drex said. "You know I give a shit about Red, but her life being on hold doesn't mean mine needs to be," he told Aram, then made his way out the door.
"What?" I snapped, looking at Bael who was giving me a look.
To that, he shrugged. "Not my business."
"I'm telling you to make it your business," I demanded.
While he was never outwardly defiant or disrespectful, Bael's tendency toward seeing himself as separate from the rest of us—despite being in the same boat—made him difficult to deal with on good days. And there weren't many of those with him.
"He's spent every spare minute at that club for months."
I didn't keep tabs on all of them. I was their leader, not their fucking father. I didn't ask where they were going when they left or demand to know the details of their private lives.
I knew Drex was gone a lot. But seeing as there wasn't much to do around the house unless we were partying, I figured he was looking for a way to entertain himself. As was his right. I'd long since stopped finding society interesting, choosing instead to stay in, to read, to keep on top of trends so we never came off as "out of time" while the world moved forward around us.
I didn't realize he spent all his time at one place.
I couldn't imagine why the fuck it mattered.
"And?" I asked, shrugging.
"Do you know what club he's going to?" Bael asked.
I had to admit, he might have been a dick, but he'd been quick to pick up on generations full of knowledge I'd thrown at him, learning how to use appliances, new lingo, how human society worked. It was impressive.
The fact that he knew the differences between clubs at all was far further than the rest of us would have been had we just appeared in this much more modern era.
"Clearly, I don't. I can't imagine it matters."
"He's at Sanctuary," Bael supplied, the name meaning nothing to me.
"It's a kink club," Seven explained.
"Who the fuck cares?" I asked. Drex's proclivity toward punishment styles of sex was well known, had been for years. Luckily, human women had been enjoying getting their asses smacked and air supply cut off since the beginning of time.
"For people like us," Seven explained.
"We're not people."
"Exactly," Bael piped in.
"Are you telling me there is a demon club around here and this is the first I'm fucking hearing about it?"
"It's not just us," Seven said. "There's not that many of us stuck here. And not many in this area of the world. But there are others who shouldn't exist, like us, there."
"When have I ever been someone for subtleties?" I asked.
"There are shifters, Children of Lilith, and blood-suckers and all sorts of shit," Seven informed me, words landing like a bomb.
Shifters, whatever.
We'd been clashing with various shifters for as long as I could remember.
But incubi, succubi, and fucking vampires? In the area? All in one club? That was something I should have known about ages ago. Especially if Drex was spending time around all of them.
"It's called Sanctuary for a reason," Seven explained. "The owner managed to get some witches to spell the place. No one can fight there. Everyone is just there for a good time."
Just because no one could fight while there didn't mean enemies couldn't be made.
And while shifters and Children of Lilith could be killed if necessary, the same couldn't be said about the blood-suckers. Issues with them could last a hundred years or more.
"I need to know why no one thought it was important to tell me that—"
"Ay, yo, boss man," Daemon called, coming down the stairs, hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger here, but the pretty nurse isn't in the room."
"She's probably in the bathroom," I told him. "She's been taking baths." And my pathetic ass had been listening to her run them every day, refusing to let my hand reach down and deal with the aching hard-on just the idea of her in a bath gave me.
"Afraid not," Daemon said, shrugging. "The door was unlocked."
I'd stormed out.
I remembered slamming the door.
But not locking it.
"Fuck," I hissed, turning, rushing out of the room.
"Spread out," Bael demanded, taking charge even though he was one of the lowest men on the totem pole.
They would check out the house.
She wasn't going to be in the house.
If she saw a way out, she was going to take it. Especially with how I'd been treating her.
She was on the run.
In the middle of winter.
Running blind, not even knowing what state she was in, let alone how far we were from anyone who would help her.
Grabbing my coat, I flew out the front door, feeling the bite of the air as soon as I crossed onto the front step.
Objectively, I found eighty degrees chilly, but this was different. This was a deep winter night that was slipping below zero. Add in the wind chill as it whipped around, and it wasn't looking good for her out there alone, likely lost.
Even if she'd layered on Red's wardrobe and brought a blanket, she wasn't going to be able to keep herself warm for long.
Succumbing to the elements was surprisingly easy for the humans considering they'd adapted to damn near every climate on Earth for thousands of years.
I hadn't ever experienced it myself, but I recognized the sensations as they assaulted my system. I'd read about them thousands of times.
My heart hammered. My throat felt tight. My thoughts raced and crashed into one another.
"Josephine!" I yelled, barely able to hear it myself over the whipping of the wind.
She wouldn't go into the woods. Horror movies made women seem a lot dumber than any of them I'd ever known.
The woods were dark and dangerous, from falling down a cliff, falling in a river, or being attacked by a predator.
A smart woman would look for a road.
And Josephine was a smart woman.
Decision made, I ran
in that direction, eyes peeled to the trees lining it, figuring she would want to stay somewhat hidden, but close enough to the street that she could rush out into it if she saw a car coming.
Not knowing, of course, that cars didn't come this way. Because our property stretched far and wide.
But I ran to the end of said property and back.
And nothing.
She wasn't there.
Or, at least, she wasn't close enough to the road for me to see.
The panic rose, a tight grip on my system, holding me at a knife's edge of my control.
"Josephine!" I yelled, feeling the last bit of it snap.
There was no stopping it.
My tongue forked. My fingertips elongated. The pressure at my temples suggested my horns were starting to poke through.
It had been a long time since I lost control.
Since Lenore had wandered off and gotten taken by the shifters.
The difference was, Lenore had been a vital part of my plan to get us back to hell.
Josephine wasn't.
Her disappearance shouldn't have mattered at all, let alone triggered me to lose my shit.
Hopelessness building, I threw myself deeper into the forest that lined the road, running a useless zigzag pattern, ending up retracing my steps several times over.
And still nothing.
I was about to turn around and head back to the house when the wind picked up again, and I smelled her on the breeze.
It was a combination of the soap Red kept in her shower, the strawberry shampoo in her hair, and just... her. Something sweet and earthy at the same time.
And judging by the direction the wind was blowing, she hadn't made it out to the road yet.
I backtracked toward the house, cutting into the woods near the side.
She wasn't far in.
She'd likely been gone only minutes before Daemon discovered she was gone, had heard me calling her, and moved inward as she saw me take toward the road.
I found her crouched down behind an old stack of firewood from back when we used such things. She wasn't prepared for the weather. She's layered a few of Red's clothing items on, but none of it was enough to keep her warm. Neither was the blanket she had wrapped around her.
Her body racked violently with her shivers. Even in the meager moonlight, I could see her too-pale skin, the tinge of blue to her lips, the bright red tip of her nose.
The Healer (Seven Sins MC Book 2) Page 8