Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(77)

Yve laughed through her tears. “I’m not gonna die. It’s not deep enough. She’s a pansy-ass bitch.”

“Shut up, Yve.”

I lowered the shirt, then gripped the tape with both hands, tearing it apart to free her. The front door flew open and Jerome slid to a halt in the foyer. Gun drawn, he spied us both.

“Oh, thank God,” he said. “I heard the scream and—”

Haines—like the goddamn killer in a horror movie—surged up from the floor, wrapped both hands around Jerome’s legs, and yanked his feet out from under him. Jerome went down, his skull cracking against the tile, and the gun landed between Haines and me.

We both dove for it but I was faster—because I’m Lucas Fucking Titan and this was the fight of my life.

I didn’t hesitate this time. I pulled the trigger three times, aiming for Haines’s heart, and he never took another breath.

“I warned you,” the blonde screamed.

Fuck me. Why couldn’t they just stay down?

Again she had the knife to Yve. This time, pressing it into her side.

I lifted the gun and aimed. She ducked behind Yve, using her as a human shield.

“Shoot her, goddamn it,” Yve yelled.

The choice lay before me, but this time it wasn’t her life or mine.

“No f*cking way. I’ll hit you.”

A maniacal laugh bounced through the room. “She’s gonna die either way.”

“I’m nobody’s victim,” Yve said, her words a vow.

Her left elbow flew backward, and she grabbed the blonde’s arm and twisted. The knife hit the floor, and the woman screamed. I was on her in less than a second, dragging both hands behind her back. She snapped her teeth like a feral dog, and Yve, gripping her side, spun.

“Where’s the goddamn duct tape?”

I saw it on the coffee table. “There. Behind you.”

Yve grabbed it, ripped off a piece, and slapped it over the woman’s mouth. Ripping off another section, she wound it around the woman’s arms, taping them together from just above the elbows and down to the wrists.

“We’ll see how she likes that.”

A moan from the foyer had both our heads turning.

“Jerome!”

I tossed the woman on the couch and we both ran to him. Blood pooled around his head on the floor, but he wasn’t dead.

I palmed my phone from my pocket and dialed Hennessy. He could probably get an ambulance here faster than 911.

He answered on the first ring.

“I need an ambulance. Texting you the address now. Make it fast.”

“No body bags?”

“Bring one of those too.” I hung up and texted the address I’d memorized in the agonizingly long ten minutes it had taken me to get here.

Yve was at Jerome’s side, wrapping the shirt I’d tossed at her around his head. She looked up at me, tears still spilling down her cheeks. “He’s gotta be okay.”

I would have told her anything to get her to stop crying. Gritting my teeth, I said, “He’s going to be fine.”

She blinked and nodded. “You came for me.” Her voice was small and hesitant.

“Always.”





MY NECK BURNED FROM THE superglue the ER doctor had used to close the cut Jennifer had given me, and my side twinged as the anesthetic wore off from the stitches it had taken to close the spot where she’d tried to gut me.

My instincts about her had been right. Crazy bitch. Hennessy had taken her into custody when he’d arrived on the heels of the ambulance—and the coroner.

Lucas and I were sprawled on an extra bed he’d requested in Jerome’s private hospital room. Conscious of my injuries, he wasn’t wrapped around me, but he hadn’t yet let go of my hand, even in sleep. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm that I took comfort in.

Jerome groaned from the bed next to us, and I jumped up to check on him. Lucas didn’t move. I leaned over the old man, my heart aching at the sight of the bandages wrapped around his head.

“What’s wrong? Do you need the nurse?”

His eyes fluttered open and the faded blues locked on me. He had a major concussion for sure, and the ER doc had requested that he stay overnight for observation. The old man was tough and had refused, but Lucas had overruled him.

“I’m fine. And you? You’re still okay?”

I nodded. “I’m good.”

His eyes shifted to Lucas. “And my boy?” It was the first time I’d heard him refer to Lucas in such a way.

“He’s . . . good.”

“He took a life. That never gets easier,” Jerome said. “He still carries the guilt from the last time, and God knows that was an accident. Even if he believes he killed his father.”

The breath caught in my lungs. “What?” I whispered.

Jerome nodded. “It’s not my place to tell you the story, though.”

Lucas’s voice cut through the rhythmic beeping in the room. “You already started, old man. Might as well tell her the whole sordid tale, because I did kill him.”

I turned to look at Lucas. “Wha—”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his elbows to his knees and his face into his hands. “I killed him. I didn’t save him, and I could have.”