The Marriage Debt (De Vos Mafia #2)(65)

His jaw tenses as though he’s preparing to say more, but he swallows it back down and turns around, marching off to the elevator. Our eyes connect a final time before the doors close, and all that’s left are the pools of blood and the dead bodies littering the floor.

Jill’s grip on my hand wanes as she immediately checks Max’s pulse. “He’s alive.”

I fish my phone from my pocket and call my father. “I need your help.”



Hours later



* * *



After Nick had left, I immediately secured more guards from our family connections to keep the building safe and to clean up all the dead bodies without anyone, especially the cops, seeing us.

Meanwhile, Max has been taken to the specialized clinic that doesn’t ask questions and only treats patients. I’ve been told he’ll wake up with a very sore chest, but other than that, he should be out of the danger zone.

I’ll need to call a renovator for the building as soon as possible to fix all the damage, but that part can wait until tomorrow.

Right now, I’m angry so many had to die for a single fucker with a crazy idea.

Nick really thought he could take Jill from my clutches.

No one steals my fucking bunny, no one.

After everything is done and peace has returned, at least for now, I go back to my penthouse and take a short shower to rinse off the blood. I told Jill to take a shower and then locked her up in her room so she couldn’t escape. Even though she told Nick she chose this … I still don’t trust her not to run.

When I’ve dried off and put on fresh clothes, I open her door and sit down on my couch for a much-needed rest. The silence is deafening as she exits the bedroom and goes to the kitchen without speaking a single word.

Sighing, I get up and head over to her.

She’s hovering over the kitchen counter, staring at a glass of water she hasn’t touched in a while.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Rain begins to pitter-patter against the windows.

When she doesn’t respond, I place a hand on her shoulder, and she jolts up and down.

“I’m fine,” she replies, but her eyes show the truth her lips are hiding from me.

“Don’t lie,” I say, stepping closer so I can wrap my arms around her waist. “You don’t have to pretend to be tough with me.”

She glances at me over her shoulder with an uncertain look in her eyes as they scour over my face until they widen. She turns around between my arms and brings her hand to my face. The soft touch of her fingers on my skin silences me and makes me forget everything that just transpired.

“You’re still bleeding,” Jill murmurs.

I even forgot that.

“Must’ve opened up again when I took that shower,” I say. “It’s nothing. Just a scrape.”

“Of a bullet,” she says, sliding her finger across the wound until I hiss in pain.

I didn’t expect it to hurt this much now that I’m no longer running on pure adrenaline.

“Where do you keep your supplies?” she asks.

“My office,” I say.

She grabs my hand and tugs me along. “Come. Let’s go fix you up.”

I’m too obsessed with the fact that her hand is locked in mine to even notice the fact that I’m letting her drag me to my own damn office. She grabs my chair and scoots it in front of my desk, the same desk I fucked her on only hours ago, and points at it as if to tell me to sit down.

She knows better than anyone else not to give me commands.

Still, I sit, wondering what she’s planning to do.

“Where is it?” she asks.

I point at a cabinet in the back. “Third drawer.”

She opens it and takes out a box filled with medicine and gauze. Emergency supplies in case I’d be locked up in here fending for my life.

She sits down in front of me on the other chair and opens the box to take out some gauze, tape, alcohol, and a cotton pad. It’s deathly quiet between us, the rain falling against the windows the only sound filling the room.

Jill dips the pad into the alcohol and rubs it over my wound, which hurts like a motherfucker, but I keep the hisses to myself by digging my nails into my knees instead.

“It’s quite a gash,” she says, rubbing the gauze on it. “Does it hurt?”

“I can take it,” I reply.

“I’m not asking if you can take it,” she responds, looking me in the eyes. “I know you can. I’m asking if it hurts.”

“Only if I think about it.” I lick my lips. “Why are you doing this?”

She shrugs and proceeds to cut some tape. “You help me. I help you.”

I grasp her wrist and force her to stop. “Tell me the real reason.”

She pauses, her lips parted. “To thank you.” She swallows, unable to look me in the eyes. “For not killing Nick.”

The mere mention of his name makes me want to grab an axe and chase after him. But I don’t. Because she’s with me. Not with him.

She chose to be here.

She chose me over him.

“I could have,” I say.

I definitely would have if he’d kept talking to her.

“But you didn’t,” she says. “Why?”

“Because you begged me not to,” I reply.