Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(74)

“But that doesn’t mean they’re fine how they are,” I continue. “It just means they are how they are. There’s no changing them or undoing the past. There’s no gluing the pieces back together and remaking the whole how it once was. There’s just sorting through the shards and making something new out of them. That’s all you can do.”

My words seem to echo in the silence, and for a second, there’s no response from River. But then her grip on my hand tightens.

I knew she was listening.

I squeeze back, and for a second, I’m lost in memories. I think of the beautiful woman with dark hair I was in love with once. How bright and open she was. How she changed everything for me.

And then, for another second, in my mind’s eye, I see the flames. They flicker, bright and intense. I see them engulfing her, cutting her off from everything and everyone else. I can see the panic and fear and helplessness in her eyes, and I remember feeling all of those things myself. Like someone was ripping my soul out of my body.

It’s like being there again, being trapped in it. The scent of death and smoke and burning all around me. The flames hot on my skin. The helplessness makes me nauseous, and even though I know it’s a memory and what’s done is done, thinking about it just makes it worse. I hate bringing it all back up again.

I clench my jaw, forcing the visceral memory of Jade’s death back down again like I do every day. If I keep control of it, it can’t own me. I can’t be hurt by it. It’s too big to deal with all the time. Too much to let it sit close to the surface.

I think of the three men who’ve become like brothers to me, and how understanding they were when I shut down after that. When I wasn’t the same person they used to know. Knox even helped me get my vengeance, standing with me and helping me make it right.

None of them tried to change me or fix me. They just let me be. They still do.

Yeah, Ash makes jokes from time to time, but that’s Ash. It’s his way of dealing with things, and it’s never anything too bad. They all stayed with me, all rallied around me.

They didn’t try to make me go back to the way I was. They just learned to love the shards of me.

River doesn’t respond, but I know she gets it. I know that whatever is going on with her, she has those memories too. The ones that shake you down to your core and make you into a different person than you used to be. There’s no way she doesn’t. She talked about broken things because she is a broken thing, walking around spewing bravado because that’s all she’s got left.

It’s her way of coping, I guess. The way shutting down and keeping everything under tight control is mine.

It feels strange to understand her like that. To know I’m seeing part of what makes her tick. I can’t tell if I like it or hate it, but it’s too late now. I can’t unsee it.

We keep having these moments. I keep coming to her aid, even though I don’t mean to. Even though I tell myself I don’t want to.

I don’t know what any of that means.

“Go to sleep,” I tell her, my voice a little rough.

I don’t let go of her hand.

There’s some shifting as she makes herself more comfortable, and eventually, her breathing evens out.

She’s asleep, but I still stay. I keep sitting there, holding her hand. I stay until the sun comes up.





31





RIVER





IN THE MORNING, I wake up feeling like shit. It’s that hungover feeling that comes with doing too much of something too fast, but it wasn’t booze for once. I’m hungover on pain, on grief. Feeling too much and not being prepared for it.

I haven’t gone to that place since right after I was released from captivity, when I was living with my dad—the man who was responsible for me being locked up in the first damn place, since they were torturing me and Hannah to punish him.

That year was fucking hard.

It was like being in a dark hole, and I barely found my way out of it.

I hate going to that place, and usually try to avoid it if I can, but the memory of my sister and all that happened was just too much last night. It all hit me at once, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

“Okay,” I mutter under my breath, my face still half mashed into the pillow. “Get up.”

My body doesn’t want to listen. My limbs feel heavy and tired, and my head throbs the way it always does after a long, heavy cry. My mouth is dry, and the light hurts my eyes. It would be so much easier to just pull the blankets over my head and stay here all day, but I’m not going to do that.

That would be giving in, and if it’s one thing I never fucking do, it’s give in.

So I force myself up, throwing back the covers all at once and swinging my legs out before I have a chance to change my mind and lie back down.

Moving helps a little, and I go over to the window that’s letting in all the morning light and crack it open. My head’s a mess, so I get my nail kit and my cigarettes and perch naked on the window sill, smoking idly while I take off yesterday’s polish.

It doesn’t fit anymore.

Today, I go for a deep red. The color of blood. It reminds me of who I am now. What I’m aiming for. I’m not that scared little girl, huddled in a corner. Or the scared little girl trying to keep the heat on me instead of Hannah.