Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(63)

There wasn’t going to be a toddler in my wedding photos.

I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

I’d been so worried that I expected to feel relief. But I didn’t. Instead, I only felt an aching hole somewhere deep inside me, a widening chasm of loss.

I started to cry.

“Doll?” The whisper was ragged.

“Griffin?” He was here too? His voice seemed to be coming from the other side of the van.

“You’re awake.”

I didn’t want to be. I wanted to go back into the blackness. Now that I was awake, everything hurt. As if to punctuate my point, I was hit by a wave of cramps. I winced.

“Doll?”

“I’m awake.”

“Are you... okay?”

How could he ask that? I laughed bitterly. “Oh, I’m peachy keen, Griffin.”

He was quiet.

Then I heard the sound of something sliding across the van. He must be scooting closer to me.

I wanted to tell him not to bother. “Why did you go to him? You shouldn’t have done that, Griffin.”

The scooting noises stopped.

“This is all your fault,” I said. And I dissolved into sobs. Because it didn’t feel good to accuse him. It felt bad. I felt even worse now that I’d passed the blame to him. But it was his fault, wasn’t it? He was the one who’d left the hospital to go to Marcel. If he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have gone after him. I wouldn’t have been captured. I wouldn’t have been shot in the head. I wouldn’t have lost the baby.

Lost. That was a stupid way to put it, wasn’t it? Because it wasn’t lost. It was dead.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He sounded beaten.

That broke my heart. I wanted to hold onto my anger at him. I wanted to scream at him, rail at him, beat my fists on his chest.

But my hands were tied behind my back.

And I couldn’t take it out on him when he was so defeated.

“I didn’t mean it,” I said.

“It is my fault,” he said.

“No,” I said. “You didn’t want this. You were trying to protect us.”

“Well, I f*cked up. I didn’t protect you at all. I didn’t protect anyone. My mother’s been shot. You’re...” His voice cracked.

It was quiet except for the sound of the tires beneath us, whirring against the road. The van went over a bump in the road. It jarred me painfully.

I let out a little moan.

“Doll. Are you hurt?” he said.

“I’m...” I wasn’t sure how to say it. Finally, I settled for the phrase I just rejected. It was the easiest way to get it out. “I’m losing the baby.”

“And that hurts?”

“Y-yes.”

The scooting noises again. I could feel that he was close. I could smell him, hear his breath. But he didn’t touch me. Probably couldn’t. He was probably tied up too.

“It’s not bad. It’s just like a bad period,” I said. “It’s so early.” The baby barely got a chance. It wasn’t even a baby.

“Oh... doll, I’m...” I felt his forehead rest against my shoulder.

“I deserve it, don’t I?” I said. “It’s punishment, because I had an abortion.”

“No,” he whispered. “No, you can’t think like that.”

“If I hadn’t done that—”

“If you hadn’t, you’d be further along, and he would have shot you anyway,” said Griffin. “It’s done. It’s not your fault.”

And there was something in his voice that I’d never heard before. He was crying.

I’d never heard him cry before.

And I wanted—so badly—to be able to take him in my arms right then, to pull him close to me, to comfort him. But I couldn’t do that. So, I lowered my head so that our heads were touching.

“We have to stay strong,” he said. “I don’t what Marcel’s going to do, but it isn’t going to be good. He hates me, doll. He thought I was dead. He thought he killed me in jail. Now that he knows I’ve survived, he’s intent on finishing the job.”

I felt cold all over. “Why hasn’t he killed you then? He’s had the chance.”

“Killing me isn’t good enough,” said Griffin. “It’s got to be worse than that. That’s why you’re here. So that he can torture me.”

“But why does he hate you so much?”

“I don’t know,” said Griffin. “I think maybe some people don’t get a full array of emotions. They only get the bad ones. And they feel them ten times stronger than everyone else because nothing balances it.”

The words hung in the air as we lay close to each other.

“Griffin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about the baby. I know you wanted—”

“No,” he said. “You don’t apologize for that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I wanted...” I gritted my teeth together. “He stole from us. He took everything. I’m going to kill him.”

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Stay angry, doll. Stay sharp. We’re going to need it.”