I stared at her for several long seconds then turned away and upended the nightstand, hurling it against the wall and letting a roar escape me as the self-hatred I was feeling made my mind thrash. Fear filled me over what I could bring down on her head just by feeling what I did for her.
The heavy thump of the music still pouring up to us from downstairs had likely covered the worst of that noise, and I was more than inclined to keep testing my luck on that in the aim of banishing some of the furious energy which was pulsing through my body.
“I know it was a first for me, but it was a first for you too,” Brooklyn breathed behind me just as I took a step towards a chair in the corner of the room, having every intention of destroying that too. “And it was beautiful, Hellfire. It was pain and pleasure and all the things in between just like you and me and I wouldn’t take it back. You can’t take it back, it’s done now and there’s no undoing it, and I wouldn’t let you, even if you could.”
I looked over my shoulder at her, my brow dropping further as I saw the pain my reaction was causing her and realising that it was far too late for temper tantrums and pointless regrets now anyway. We were past that point. Long past it. And the bloody stain between her thighs which mixed with the evidence of the pleasure I’d taken in her body said that all too clearly.
She didn’t seem all that young when I looked at her now, a fire in her eyes and the mark of a warrior blazing through her. But it didn’t change the facts.
“Fuck,” I muttered, realising that I was only making this worse. Further ruining something which she never should have wanted me to take in the first place. But there was no refusing what I’d done now. No changing it. And if her words were true then that wasn’t what she wanted either. So what could I do to fix it? Because if I didn’t do something, I was fairly certain I was going to lose my grip on my sanity entirely.
I strode across the room, grabbing my clothes and tugging them back on while her eyes trailed me and those tears continued to threaten to fall. She’d ripped the buttons from my shirt so it remained hanging open but that didn’t matter, nothing mattered now besides fixing this.
I headed into the bathroom which joined onto this room, finding a washcloth and soaking it in warm water before hunting the cupboards for a couple of pain pills.
Brooklyn was still sitting on the bed when I returned and I moved to stand over her, grasping her chin and encouraging her to part her lips so that I could give her the pills.
“Will they make me sleepy?” she asked, her eyes brightening with fear. “I don’t like the ones that make my head foggy.”
“They’re just pain pills, love,” I promised. “I don’t want you hurting for me over this.”
She stared up at me for several long moments then opened her mouth to accept the pills, the trust in that simple action enough to make my racing heart skip a beat as she fought aside her fear of doctors and medication in favour of believing in me.
I wasn’t worthy of that. Not even close to worthy. But I was damn well going to do what I could to fix this fucking mess I’d made.
The moment she swallowed them, I released her, encouraging her up onto her knees and gently cleaning her blood and my cum from between her thighs with the washcloth, my skin prickling at the small wince which fluttered across her features as I tended to her, but she didn’t try to stop me.
“You’re angry,” she said, not a question but an observation.
“Fucking furious,” I agreed and I wasn’t sure if she could tell how hard I was working to contain my rage right now but she didn’t push me further on it, allowing me to finish cleaning her in silence before I drew her upright and off of the bed.
Her eyes met mine as I lifted her dress from the floor and helped her back into it, my fingers drawing goosebumps up her spine as I closed the zipper for her and a harsh breath escaping me as my damn cock got all kinds of ideas over that.
I released her quickly, turning to the bed and stripping it, bundling the sheets and the washcloth together and scrunching them in my fist as I glanced around for any further evidence. I wasn’t on any databases anyway and my pa had had me burn my fingerprints off when I was fourteen, so I never had to worry much on that front. Brooklyn on the other hand would already be a prime suspect in this crime and she needed a whole lot more training when it came to keeping crime scenes clean.
I retrieved the knife she’d tossed at me from the corner of the room, then lifted my phone and took a few snap shots of Cedric Rawlings’ body in case she wanted to have a little trip down memory road later over the sight of it.
I held the phone to my ear as I made a call.
“What?” Ronan asked irritably as he answered me and I pursed my lips at needing a favour from a member of my fucking family, but desperate times and all that shit.
“I need the jet,” I said in a low voice, making it clear with my tone that this wasn’t a discussion.
“When?”
“Now, dipshit,” I snarled. “I’ll be at the runway in less than an hour and it had better be fuelled and ready to fly when I arrive.”
“Or what?” he taunted.
“Or I’ll come to your house, cut off your legs and let ya watch while I roast them on that fancy new barbeque ya keep boasting about – you’re not MasterChef, arsehole, no one gives a fuck about your new grill.”
Ronan was silent for several seconds before he replied. “It’ll be ready. What do you want it for anyway? You need it for a job?”
“Mind your own business,” I snapped, hanging up on him and turning to find Brooklyn tugging drawers open to the side of the room.
“I can’t find it,” she complained.
“Find what?” I asked, wanting to give her whatever the fuck it was even if it was my own fucked up way of trying to offer some kind of reparation for what I’d just so blindly taken from her.
“His little hammer thingy. I thought it would be super handy for Death Club meetings.”
“We ain’t a club,” I muttered, a sneer pulling up my lip as I thought of those two fuckers who were currently enjoying the effects of the paralytic I’d slipped them in my house.
“Fine. The Society of Psychos it is,” she said like she was agreeing with me, but she absolutely fucking wasn’t. I also didn’t have time for this or the capacity available to deal with this bullshit without losing my fucking grip on reality entirely and entering into the kind of massacre which made news headlines.
“We need to go,” I barked, harsher than I wanted to be with her and really just angry with myself. I had to fix this. Had to fucking fix it and there was only one way that might come close to being able to do so, but even then, I was pretty certain it wouldn’t be enough. Ava was screaming inside my skull and the urge to re-watch that fucking video and remind myself of all the reasons I had to keep away was eating at me.
But it was too late for that. Far too fucking late.
“I’ll get you a gavel some other time,” I added as her face filled with disappointment and I fought against the worst in me as I worked to try and keep my anger from lashing her with its poisonous barbs. “Come on. We need to go.”
I held my hand out for her and she bit her bottom lip before crossing the space between us and taking it, my fingers enveloping hers and some of the tension in my chest loosening just a little.
I was pretty certain that I couldn’t make this any better, but I was damn well going to do what I could to try.