Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC #5)(21)

"Jasmine." My voice sounds hoarse-strange. I'm exhausted, each lungful of air burning me. My shoulders and arms are like lead weights and my clothes stick to my skin, making it hard to move. A trickle of sweat runs down my temple and drops to the floor. I go to grab her hand when a sound from beside us stops me.

Dylan lies curled up in a fetal position, his breathing raspy and uneven, like he's gargling with water. Except it's not water in his mouth.



       
         
       
        

I throw open the closet and rifle through until my hands land on what I'm searching for. The heavy blanket hangs off Jasmine's shoulders and I tug it tightly around her, lifting her into my arms and carrying her out of that room before he has a chance to wake up.

I take the stairs gently, careful not to jolt her body too much. She doesn't say anything, her eyelids fluttering closed. Her small body curls into mine, her fingers gripping my shirt, holding on for dear life.

I'm here.

No more pain.

You're mine now, Jasmine.

I'll make you see that.





Chapter Nine


Jasmine





Everything hurts.

Every movement is like knives stabbing me. My skin burns and my body feels like it's caged in, like my insides are too small for my body and they want to burst out.

I shouldn't have gone back. I should have known how bad it would be. I barely got his name out before he hit me, the force sending me crashing to the ground. I remember parts after that, but it's like watching them on a broken movie reel: it keeps skipping and jumping and the sound is all distorted. He landed blow after blow, my screams and pleas making no difference. Gradually, as my body fought to protect itself, each hit hurt less and less. The sensation of drifting out of my body was a strange one, but a welcome relief. I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

When Cutter showed up I thought I was dreaming. I never thought I'd be so pleased to see savagery in someone's eyes. He saved me, swooping in and making it so Dylan couldn't hurt me anymore. I've never had anyone stop Dylan before.

I know it is all my fault-why he gets so angry. He just gets frustrated, that's all. I can't be what he wants. I can't do anything right and he feels the need to punish me. If I were stronger-better at being a wife-our relationship might not have been what it was.

I open my eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. My first instinct is to panic and my eyes dart around the room, looking for Dylan. When I find no trace of him, I push myself up onto my elbows, crying out and looking down to see purple bruises creeping up my arms. I stretch out my arm, testing for broken bones and finding none, but knowing that physical breaks are not the ones that hurt the most.

Physical breaks heal.

My soul is shattered, and I'm not sure there is a doctor alive who can heal it.

I try to remember what happened last night. I gasp realizing where I must be.

Cutter's.

He took me to his house? I look down and see an unfamiliar pair of sweatpants and an over-sized T-shirt, both engulfing my bird-like body. He gave me clothes to wear. That means that he undressed me. He would have seen me naked. Seen the bruises, wide and round like Dylan's fists. I ease up the hem of the T-shirt and tears spill from my eyes when I see the dried blood coating my colorless skin. 

A feeling of uneasiness rolls through me. He's going to come for me. He will be livid that I left the house; that I left him. My limbs start to shake as my mind imagines everything that he might do.

"Don't be scared."

I hear his voice but I can't see him anywhere. I sit up in the bed and wince as my abused muscles fight to work. Through the shadows, something moves and I see a figure in the corner of the room, sitting in a chair. I squint, an ache shooting up the right side of my face, and see Cutter. He's changed his clothes. Relief sweeps through me. I didn't want to have to look at him with Dylan's blood dried into his shirt. It was enough seeing the images when I closed my eyes, but to be confronted with them in real life . . .

"You . . . you have to take me back."

I'm barely able to get the words out. My lips are swollen, making it hard to say certain letters, and the split in my lower lip threatens to burst open with every vowel sound. There is no doubt in my mind that Cutter was just trying to help me, but that doesn't stop the fear that gnaws away at my insides knowing that he has just made everything so much worse.

"No." His voice is strong but not menacing. He stays in his seat and eyes me warily as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The movements are slow and he maintains eye contact the whole time, as if he's afraid I'll bolt if he moves too quickly.