“There’s no need to fear him. He’ll never hurt you again.”
There’s no doubt in my mind he would do everything in his power to protect me. Other than when I’m with Trouble, I’ve never felt safer than when I’m in his presence.
“Are you going to kill him?” I don’t know why I ask. It’s just something I need to know, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
Just as I suspected, he says darkly, “Slowly and painfully.”
No part of me feels remorse for the man who’s caused so much pain. I’m not normally a brutal person. I hate violence with a passion. But I do secretly hope I’m there to witness the end of Deacon Masters.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMO
I’M JARRED AWAKE FROM a light sleep by low moans. I immediately get up from the mattress I dragged into Rella’s room. From the sliver of light coming from the bathroom, I can see that her face is flushed. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her damp hair sticks to her cheeks. Her brows are pinched together as if she’s in pain or scared.
When she whimpers again, my heart stutters. Every night this happens. Every single fucking night. And every night, it tears my insides to shreds. She suffers in her dreams, and I suffer along with her.
She starts to thrash, her whole body twisting and turning, her head flipping back and forth on the pillow.
“No,” she cries softly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. Please don’t make me. It hurts.”
Her pleas are my undoing. I drop to my knees, and just like every other night, I gently run my fingers over her cheek.
“Rella, please wake up.” I give my own plea, desperate to pull her from her nightmare.
Except for that first night, my touch usually calms her down. Sometimes she wakes up, and other times, she just settles down, the nightmare leaving her. But tonight, it doesn’t work.
“Aziah,” she sobs. “Oh God, Aziah, please save me.”
I freeze, my throat closing constricting, pain gripping my body so tightly I can barely breathe. She’s never said my name before in her dreams. Hearing it now as she begs for me to save her crushes the tiny bit of soul I have left.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Forgetting my own pain, I lean closer to her. “Rella.” I call her name hoarsely. “Can you hear me? I’m right here.”
All at once, she stops moving and her eyes snap open, her gaze landing on me. Her eyes widen in terror, and she grips the sheet to her chest as she scrambles up against the headboard. I’m not sure what hurts the most; seeing her absorbed in her nightmare or seeing the blatant fear on her face once she’s awake.
I sit back on my heels, my heart lying on the floor between my knees. I don’t move or speak. But I do pray. I pray so fucking hard that she comes out of the horror she’s currently living in.
Rationally, I know she’s not seeing me right now. It’s either Marco, Gabriela, my father, or me when we were little. It still doesn’t make it any easier though.
We both sit there and stare at the other, our chests pumping rapidly. Her eyes are still glazed over, and I’m sure mine reflect agony, because that’s exactly what I’m feeling. My hand ends up in the pocket of my sleep pants, but instead of gouging my hand, I grip the key and dig it into the muscle of my thigh. It punctures through the thin fabric and into my flesh. For once, the pain isn’t soothing enough.
After several tense moments, she blinks slowly. Each time her eyes open, some of the fear fades away.
“Aziah?” she croaks.
“I’m right here,” I grunt, my throat still tight.
Her shoulders slump, and tears appear in her eyes. It crushes my heart all over again. Hasn’t this girl been through enough? She may be away from her tormentors, but they’re still very much causing her pain. My gut twists, because I’m one of them.
“Are you okay?”
Her fists unclench from around the blanket, and it falls to her lap. She agitatedly wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Yeah.”
I hesitate for a moment before getting to my feet. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shakes her head slowly.