The Revenge by Tijan

Whispered and frenzied kisses.

I was rolled over.

There was still screaming. More shaking.

Then sobbing. Hiccups.

It was me.

I was the one screaming.

“Bailey!” I was pushed down, and a body came over me.

I froze, the same panic as before. My fists were up. I was fighting. Shoving.

I had to get free.

I had to get my—

“Bailey!”

A mouth came down over me.

It was Kash.

That was him.

It was his mouth kissing me.

That got through.

Everything quieted, except there was a pounding. A thumping sound.

I gasped as Kash lifted his mouth. He ran a hand down my face, a face that was sweating.

Sweat mixed with tears.

He didn’t care, and I could see him now. The moonlight was outside, filtering in, and I was still crying.

Oh, God. It hurt. Everything hurt.

“My mom,” I choked out. My hands were curled around his arms. “My mom, Kash.”

“I know.” Another whisper, of such understanding and pity and sympathy. It unraveled me.

I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

I bent my head to his chest and gave in.

His arms tightened around me. I felt his kiss on my shoulder, and he was moving us. I was cradled in his chest. He pushed up, sitting against the headboard. I was on his lap, curled into a ball.

More tears.

More pain.

Slicing me.

He held me. He ran a hand down my hair, my back, sweeping up my arm and repeating.

He did it all night long.

I cried all night long.

She was there, all night long.

And right before I fell asleep—later, much later—I swear I heard my mom whisper in the air, “My baby girl.”





THIRTEEN

Kash


Six A.M., and Bailey was finally sleeping.

It wasn’t a restless sleep, but one where she was out out. No sounds were coming from her. She hadn’t moved an inch for the last hour. The only way I knew she wasn’t dead was because I felt her breath as I held her, but six meant I needed to get going.

I was coming out of our section of the house when Matt bypassed me, yawning widely.

He stopped, took me in, and let out an audible sigh. “What happened?”

I frowned. “You smell of martinis, cigarettes … and I’m hoping that last smell isn’t what I think it is.”

He frowned right back. “Fuck you. You weren’t the decoy while my sister played at breaking and entering.”

“I wasn’t judging. I meant that I hoped you didn’t have to do what it smells like you did.”

“Oh.” He blinked, bags under his eyes. “I’m tired.”

He hadn’t answered.

“Matt.” I inclined my head toward him. “You didn’t fuck her?”

“What?” His nose wrinkled and he stepped back. “No. That’s what I smell like?”

I didn’t want to test my theory and take another whiff. But, shit. Nope.

I knew what I was smelling on him.

“Matt,” I was cautious here, proceeding slowly. “The last relationship you had was with a mar—”

“God. I know.” He glared at me, rocking back on his heels. “You don’t have to tell me, and no, to get ahead of this awkward-as-hell conversation you’re determined to have with me, it’s no one. It’s not a thing or anything. Had an itch, knew someone who’d scratch it, and that’s all.” Another heated look from him. “You okay with that, Dad?”

“Stop with the jabs, dick.”

“Prick.”

“Asshole.”

He blinked. His mouth twitched. “Fuckup.”

“You wish,” I deadpanned back. “You’d be loved more.”

“God!” He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “That one almost hurt.”

My own mouth twitched.

His laughter faded, but he was still grinning. He jerked his chin up. “What happened last night? Did Bailey get what she needed?”

“She did good.” And he had to know. “She was on a high.”

He jerked, his eyes shuddering for a beat. “Wait. What? She was high?”

“No. When she hacks, she can get a high from it.” I needed to spell it out. “And then afterward with how she is, with the grief…”

His eyes grew wide and alarmed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s sleeping, but she went low. She remembered that night and woke up thinking I was Calhoun’s men.”

“Shit.” His nostrils flared. A keen, murderous look entered his eyes. “If I had a gun, if your grandfather was here—why isn’t he dead yet?” He was gone. All rationality checked out, and he was breathing fury. “That’s your job. What’s the problem? I know you know where he is at every goddamn minute of the day.”

“It’s not that easy.”

I wished it were.

For a second, a minute, I considered it.

Could I just go? I could. I could get to him. I could even get him isolated, and I would have weapons at my disposal. I could kill him. It’d be so easy. I could do it slow, torturing him. Or I could merely slit his throat and watch him bleed dry. Or I could slice him all over, make his last breaths so painful, puncture his lung and have him choke on his own blood. That was a different type of dying that was its own hell.