Page 35

K smirks. “Divide and conquer.”
“Classic,” Johnny says, lip curling in that “I’m second in line to the Crew” way that turns my stomach.
“What else?” K asks.
“The situation seemed to have no real purpose whatsoever. Just sending a message to you. Trying to get you to back off.”
K cocks his head. “Interesting. A few of our guys were part of their shooters.”
“Unrest,” Johnny says with a simple shrug of his shoulders.
“We’ll take care of it.”
My stomach rolls. Suddenly, they’re a ‘we’ again. What happened to ‘we’ when his son needed him?
K stands. “You need to get some sleep and some recovery time. When you’re up to it, we’ll talk retaliation.”
Johnny struggles to his feet, but gets there on his own nonetheless. I stand after him, and it’s then when he takes my hand and squeezes it, hanging on to me a little more for support.
K moves his gaze to rest on Magnum and then myself. “Good work. I’ll expect a report, including why you thought it necessary not to involve me when you found out where he could be.”
Mag nods, and I have to practically bite off a piece of my tongue to keep my mouth shut. At that, K walks around the couch, retreating to the back. We move slowly toward the door. Everything is catching up with Johnny. Since his suite is the closest, we head just across the hall to remove ourselves from the guards’ prying eyes.
As soon as the door is closed behind us, Johnny says, “I need a shower.” He gazes at me, questions in his eyes. It’s a no-brainer. I’m not going to let him take a shower by himself. Who knows if he can even keep himself upright for that amount of time?
I pin Mag with a look, hoping he knows I want him to stay. I don’t know anything about injuries like this. If Johnny were to take a turn for the worse, he would be better off with Magnum right here.
Mag helps us past Johnny’s room and into his en suite. He lets himself out as I help Johnny disrobe himself. The amount of ash and blood caked on his skin makes my veins harden just under my skin. The sooner we get out of the Heights, the better.
I turn the shower on and help Johnny in. He braces himself against the wall, the spray hitting him in the chest and turning the water at his feet a murky gray. I take a lot of showers with my guys, but this one has to be the most intimidating yet. Johnny, the one who acts like nothing hurts him, is physically hurt. The evidence washing down the drain right this very moment. Within a couple of minutes, it might not even look like he went through hell. Sure, he’ll have the bruises and the patching, but it won’t be as fresh.
“Come here,” he demands. His voice is guttural, throaty, like it almost pains him to talk.
He watches my every movement as I peel my clothes off. My skin lights with tension. I quickly throw my hair up into a bun piled at the top of my head before moving under the spray. “Do you need me?”
He lifts his hand to cup my face. “I’ll always need you. If I could move right now, I’d lift you against the shower and fuck you so good, babe.” His hand trembles. “I just need to feel something real right now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head slowly. A back-and-forth motion that looks like it takes a great amount of effort. I’m sure his mind is reeling from the truth of what happened at The Ring.
I wanted Johnny to see what his father was really like. No, Ineededhim to see what his father was really like. I don’t want this push and pull between me and the Crew anymore, but now that he’s seen it—or I think he has—pain lances at me. When people I love feel pain, I feel pain. Satisfaction should be rolling through me right now, but that’s not the case at all. I just feel sorry for him. Sorry for the parts of Johnny that still thought his dad was his dad. Someone who would care for him no matter what. Someone who would look out for him no matter what.
Johnny’s never known unconditional love. It’s been conditional all the way. I’ll love you only if you do this. I’ll love you only if you’re the best little Crew member you can be. I’ll love you if...you’re just like me. He made Johnny in his image.
Not anymore.
I press against him. Not giving a shit about the dirty drops of water pooling between our chests. “I was so fucking worried about you, Johnny Marx. That footage they sent to your father broke me in two.”
“Did you get hurt?” Johnny asks, pulling me closer until we rest our foreheads against one another. “Tell me you didn’t get hurt.” He eyes the bruising around my eyes suspiciously.
“I’m fine,” I say, heat gathering quickly behind my eyes. “I’m more than fine now. I didn’t know what they were going to do to you.”
“Better me than you.”
I swallow my argument. “We came for you as soon as we could. All of us.”
“I know,” he says, threading his fingers over the back of my neck. He holds me there, his eyes shut tight before he drags his fingers down my skin. He lets his hands roam, as if they’re working on their own, moving over every square inch of my body.