Page 80 of From Hell

“Cut me, Laine. I won’t stop you,” I say softly.

She blinks, head tilted as she stares down at me. “Iwillkill you.”

“You won’t,” I reassure her.

She stabs, not at my neck, but at the fucking pillow next to my head. Stuffing goes everywhere. I snatch her hand to guide her, so she slashes at my forearm instead. White pain digs into my flesh. I ignore it, letting her carve my skin until we’ve both had enough. Then I disarm her and draw her to me. She fights me at first, like a wild cat, scratching and clawing. Then, the tears come.

“Shush,” I soothe. She sobs in my arms until she stills and calms, falling asleep on my chest.

I don’t care to move, so I lie there with her wrapped around me like a security blanket.

Blood has mingled with the innards of the pillow, staining the white cotton fluff crimson. Some of it is stuck to me. Thank fuck, my sheets are navy.

When she’s snoring, an adorable trait, I carry her back to her bed and lock her inside.

30

JAXON

She looks exquisitely disheveled the next morning, hair all over the place, makeup smudged. Sheepishly, she shuffles into the kitchen while I’m making coffee, breaking out the eggs and bacon while Laine watches from the doorway. I haven’t been to bed. As long as she’s here, I won’t be able to relax or sleep. Me blacking out and her sleepwalking is not a good mix.

And the Ripper could return anytime; he can’t know I have her. It would spoil everything.

She blinks at me and then finally walks toward the breakfast bar. “You didn’t ask me how I like my eggs?” She drags her tongue over her plump lips when I don’t respond. “There’s a joke in there somewhere.”

“No need, you like them poached.” I’ve watched her make breakfast in her own cottage a few times.

The skimpy T-shirt of mine that she’s wearing does nothing to hide the cheeks of her bare ass as she shuffles in. She makes a face. “Do I even want to know how you know that?”

My phone buzzes as I’m cooking. I glance at it. It’s probably Shepherd for an update. Less than forty-eight hours have passed since I was given orders to handle Laine Summers. I’ve never needed that much time and usually check in once it’s done. Shepherd will want to know the hold-up to report to my father.

But when I check the messages, it’s not Shepherd but Addison.

Addison:

Three down, two to go. You know I have a theory that our little birdie is back. Singing all over the fucking show at Henry’s wake. Another loose end that seems to have slipped through the Ripper’s fingers, don’t you think?

I’m going to kill him.

I silence my phone and turn my attention back to Laine, who happens to be watching me like a hawk—chin raised, eyes dark, sweet lips bitten to fuck.

She approaches me quickly, with a stiffness to her body, as though she’s not quite convinced of her actions. She looks up at me from under her lashes, and then her gaze darts to the shallow cuts she gave me on my arm. Her finger traces the dried blood. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“You sleepwalk.”

She winces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d—”

“Give me a badge of honor?” It’s the truth. Any mark my little fox gives me, I would proudly wear.

Her brow furrows. “I was going to say hurt you. At least let me clean it.”

“After breakfast. Now sit.”

Her mouth makes a straight line as she lets out a huff and sits on one of the stools.

“I thought we could go to the shooting range today.” I glance at the gun on the table.

She looks at it and then nods. “Fine, but I still haven’t forgiven you for last night.”