Page 8 of Martyr (Sterling Falls Rogues #3)

Reese is confused, and I don’t blame him. We went from blow job in the freezing cold to standing over an unconscious girl in her room.

“Lyssa Laurent,” he says, repeating the name I told him not thirty seconds ago. His brows are furrowed, and he grips the plastic footboard at the bottom of her bed. “Laurent. Like Kade Laurent?”

“Half-sister, I think.” I lean against the now-shut window. When we entered, it was a extra chilly in here— oops, my bad —and there are goosebumps on her arms. “But more importantly, she’s Gabriel’s…”

His gaze lifts to mine. “Gabriel’s what ?”

“Uh… First love? His deepest infatuation? Trauma-bonded soulmate?” I shrug. “Take your pick.”

“Holy shit. And how do you know this?”

I shift. “Because I’m the one who got them out of Terror.”

He stills. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s definitely not funny. Terror didn’t just dry up after my brother got me out. I made it my mission to end it, to save as many people as I could, but it still—” My throat closes. I swallow a few times, suppressing the sudden urge to cry, then finish, “It still wasn’t enough.”

Reese releases the edge of the bed and steps closer to me. “You got them out.”

“And this was the price.” I wave my hand at Lyssa’s prone form. “I just—it wasn’t ever my intention for Lyssa to be hurt when I was trying to help them. But it doesn’t matter what my intention was. It happened. She’s been like this for ten years.”

Ten years .

“Artemis.”

I shake my head. “Don’t try to console me on this. The guilt I feel?—”

“I can probably relate,” he interrupts. “I know what being on the outside of Terror, and trying to right wrongs but being fucking helpless, does to a person.”

I go quiet. He’s right. I didn’t want to think about that, about his side of things, but I believe in his character. I believe he didn’t willingly go to Terror. And, as a sixteen-year-old, what power did he have to shut it down?

The image of him bursting through the door of one of the private rooms to get to me springs to mind.

“You became a sort of lifeline,” I say quietly.

When I walked into a private room and saw Reese, a tiny bit of the crushing weight lifted off my shoulders.

“And what you were to me is what Lyssa was to Gabriel. He was trapped in Terror for far longer than anyone should’ve been.

I can’t even blame him for being what he is. ”

He opens his mouth, but I can’t fathom what he’s about to say. And he never gets a chance, because Lyssa’s door suddenly swings inward.

Saint rushes in, his gaze immediately latching on to my face. Triumph—at catching me out of bed, in an off-limits room, perhaps—flickers across his expression, replaced immediately by confusion. His attention bounces between Reese, dressed in street clothes, to the prone girl in the bed.

Yeah, I’d be confused, too.

“Hey, buddy,” Reese greets him, nonplussed by the unexpected intrusion. “You look better.”

Saint narrows his eyes. “You came with me here.”

Reese inclines his chin.

“Forgive me if I don’t recall your name.” Saint taps his temple. “The memory issues are a bitch.”

Reese glances at me, then back to him. There’s sympathy there, probably because Saint is being a dick right off the bat. For no fucking reason.

Welcome to Saint’s world, Reese. We’re all just existing in it .

Still, Reese seems unbothered. He smiles and introduces himself by name, then adds, “We’re friends. And if you’re going to gawk, you may as well close the door so we’re not all ousted by orderlies.”

Saint steps inside and lets the door swing shut behind him. It latches with a soft click .

The room shifts into an uncomfortable silence, until Saint finally gestures to Lyssa.

“Anyone going to fill me in? Or is this another thing I should know but don’t?”

I cross my arms, moving slightly to block Lyssa’s face. “What brought you down here, Saint?”

He scowls. “Why is every question met with another these days?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because you don’t do anything without a reason. And coming here , into this room, seems mighty suspicious.” I glare at him. “What got you out of bed? Wasn’t me.”

Saint’s nostrils flare. “You jealous, Tem? I’m coming to see some girl who isn’t you in the middle of the night?”

I jerk like he hit me. A million responses bubble up in my chest, barely held back by the lump forming in my throat.

“Tell him,” Reese orders.

I swallow sharply. Tell him?

He’s not focused on Lyssa. We’re not dropping back into the who is she? question. Reese wants me to address Saint’s last one.

You jealous, Tem?

I slowly straighten my spine. The last thing I should be doing is cowering in front of him . I didn’t cower when he was a feral animal trapped in my condo for a year. I met him head-on—with the truth. Or, some version of it.

This time can’t be any different.

“I am jealous, Saint.”

His eyes widen a fraction.

“I’m so fucking jealous that you are down here for some goddamn unknown reason, while I’ve been your personal punching bag again . And before that, just a few weeks ago, you were telling me you love me.”

Saint’s lips part.

Yeah, guess that one eluded him.

“You isolated prick.” I approach him, and he goes backward. “You could’ve reached out to anyone back home. Jace. Wolfe. My brother. Antonio . Even Malik would’ve been honest with you.”

“About?” His back bumps into the door he just closed.

“About us .” I grip his white shirt in my fist, tugging slightly. “About me and you. About you . They could’ve told you a million stories of what happened to you between now and then. But no—you come here and terrorize me for some alleged crime.”

“The only crime is my attraction to you.” His gaze lifts over my head. Up, up, and away. “And my guilt for it.”

Ah.

I release him.

Turn away.

We’re back to that. Back to guilt, back to Nyx. She’s still flesh and blood to him. Still real in a way I can no longer fathom. We lost her over a year ago, but he didn’t.

“I told you a few weeks ago that I loved you,” he says behind my back.

“Yes.”

“It only took me a year to move on from her?”

The wobble in his voice shatters me. My vision blurs.

Reese acts fast. His hands slide up my arms, around my back, and he tugs me into his chest. I close my eyes, allowing him to hug me as the emotions rush through me.

I hate this part.

The part that instantly, viciously craves the drugs that can sweep these feelings away and replace it with a rush of euphoria instead. My skin crawls. My chest is hollow.

Finally, it fades. Like a tide receding, the need ebbs away. I take a breath, then another. Reese’s cedar scent is familiar. Comforting.

“Okay,” I mumble against his chest.

“Okay, golden girl,” he murmurs, his lips in my hair.

When I glance over my shoulder, checking for Saint, my heart sinks.

He’s gone.