Page 73 of Not Her Day to Die

Darius squeezes his arm tighter around me and Axel and Grayson whip around to face me.

Their faces are coated in concern, pinched brows, flattened lips, clenched jaws.

“I’m okay,” I say. “We’re okay.”

Axel clearly doesn’t believe me, but he remains silent. Watching me with a critical intensity instead.

“No, you’re not okay, Sunday.” Grayson stares down at me.

“Come on Wildflower, let’s get you cleaned up.” Darius readjusts, helping me out of the bed.

Neither of the other brothers move an inch, allowing Darius to physically lift me out of the bed, to carry me to the bathroom.

He sets me gently down on the counter, but I stretch out, grabbing hold of his shirt.

“Don’t leave me.” I’m scared.

Not of Darius, but of what will happen if I’m left alone.

But I don’t voice that part. I don’t want to admit it out loud.

Darius brushes my hair behind my ears, gathers my cheeks in his hands and stares directly into my soul.

“Sunday, I am never,evergoing to be separated from you again. I love you, Wildflower. You are so brave and strong and you are everything I never hoped to dream of. But we need to get you cleaned up, get you out of these clothes. Are you sure you’re okay if I help you with this part? After…after what happened?” His eyes turn glassy as he speaks.

It’s my turn to lift my hands up and cup his cheeks. “Darius, you made an impossible encounter as good as it possibly could be. I will never blame you for that. Never blame you for who your father is. I love you.”

He breathes out, heavy and long. As if he were holding the air in his lungs waiting for me to abscond him of his guilt.

He drops his hold on me, but I focus on his eyes. How deep and dark the circles are under them, how he is clearly exhausted. “But youshouldblame me. I’m a Thorne. I fucked you on a stage in front of–”

Leaning forward, I cut him off with my lips. Pressing and pushing as much as I can into the kiss. My feelings, my emotional turmoil, how muchI care about him, how I don’t blame him at all. And when enough time passes that I feel I have gotten the message across, I pull back.

“We’ll just have to dothatagain. Under better circumstances,” I say. Glancing down at myself for the first time, I see that I am still in the silky pajamas I was in before. Except now they’re sprayed in blood.

Darius follows my gaze and his lips hook downwards. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

It takes several beats to realize what he means. Even more to remember exactly what I had done. There is a thick cloud between the memory and me. As if I wasn’t myself in that instance, but someone else entirely.

“Can I get cleaned up now?” I ask in a small voice.

Darius doesn’t answer, instead helping me off the counter. He turns to start the shower and I discard the offending clothes off my body. I understand why they might not have wanted to change me while I was unconscious, but I almost wish they had. The clothes themselves are an unwelcome memory and the blood spattered across them is even more so.

When Darius twists back around, I don’t think he expects me to be fully naked, and his mouth opens in surprise.

“Wildflower,” he warns. “What are you doing?”

“Shower with me?” I reach forward slowly so that he can stop me and tug up on his shirt.

Darius eyes me warily. “Okay, but just because I don’t trust you to not fall in here. Since you have a habit of it.”

A soft chuckle escapes me at the memories.

He’s not wrong.

Shedding the rest of his clothes, he helps me into the shower, and I do my best to keep my attention on his face. I want more than anything to rewrite my first encounter with Darius, to supersede it with a hundred better ones, but right now I just want to get clean. To wash away the blood.

Mark’s blood.