Page 21 of Revenge Saints

I turn slowly to Knox, who’s lying on the bed beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist.

“You stayed here all night?”

He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all.

“We all did,” he says, nodding toward the two mismatched couches shoved against the walls.

They stayed… all of them stayed with me.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know why I say it. Maybe it’s the guilt, knowing I made them worry. I’m not supposed to be this person, the helpless one.

“Don’t do that.” Knox’s cuts through my thoughts.

“Do what?” I ask, brushing it off as I turn toward him.

He smirks, his tone lighter but knowing. “Overthink shit.”

“I wasn’t,” I lie, crossing my arms as I try to move my leg, but the pain hits like a blade to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, pet. I see right through you.”

His eyes locked on mine, and my heartbeat stumbles, quickens. My thoughts betray me, drifting to him, to Dante… to the way they both took care of me. How they both made me feel like I mattered.

“You can take a bath now.” Max walks in, holding a roll of plastic wrap. He kneels beside me and gently lifts my injured leg, starting to wrap it around my thigh gently.

“This will keep it dry. I’ll make a fresh one after you’re cleaned up.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, staring at my leg. It feels like something’s still embedded deep beneath the skin, throbbing with every movement.

I shift to the edge of the bed and try to stand. The moment my foot hits the ground, I stumble; Max’s arms catch me before I fall.

Knox exhales hard. “Stop being so fucking stubborn and let us help.”

“I just wanted to try walking on my own!” I snap, twisting toward him.

He’s still sprawled out on the bed, legs parted, arms behind his head, that damn devilish smirk tugging at his lips like he’s enjoying the show.

“Just get to the bathtub, pet.”

I glare at Knox, arms crossing tight over my chest like I’mholding myself together with bone and spite. Who the hell does he think he is? This isn’t his base. He doesn’t get to bark orders at me. Not anymore.

Something inside me twists. Too tight. Too hot. It’s been building—grief, rage, confusion—and I don’t know where to put it.

“I’ll go when I want to, Knox,” I snarl, tone sharp enough to draw blood. My eyes lock onto his, daring him to try again. Daring someone to give me a reason.

He sits up slowly, every muscle in his chest and arms coiling, tension winding beneath his skin, but the smirk stays, lazy and maddening.

“Let’s not poke the fucking bear, sweetheart,” Max cuts in with amusement. Before I can react, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing, and I yelp, startled.

He carries me out of the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, setting me gently on the cool wooden floor.

“I warmed up some water earlier; it’s probably gone lukewarm by now, but-”

“It’s fine, Max. Thank you.” I say, offering him a small smile.

He turns to leave, hand on the doorframe, but pauses. “We’re going to get him back,” he says quietly. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t wait for a reply. The door shuts behind him before I can speak.

My heart clenches like it’s being squeezed in someone’s fist.