Page 44 of Scarred in Silence (The Twisted Trilogy #2)
Lucien
The road hums beneath the tires like a lullaby I don’t deserve.
I grip the wheel tighter, knuckles bone-white, jaw locked so tight it feels like my teeth might shatter. The moonlight spills across the hood of the car, slicing the desert in half, and still, I can’t breathe right.
She’s sitting beside me.
Silent.
Watching me the way you watch a bomb tick down.
She doesn’t know that’s what I am. Not really.
I don’t speak. I can’t.
Because if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to stop.
Damien’s face won’t leave me.
That smug fucking smile. That effortless cool. The way he walks through life like he owns it. Like, I was just born to orbit around his shine.
I killed him. I did. I fucking ended him.
And yet… he stood ten feet from me in the lobby of Club Muse like a ghost I forgot to bury deep enough.
The silence between us stretches so long I almost convince myself I’ve imagined everything. But then Astra speaks.
“You okay?”
I laugh. It slips out without warning—sharp, bitter, and hollow.
“Define okay.”
She doesn’t answer. Smart girl.
I press harder on the gas, watch the desert fly past in streaks of darkness. My throat is dry. My palms are slick. There’s blood in my mouth, but I haven’t been hit. Not tonight.
It’s old blood. Brother blood. The kind that never really washes off.
“I should’ve made sure he was dead,” I say. Quiet. Like I’m confessing something holy.
Astra looks at me, but I keep my eyes on the road.
“I shot him. Twice. Watched him fall. Watched the light leave his eyes.”
I pause.
“Or thought I did.”
She’s quiet. I feel her watching me, and it makes something tighten in my chest. Something ugly. Something alive.
“I did everything right. Everything was the way I was taught. You shoot. You confirm. You walk away.”
I finally glance at her. “But I didn’t drag his corpse to the fire. I didn’t make sure.”
I slam the steering wheel once with my palm, the sound like a gunshot in the confined space.
“Fucking idiot. Rookie mistake. I wanted revenge, but I couldn’t finish the fucking job. I just wanted him gone.”
Her hand finds my leg, tentative.
I flinch.
My voice drops, rough around the edges. “I wasn’t supposed to be the favorite. I wasn’t supposed to take the crown. Damien was Dad’s masterpiece. I was just the blade he kept sharp in case shit got messy.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat.
“But I was the one who got my hands dirty. Not him. I was the one who cleaned up everyone else’s mistakes. And he—he went behind our backs. Sold our fucking name to traffickers. Signed off on rival drug routes. Killed kids with his pills and smiled while doing it.”
Astra’s hand tightens.
“I tried to fix it,” I whisper. “I pulled the trigger and left my brother to rot in the dark. And he’s still alive.”
I grit my teeth.
“He’s still winning.”
“You saved me,” she says. “That has to count for something.”
I can’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t save you for you.”
That gets her attention. I can feel her body stiffen beside me.
“I saved you because I wanted to be better than him,” I admit. “I wanted to prove I wasn’t the monster they made. That I could build something, not just destroy it.”
I glance at her then. “But I don’t think I can. Not really.”
I pause, then say it. The truth that’s been rotting in the pit of me for years.
“I don’t think I know how to be anything except him.”
The silence in the car turns suffocating.
Then, she speaks.
“Lucien, you’re not him. You didn’t leave me in that fucking trailer. You didn’t sell me.”
I look at her, and it cuts because she believes it.
She believes I’m good. Somewhere deep down, she still wants to believe I’m redeemable.
That I’m not a mirror image of the man who destroyed both of us.
I pull the car over suddenly, dust kicking up around the tires, engine idling in the quiet heat.
Astra blinks at me, confused. “What are you doing?”
I turn to her fully, breathing hard. “I need you to hear me.”
She nods.
“If he comes near you again—if he even breathes your name—I’ll put a bullet in his eye and carve my name into his ribs. I’ll go full fucking psycho and I won’t stop until there’s nothing left of him but ash and echo.”
Her mouth opens, then closes again.
I press a hand to her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
“I would end the world for you, Astra.”
Her lips part, but I cut her off.
“I don’t need you to say it back. I just need you to understand what I’ll do to protect you.”
The weight in my chest loosens, just enough.
I lean forward, press my forehead to hers.
And for the first time in hours, I breathe.
Then I shift the car back into drive, pull onto the road again, and head for home.
I don’t know what awaits us when we get there.
But for now, she’s with me.
And Damien?
He’s not safe anymore. Never has been.
* * *
She doesn’t say anything when we walk in. Just slips her finger s through mine like it’s always been this easy.
It hasn’t.
The door clicks shut behind us. The silence in the house is thick enough to drown in.
My ribs ache from the weight of it.
I should be holding it together. I should be planning our next move and tracking Damien. Fortifying the compound. But I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I saw his face. I saw his fucking face, and all I could think was, he’s still alive .
And now the walls are too close and my head is full of things I buried a year ago under blood and concrete.
I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress shifts beneath me. I drop my head into my hands.
I don’t know who I am without the rage. I don’t know who I am when I’m not playing God, executioner, or savior. I only know that I killed my brother, and he didn’t fucking stay dead.
I feel her before I see her.
Kneeling between my knees, soft hands resting on my thighs.
I try to look away.
I don’t deserve softness.
“Lucien,” she whispers, and her voice is everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I swore I wouldn’t need.
She peels my fingers from my face, one by one. Forces me to look at her.
And fuck, she’s not afraid. Not even now. Not of the blood on my soul or the ghosts in my eyes.
“I’m still here,” she says.
I nod. I believe her. But I don’t know why.
Her hands grip my hoodie, peeling it off my head. My skin is burning and frozen all at once. Her lips press against the scar o n my chest—that old wound no one ever cared to ask about.
When she sinks down between my legs again, it’s not lust. It’s reverence.
She parts her plump lips and slides her mouth down the shaft of my cock. It hardens quickly.
It’s difficult to think about anything else right now besides her perfect fucking mouth.
She strips me of the guilt without saying a word. Gives me something real to anchor to.
My hands end up tangled in her hair, knuckles white, but I don’t push. I don’t command. I just breathe, for the first time since the car.
She works herself up and down on my cock, teasing me with her tongue. She moans around it, and I let out a groan. She is so fucking hot. My little Siren.
I feel her tight throat suctioning to my length perfectly. She slides up and down, until I feel myself swell in the back of her throat. Fuck.
I release my load down her throat, and she moans in pleasure.
By the time she’s finished, my heart is racing, but the storm is quiet.
She climbs into bed beside me without waiting for permission. Doesn’t need it.
I pull her against my chest, burying my face in her hair. The smell of honey comforts me.
“I thought you’d use the gun,” I murmur.
She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “I didn’t want to make it that easy on you.”
A short, breathless laugh escapes me. “Fair enough.”
We lie there in the dark for a long time.
I don’t want to break the peace. But I owe her honesty. So I whisper:
“You’re going to see them next week. Your parents. I talked to Gideon while we were driving to the compound.”
She doesn’t say anything. Just traces the lines on my ribs with her fingertip.
“You said I was your sentence,” I add, “Maybe I am. But I want to be the part you survive.”
Her breath catches.
And for once, we fall asleep at the same time.
Not as a monster and captive. Not as addict and savior.
Only as two broken things trying to fit together.