Page 86 of Silas

“My eyes,” I say, making an effort to speak at a normal volume, which feels like I’m whispering.

“Yeah, it sucks. The effects should wear off soon.”

I blink hard a few more times, but the effects have to fade on their own, it seems. The ringing is less acute, but still there.

I look around the room: at least half a dozen bodies lay sprawled on the floor, writhing in pain. I hear groans of pain, now, still muffled and faint.

“Let’s go, babe,” Silas says, making sure he’s in line of sight.

He takes my hand and leads me across the room, helping me step over bodies. I recognize several of them as Papa’s men. Outside, I recognize one of Papa’s men, an ugly, despicable man named Jim. He’s the one I saw during the fight; he’s on the ground just outside the room, clutching his bleeding thigh, a gunshot low down near his knee.

I crouch beside him. “I want you to pass a message on to my father for me, Jim.”

His eyes fix on me, small and dark and beady and cruel. “Fuck you, bitch. You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

I ignore his outburst, keep my voice calm and even. “Tell my father that he will never lay eyes on me again. Tell him that if I do see him again, I’ll kill him myself.”

I don’t know where the words are coming from, where the bold strength is coming from, but I let it flow through me, and lean into it.

“Tell my father I don’t belong to him. Tell Jerry I don’t belong to him. I belong to myself. I won’t go back. He can send as many men after me as he wants to, but he’ll never have me back. He won’t win. He can try, but he’ll die trying.”

Jim tries to spit up at me but only manages to get it in his own eye.

I can’t help but laugh at that. “Tell my—tell Bud that for me, okay Jim?” I stand up and see Silas staring at me with an amused, proud expression on his face. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’ve just come a long way in a very short time, is all.”

“I told you. I woke up. I’m finding myself.” I know Jim is watching, so I cross to Silas and plaster myself against him, planting a short but scorching kiss on his lips. “Let’s get out of here, Silas.”

Silas glances down at Jim, and a mischievous expression crosses his face. “Hold on. I have an idea.” He crouches beside Jim and presses the barrel of his pistol against Jim’s groin. “I won’t kill you, but I can sure as fuck shoot your tiny little dick off without killing you.”

Jim tenses and then goes still. “What do you want?”

“Your phone.”

Jim digs it out of a pocket with a pained grunt, hands it to Silas.

“Open it,” Silas orders. “Bring up your thread with that fuckstain who calls himself her father.”

Jim complies. Silas taps the phone and then stands up: he’s recording a video. He strolls through the maze of groaning, writhing bodies, the flash illuminating them. He makes a circuit of the room and then returns to standing over Jim, pointing the phone down at the man.

“Say hi, Jim.”

“Fuck you.”

“Now now, Jim, that’s not very nice.” Silas steps on his wounded thigh, eliciting a howl of pain. “I said, say hi.”

“Hi,” Jim says through gritted teeth.

Silas moves to stand next to me, turning the phone around to point it at us. He slings his arm around my shoulder and tucks me up against his side in a cozy, affectionate embrace. I understand his game and play into it by leaning against him, smiling up at him with an expression that hopefully conveys my feelings for him: he hung the very moon, I absolutely adore him, and I’d go anywhere with him.

It’s the truth.

Silas cups my jaw and turns my face to his, and we kiss. Long, deep, passionately.

Silas turns back to the phone. “Buddy Ibsen, you’re a piece of shit. Jim has a message for you from Naomi, but I’ll let him convey that to you. I just hope those pathetic losers over there weren’t your A-team. Cut your losses, Buddy. Let it go. You’ll lethergo if you know what’s good for you.”

He cuts the video there, and I hear thebloopas the message is sent. He tosses the phone onto Jim’s chest.