Page 42

Reign

I wait across the street from the police station, tucked into the shadow between two buildings, hood up, black baseball cap low over my eyes.

My head is down, and my hands are in the pockets of my coat.

I’ve been standing here for forty-two minutes while the cold crept in, but I don’t feel it.

All I feel is the steady pulse behind my eyes, like a countdown.

Angelique’s safe back at the guesthouse. Lando’s with her, thank fuck, and he’s good at distracting. My phone buzzes in my palm and when I glance at the screen and see Terry’s name blinking up at me, I answer it.

“What?” I growl.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks, unfazed by my grouchiness. “You think she’ll be ready?”

“Too early to say,” I mutter, eyes still on the front doors. “She’s been through hell. She can barely get through the day without shutting down, let alone stand in front of an audience.”

There’s a pause.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Makes sense. I’ll hold rehearsals and shuffle the order to give her a few more days to breathe.”

“Give her a week,” I correct. “I’ll have a better answer by then.”

“Alright.” Another pause. “Are you okay?”

The doors of the station slide open, and Alec strolls out wearing a smug fucking smile, his nose bandaged after I broke it last night.

I grind my teeth; guess I’ll just have to break it some more until he can’t fucking smile at all.

He walks easily, not even a limp to show for what happened outside of Imperium.

Time to change that.

I hang up on Terry without another word and watch as Alec crosses the street.

According to detective Powell, because the rape happened in the U.S.

, British police couldn’t touch him on that.

All they could do was charge him for public indecency and attempted sexual assault.

Wendy’s video got him in the door, but not in the cell. And even that was reduced to a warning.

A warning. That’s all he got for all the pain he’s caused.

The justice system is a joke, so here I am, about to give him my version of a warning.

As much as I want to kill the bastard, that would be too easy.

I want him alive for what I’m about to do.

And I’ll be sure he feels it every single day for the rest of his life.

Because after tonight, Alec will never dance again.

It’s the least he deserves after everything he put my Angel through.

I slip out of the shadows and follow him as he turns off the main road, heading down a narrow pedestrian path between two buildings—construction fencing on one side, graffiti-covered brick on the other. It’s quiet and empty; no witnesses to see what I’m about to do .

Stupid bastard.

He doesn’t hear me until I’m right behind him. “Hey, dickface.”

He turns, just in time to see my fist slam into his nose. The hit sends him staggering back, sunglasses flying off his head, blood spurting from his nose as he catches himself on the wall, crying out in pain.

His eyes find mine and go round when he realizes it’s me. “Reign!?”

Another punch—harder—this one to the gut. He doubles over with a grunt, wheezing, so I grab him by the collar and slam him into the brick wall behind him, his head cracking against it.

“Didn’t think I’d let you just walk away, did you?” I hiss.

His eyes go wide. “Reign—Reign buddy, don’t—fuck, you don’t want to do this?—”

“I do , ” I admit, unable to hold back the laugh that bubbles out of me. “I’ve wanted to since the day I heard her scream your name in her sleep, begging you to stop.”

I let go just long enough for him to scramble back, and then I kick his leg out from under him. He crumples to the ground, hands out in front of him.

“Please,” he whimpers, voice cracking. “Please, man?—”

I don’t stop as I lift my foot and bring it down on his knee. The crack is immediate and his scream echoes down the alley, high and shrill. He rolls to his side, clutching his leg, sobbing, and I crouch beside him, grab his collar again, and force him to look at me.

“One more,” I growl. “To match the other.”

I stand and stomp down on the other knee, closing my eyes to the delicious sound of his scream, more desperate now. I don’t feel guilty, only cold and vicious clarity. He’ll struggle to ever walk right again, and he most definitely will never dance again.

He’ll never think about touching someone like her again. Because now, every time he looks at his own fucking legs, he’ll remember me . I stare down at him, broken and wailing on the concrete, and then I pull my hood up, turn, and walk away without a word.

By the time I get back to the guesthouse, the moon’s high, and my fists are stiff with dried blood.

I quietly slip through the front door, wanting to wash off before Angelique sees me like this.

The glow from the TV bathes the living room in soft blue, and I spot her curled up on the couch asleep in a nest of blankets, her curls wild across the cushion.

Lando’s at the other end of the couch, nursing a glass of wine, his legs stretched out.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears me and when his eyes drop to my bloodied hands, he lowers his drink.

He stands up and walks over to me, his eyes never leaving the blood crusted across my knuckles, looking up at me when he comes to a stop.

“Please tell me that’s Alec’s.”

I nod once. “He won’t be dancing again.”

Probably won’t be walking right either.

Cold satisfaction flashes in his eyes as his jaw clenches. “Good. I’m glad one of us could avenge her.” He glances back at Angelique, his expression softening. “She didn’t want to eat anything today. I'm worried about her.”

I follow his gaze to where she lies asleep on the couch, her lips slightly parted.

“She’s not herself,” Lando says quietly, rubbing his arm. “I feel like we’re losing her. ”

The knot in my throat pulls tight as I step further into the room, closer to the couch, watching her chest rise and fall.

She looks at peace, but I know it’s not real.

As soon as she wakes up and the memories come crashing down, she’ll go back to self-destruction mode, but I’m determined to save her from it.

“I’ll take care of her,” I say, but under all my determination is fear because I’ve taken revenge, but I haven’t saved her yet. And that’s what terrifies me most.

I head down the hall, leaving Lando behind in the blue-tinted dark.

The door to the bathroom clicks shut behind me, and I turn on the water, letting it run hot while I peel off my coat and shirt.

Dried blood cracks along my knuckles as I flex them under the faucet, watching Alec’s remnants swirl pink down the drain.

My skin is raw and split in places, but the sting doesn’t bother me. Not really.

I brace my hands on the edge of the sink, my head bowed, steam curling up into my lungs until it hurts to breathe.

The man in the mirror doesn’t look like me anymore.

He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and that’s because I haven’t.

Not since she started slipping through my fingers again.

I press my forehead to the cool mirror and close my eyes.

You protected her. That’s what matters.

That’s the voice I’ve been clinging to—the one that sounds like reason. But underneath it is the other voice, the one I try to drown out every time I look at her and see nothing looking back, the one whispering what I don’t want to admit.

You’re losing her.

And this time, if she goes… she’s not coming back.

Not like last time—when she left for New York and I found excuses to be in the city just to check in on her.

Not like wh en I watched her from the shadows, convincing myself I didn’t love her because it hurt too much to want someone who wasn’t mine.

No. This time, she wouldn’t just leave the country, she’d leave this world , and if I lose her… I won’t come back from that either.

Angelique is still asleep when I return to the living room, the flicker of the TV playing across her skin. Lando’s at the door, dressed to leave, and when he spots me, he gives me a quick wave before walking out.

I kneel next to her, careful not to wake her, and watch for a while. Her lashes flutter now and then, like she’s dreaming—hopefully about something good. Her hand is tucked under her cheek, and I reach for it carefully, brushing my fingers over hers.

The guilt comes next, because I wish I’d killed him. Not for me, but for the peace I want to put back inside her. But if I’d done that, I’d be risking prison and never seeing her again, and I don’t think I can survive in a world without Angelique next to me.

I lower my head and kiss her bandaged wrist, causing her to stir but not wake.

“I’m still here,” I whisper into her skin. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you find your way back.”

Her fingers curl tighter around mine, the tiniest squeeze—instinctive but still unconscious—and it wrecks me.

I let out a shaky breath and rise slowly, careful not to wake her.

Then I bend down and slide one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back, curling her up against my chest. She rests her head against me like she belongs there, because she does, and maybe that’s the only thing I know for sure anymore.

Her curls brush my chin as I carry her down the hall, her body warm and weightless in my arms. I press my face into her hair and breathe her in, grounding myself in the scent of her before pushing open her bedroom door with my foot, crossing the room in the dark, and laying her gently onto the mattress.

She makes a soft noise, brows twitching, but doesn’t wake.

I slide in next to her, pulling the blankets up, and curl my body around hers, tucking her into my chest.

My arm loops around her waist, pressing her back into me, and for the first time in days, the storm inside me goes quiet. When I close my eyes, I fall asleep fast, because holding her like this is the only thing that still makes sense.