Page 18 of Twisted Violet

“I did it.” I repeat. “Not you. Me.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Her lips tremble, and her fingers twitch like they don’t know whether to reach for me or to cover her face. So I make the choice for her.

I step forward slowly, crouch in front of her in the mud, and pick the gun up from where it’s half-buried next to her.

Then, I carefully reach out and wipe the blood from her hands with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

“Come on,” I say gently, not quite touching her. “We can’t stay here.”

She doesn’t argue. She just nods. Silent and small.

I get her in the passenger seat.

She shakes so hard it looks like her bones might snap in half. I crank the heat and grab a towel from the trunk, an old scratchy one I normally use to wipe down my windows.

She doesn’t complain when I wrap it around her shoulders. She doesn’t flinch when I buckle her seatbelt for her.She just watches me with those wide green eyes as I slip into the driver’s seat.

She stares out the window the entire drive. She doesn’t ask where we’re going. She probably thinks I’m taking her back to the safe house to meet up with Rome and Dallas.I’m not.

I’m taking her to our penthouse. She’ll be at peace there. Less questions. Fewer eyes.

She finally speaks when we’re halfway down the winding back road that leads to our apartment building.

“I really didn’t want him to die, you know,” she whispers.

I don’t look at her.

“I know.” I say. “But, I did.”

She’s quiet for a long time.

Then she asks, “Why?”

My hands tighten on the wheel.

Because my hands are already stained.

Because yours shouldn’t have to be.

Because if he wasn’t dead already, I would’ve killed him for touching you.

“It’s my job.” I say simply.

She doesn’t ask where we are when I pull into the underground garage and doesn’t blink when I enter the code that opens the steel security gate. She just stares down at her hands, like she’s trying to forget they ever held a gun.

The engine cuts and the silence swells.

“I’m taking you upstairs,” I say. “You can sleep. Shower. Burn your clothes, if you want.”

She finally looks at me. “Where are we?”

“Our place.”

Her brow creases. “Wait, your… actual home?”

I nod once.

She stares. “I didn’t know you guys had a home.”