Page 5 of Twisted Violet (Lovesick Villains #4)

FOUR

VIOLET

The call from Atlas came early this morning.

He didn’t give me much detail, but what he said stuck with me.

Stevie’s awake. Not speaking yet, but very much alive, alert, and breathing on her own.

I didn’t tell Rome, Dallas, or Niko the news.

Ever since my little breakdown a few days ago, they’ve all been keeping their distance from me.

They’re trying to hide it, but I can sense the shift. I feel it in every conversation that trails off the moment I enter the room.

I’ve overstayed my welcome. That much is clear, and maybe it’s pathetic, but I’d rather pull away now than wait for them to finally get the nerve to say it.

So once I ended the call, I packed my things, called a taxi, and headed straight to the hospital.

Now I’m standing just outside of her room, trying to find the courage to walk in .

She’s in there.

I can see her through the window. She’s propped up slightly with her eyes open, blinking slowly like it’s hard for her to stay awake. Her face is bruised, her throat is bandaged, and there’s a bunch of wires sticking to her.

But she’s awake.

That’s good. That’s everything.

Her guys are all stationed around her room like personal guard dogs. Cyrus is holding her hand. Tristan is brushing her hair behind her ear. Atlas is speaking with her nurse. And Ezra is watching her heart monitor like it might try to pull something over on him.

My stomach knots. My fingers twitch against the strap of my bag.

They look so happy. So in love. Like they’ve lived a hundred lifetimes together and would still choose her in the next.

I shift my weight and the strap of my bag bites into my shoulder.

God, I don’t want to intrude. This feels like a moment that belongs to them. Something sacred and hard-won. I should come back later.

Besides, watching them orbit around her like she’s gravity itself is hard enough to watch out here; I can’t imagine what it’d be like to see it up close.

I’m happy for Stevie. Of course I am. But seeing them together is also a reminder of everything I’ll never have. I’ve already accepted that love like that isn’t made for someone like me, but that doesn’t stop it from stinging a little every time I see it.

I turn to leave, and just as I’m about to walk away, Stevie spots me and gestures for me to come in .

I set my bag on the floor and step inside before I can talk myself out of it.

I approach her bedside, and she grabs my hand and gives it a weak squeeze. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s like I can feel what she’s thinking.

She’s okay.

We’re okay.

Everyone is okay.

I sit there for hours with her, not saying much. Just holding her hand and trying not to cry. I want to say thank you. I want to say I’m sorry. But none of the words will come out.

Eventually, a team of nurses comes in to check her vitals.

I step out of the room to give them space, and Atlas follows behind me.

“Hey,” he says gently, keeping his eyes on Stevie through the window, “You doing okay?”

I nod. “What are the doctors saying?”

“She’s okay. She’ll heal.”

I glance at her. “Good.”

He tilts his head and eyes the duffel bag I left out by the door. “What’s in the bag?”

Embarrassment warms my cheeks.

“Yeah, um, about that. I was wondering if-”

“The guest house is yours.” He says, cutting me off.

I furrow my brow. “Wait… what?”

“It has been since the minute we learned about you,” he says simply. “Move in. Stevie would want that. So would we.”

I blink, thrown by the certainty in his voice. “Are you sure?”

He takes his eyes off Stevie to meet mine. “You’re family. Stay as long as you like. Stay forever if you want.”

My throat tightens. “Thanks,” I murmur. “I, um… I guess I’ll swing by later to drop off my stuff.”

“Might as well go now.” He says with a shrug. “The nurses are going to take her in for more testing in a few minutes. Here.” He says, pulling out his keys and tossing them at me. “Take my car.”

I stare at him, a little dumbfounded. Just like that?

“Thanks.” I say, averting my gaze. “Do you guys need me to grab anything while I’m there?”

He nods.

“I’ve got a bag packed for Stevie. A black leather duffle sitting in the foyer by the stairs. Bring it back with you?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, kid. I’ll text you the gate code.”

He squeezes my shoulder gently and heads back into Stevie’s room without another word.

The rain is coming down hard by the time I reach the gates at the edge of The Reapers’ estate. The headlights cut through the downpour in hazy beams, lighting up the massive black iron bars ahead.

Rain lashes across the windshield in wild streaks, blurring the stone pillars and the ivy-cloaked walls.

I put the car in park, leave the engine running, and just sit there for a second.

The gate doesn’t move .

No lights flash. No comforting click of an automatic unlock. Just the sound of rain hammering the roof, and the faint hiss of the heater.

Oh right.

Atlas sent me the code.

I reach for my phone and spot the keypad box mounted to a post right beside me. It's one of those sleek metal boxes fitted with a security camera and recessed buttons. I’ve never actually used one before, but it shouldn’t be too difficult.

I roll down the window and lean toward the keypad, holding my phone in one hand, while the other hovers over the buttons.

The rain hits immediately, slicing across my arm and dripping down the inside of my sleeve. The metal keys are slick, and my fingers are shaking from the cold.

I punch in the first number, then the second.

My thumb slips on the third.

The red light flashes.

Denied.

I suck in a breath and wipe my hand on my jeans.

The rain is pounding now, slapping me in the face like it’s personal. My hoodie’s soaked up to my shoulder, and my hair’s already sticking to my face.

I tap the panel again, slower this time, pressing hard, trying to make it register. But the buttons are slippery. Cold. The ridges barely give under pressure, and I can’t tell if I’ve hit the right number or if the damn thing’s just ignoring me.

I squint at the blurry little LED above the pad and water streams into my eyes.

The red light flashes, and it feels like it’s mocking me.

I drop my forehead against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Fine.”

I throw the car in park, shove the door open, and step into the downpour.

The air hits me like ice. Soaking my clothes in seconds, and my boots sink into the muddy gravel.

Something shifts in the hedge. A rustle maybe. Or wind. But the rain’s so loud I can’t tell the difference anymore.

I pull the hood tighter and trudge to the keypad, shielding my phone with one hand while I try to press the numbers with the other. My thumb hesitates on the fourth digit.

The light flashes green.

Finally.

I let out a breath and step back, shoulders sagging as I slip my phone back into my pocket.

And then, something moves behind me.

A crunch of gravel. That’s all the warning I get before something crashes into me. I’m pushed so hard my boots skid on the mud and my breath flies out of me in a sharp, ugly gasp.

The keypad light blinks uselessly in front of me as a man’s arm snakes around my neck and drags me backward into the shadows between the stone wall and the hedges lining the drive.

I scream but it’s useless. It’s drowned out by the rain and muffled by his hand over my mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls into my ear, his breath hot and sour. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

I kick. Slam my elbow back. Nothing works. His grip is like steel, and the rain’s so loud now I can barely hear myself think, let alone fight.

He jerks me harder, nearly lifting me off the ground before slamming me hard against the keypad post. My head hits the metal, and stars explode behind my eyes.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, “He’ll have my head for that.”

Panic tears through me.

He’s going to take me.

He’s going to bring me back to him.

No.

NO, NO, NO.

I claw at his arm, nails digging into skin and drawing blood. He grunts and jerks back, just enough to loosen his grip, then shoves me off of him.

I stumble, hit the gravel hard, and my hands slam into mud and rock, but my momentum carries me, and I roll, slamming shoulder-first into the front fender of Atlas’s car.

My face lands just beneath the edge of the open driver’s door.

That’s when I see it.

A glint of black beneath the seat.

Tucked in tight, almost hidden.

Atlas’s gun.

I lunge for it.

The man grabs my ankle behind me, trying to drag me back, but I twist, scrambling half-under the dashboard.

My fingers close around the grip.

Safety’s already off.

I roll onto my back, raise the weapon with both hands, and fire.

Bang.

He stumbles, lets go, and grunts in pain.

I scramble up to my feet and fire again.

Bang.

This time, he drops .

I hit the ground hard, knees slamming into wet gravel. The gun falls from my grip with a clatter.

My stomach heaves, and a stream of vomit forces itself out.

Rain is everywhere. In my eyes, in my mouth, and soaking through all of my clothes.

I can’t hear anything except the pounding in my chest.

My lungs are working but I can’t feel the air.

I want to run, I want to scream, but I can’t.

I just sit there, frozen, staring at the lifeless body in horror.

I don’t know if he’s breathing, I don’t know if I hit anything that matters, I just know he’s not moving, and I can’t deal with this alone.

I reach for my phone with fingers that don’t feel like mine and swipe blindly at the screen. It takes three tries to find his name.

Niko.

I press the call button and bring the phone to my ear.

He answers on the second ring.

“Vi?” His voice is low, clipped. Alert.

Just hearing his voice on the other end makes me breathe easier.

I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out.

Just a breath. Then another.

“Talk to me.”

“Niko.” My voice splinters. “I need you.”

Silence on the other end.

Quiet. Focused. Lethal.

“Where are you?”

“The gate,” I whisper. “Stevie’s house.”

“On my way.”