Page 93 of Vow of Vengeance

I need Violet. Wes. Marissa.

Maybe not Marissa. I don't know how she'll help Soren process whatever just happened to her, given that she's going through her own shit. But maybe seeing each other will help. I have to hope that for now, it's enough, because I won't be able to help once I'm arrested for homicide.

When I slide into the driver's seat, exhaustion floods through me, making my limbs heavy now that the adrenaline is waning.

I turn to glance at her, to see her one more time, to convince myself she's okay.

But she's clearly not.

I didn't see it sooner because of how she pressed herself against me.

Now that I've gotten enough space to see her, I notice the way the fabric of my shirt clings to her skin in some spots.

"Soren..." I grip her chin just lightly enough to angle her face toward me.

Her eyes are closed softly, and she looks serene.

All traces of the hell she went through are gone as her wet lashes rest on her delicate skin... skin that's covered in blood.

thirty-four

Soren

"Soren?"Thevoicecallingto me sounds far away. Too far. I'm too tired to look that far.

"Ren?"

I don't know who's calling to me, or why they won't leave me alone. I don 't want to see anyone. I just want to sleep. The darkness is so comfortable.

"Wake up, Soren."

Through the fog of my exhaustion, the last word rings a bell somewhere in my mind. The voice is familiar.

"Come on, Miss Palmer. I know you hurt, but we need you to wake up now..."

I don't know that voice; I don't even know that they're talking to me.

"Ren..."

There it is again.Thatis the voice I recognize.

How do I recognize it?

I hear the voices speaking, but they tangle together. The words aren't distinct but muddled. Trying to figure them out takes too much effort.

"Please..." It's soft, light. Delicate, feminine.

Mom?

No, that doesn't make sense. Mom died years ago, on the bridge...

Was it years ago? It feels like it was.

It feels like...

"Come on, Little Bird."

I know that voice. My body knows that voice, maybe better than my brain, because it chases away the darkness enough for my eyes to attempt to open.