I’d just killed a man, and now I was no better than the guys. Blood was on my hands now, and I could no longer turn my face away and feign innocence to the dark, violent world they were involved in.
Princess Danvers was long gone. If this didn't prove it, nothing would.
Maybe I was a D'Ath after all.
16
Steele stood there with me for ages, just hugging me to his body and not speaking. He didn't whisper platitudes or reassurances. He just held me while I pressed my face to his chest and let the adrenaline, fear, and shock ebb from my bloodstream.
His embrace said more than any words ever could. It told me that no matter what else was going on, no matter how much unresolved bullshit there was between us, he was still there for me. When I needed him—and I did—he was there for me, unquestioningly.
When the trembles finally subsided, Steele silently coaxed me around the side of the cabin to where his car was parked. He popped the passenger door open for me, and I slid inside without a protest.
It wasn't until we’d driven away from the cabin—without Kody and Archer—that I looked over at Steele.
"Where are we going?" I asked him. My voice came out quiet and kind of hollow.
I’d just killed a man.
Steele looked back at me, holding my gaze longer than he should have, considering he was taking the mountain road much faster than the legal speed limit. That was something that should have frightened me, given my history with car crashes, but it didn't.
Was I broken?
"I'm taking you home, MK," he replied, shifting his gaze back to the road.
I frowned. "What about..." I trailed off, unable to finish that sentence out loud. I didn't need to, though. Steele knew where my head was at.
"Kody and Archer can fucking clean up that mess. It's the least they can do after hogging all your time today while I was doing the dirty work."
It shouldn't have been funny, but a smile pulled at my lips anyway. He was just so fucking casual about torturing that guy... and about me killing him. Then again, after what Kody had told me about the Tri-State Timberwolves, I shouldn't be so surprised. Steele was no stranger to violence and death. None of them were.
He drove with one hand, dropping his right hand to rest on his thigh, and I stared at the glove he still wore.
"That was smart thinking," I murmured, reaching out and taking his hand in mine. The glove was fastened with a velcro strap around the wrist, and I peeled it open. Flakes of dried blood dusted the leg of my jeans as I tugged the glove from Steele's hand and inspected his skin for damage.
"Arch got them made for me years ago," he replied as I ran my thumbs over his knuckles, reassuring myself that he hadn't just fucked up his hands for the sake of getting my answers out of Hank. "After... after Rachel died, I did some dumb shit. Got into fights and messed up my hands a bit. Instead of side-lining me or trying to fix me, he just got those gloves made. They're like brass knuckles that also protect my hands. Win-win."
I released his hand somewhat reluctantly, turning my attention to the glove I'd stripped off him. The leather was soft, like it'd seen a lot of wear. Despite the violent purpose of the garment, I couldn't help but love it. Not just because it kept Steele's hands safe, but because Archer had done a thoughtful thing for his friend. Maybe he was only a massive cunt when I was around.
"Why did Hank have one of Phillip's knives?" I asked after a long silence. "I thought they were only given to people who earned them in his training program."
Steele glanced at me. "They were."
My brows hitched. "Hank was in his program?" Steele jerked a short nod. "But I thought... Actually, I have no idea what I thought. I guess I assumed Phillip’s training was meant to help kids get out of the crime life. Not train them to be better criminals."
"It was," Steele replied. "But Phillip wasn't always operating with full mental capacities. And his idea of saving us was somewhat skewed. Loads of his trainees used what they learned to make a successful life of crime. Like Hank and Zane."
I nodded my understanding. "And like you three." I wasn't accusing them, just stating a fact. But Steele's hand tightened on the steering wheel anyway.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice clipped.
"How did he know my mother?" It was a question I didn't want to ask, but I knew the curiosity would eat away at me. "The way he spoke about her..."
"He was trying to piss you off," Steele said, his tone firm. "He likely met her once or twice with the Reapers, but that's it."
I frowned. "Hank was a Reaper?"
Why the fuck hadn't Zane said something? Did he know?
"No, he was just an associate. Hank was a freelancer, mostly hired muscle. Occasional hits. Very minor league." Steele sounded seriously unimpressed, and I agreed.
I sighed. "I suppose I should be grateful he was so minor league. Probably the only reason I'm not dead now."
"Or because you've got three of the best watching your back at all times," he muttered under his breath. I shot him a narrow-eyed look, and he just shrugged. "Hank being a shitty hit man helped too. I'm surprised he even passed Phillip’s training at all."
I looked out the window, propping my face up on my hand, then cringing when I touched sticky blood on my forehead. I needed a shower so freaking bad, but I doubted I looked anywhere near as bad as Steele. He really should have worn black before torturing a guy.
"Are you hungry?" He asked some minutes later. I arched a brow at him, and he shrugged. "I've been dealing with Hank since about ten o'clock last night, and Archer didn't leave me any snacks. I'm fucking starving."
Now that he mentioned it... yeah, I was pretty damn hungry.
"There's a drive-through a couple blocks south of my apartment," I suggested. "I don't think we should try entering a restaurant looking like this."
Steele quirked a smile at me, his eyes taking in the blood splatter on my face and neck. "Fair point."
We didn't speak again as he drove us back into Shadow Grove, and that was perfectly fine by me. Steele never felt the need to fill silences with idle chatter, which only gave more gravity to his words when he did speak.
The girl at the drive-through gave us a bored look when we pulled up to the food window, which almost set me off laughing. Here we were, drenched in blood and gore ordering burgers and cokes. She probably assumed it was fake.
Outside my building, Steele parked in a free space, and I clutched the warm bags of food to my chest as we made our way inside. I should have just thanked him for the ride home and told him to fuck off. But... my grudge could wait. We both needed to wash up and eat. And I needed to know what he'd learned from Hank.
The lobby was empty, luckily, but the same couldn't be said for my corridor. Just as we stepped out of the elevator, Cass's door opened. He and Zane stepped out, chatting, but their conversation cut short when they saw Steele and me.
A cruel sort of smile curved Zane's lips, and Cass just scowled.
"Well, well. Looks like you two have been up to mischief. Where was our invitation?" Zane was mocking, his gaze sharp, and I was starting to figure out why his brother disliked him so much. What the fuck had my mom been thinking?