Chapter 138: Furthest Thing from an Angel
- RAYA -
Once we’re inside the house, Dex closes the door and stays poised there against it without turning. He’s exhausted and overwhelmed with grief and relieved to be home—I can tell just by the slump of his shoulders and the way he remains there, unmoving, unable yet to turn and face anything else. He’s letting the relief wash over him. Now the outside world and everything in it is safely on the other side of those double doors.
I walk up behind him and place a palm against his back, hoping my touch is some kind of comfort amidst the storm of emotions. Dex sighs again, and his head drops against the wood.
I want to ask him what I can do to help, but I know it’s a stupid question. Instead, I wrap both of my arms around him and stay like that, hugging him from behind. He feels different than he did two days ago, and yet somehow he also feels the same—like a permanent shift has happened inside.
"I wish I could fix it," I say softly.
"I wish I could fix it, too."
Then Dex turns and grabs my hand, pulling me further into the house until we reach the stairway and climb up to the second floor. I don’t question him. I know where we’re going. And when we make it inside his room to be greeted by Moira’s soft mews, he slowly removes his jacket and throws it on his dresser.
That’s when I see them—the scratches on his neck, angry and red. He avoids my eyes, shucking out of his pants and pulling on a pair of shorts. My gaze drops to the knuckles of his hands that are bruised and cut.
"You got in a fight," I say.
He runs both of his hands through his hair over and over again and then walks to the bed and falls into it before rolling over and patting the space next to him. Ignoring the fact that I’m in work clothes that are bound to wrinkle, I obey. Lifting my skirt up past my knees, I crawl in next to him and lay down on his arm.
"I need to ask you something," he whispers, his breath tickling my cheek and hand finding my hip to start teasing shivers out of me with his soft caress.
I lift my chin to find his eyes and look back and forth between what has become their stormy depths in just a short time being apart. "Okay."
"How much do you trust me?"
My brows pinch at the unexpected question. "Completely."
Dex drops his gaze to my stomach where his fingers run over the fabric of my shirt in lazy strokes. There should be follow up questions or something—I can feel them balanced on the edge of his mind—but he doesn’t say anything more.
"Who was the fight with?" I finally ask.
"Lawson."
The anxiety that disappeared at the sight of Dex blooms back to life with a vengeance at the mention of his brother. Dex’s gaze lifts again to mine, and it’s almost like there’s a challenge there—to ask what I want to ask.
"Why?"
A muscle works furiously in his jaw before he answers, and suddenly he isn’t looking at me anymore. His focus is on whatever happened between them.
"Because I found out just what he intended to do to you the day he showed up here."
The blood drains from my face—I feel it leave. My lips and mouth turn dry, and I swallow involuntarily, trying to fix it. But it doesn’t work.
"What do you mean?" Just like that, my voice has been infected with a tremor that makes me hate the sound of it—of my own obvious weakness.
"I walked in on him strangling a woman," Dex says without missing a beat, though his tone remains flat and unfeeling—a strange contrast to the fire in his eyes. "He was fucking her and getting off on the idea of killing her. And he was calling her Auraya."
The words make me flinch, and my stomach lurches. "What?" I ask, sitting up, gripping the sheet beneath me like I’m in danger of falling off the bed.
He sighs and closes his eyes, but his hand stays on my hip, securing me there—ensuring that I don’t leave.
"Are you... serious?" The question takes so much of my breath, and it shouldn’t. It’s only three words, but my chest is heaving with the effort of speaking them.
Dex doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits up and pulls me into his lap. My thoughts are still frozen on what he said as he lays my head against his chest, his arms surrounding and shielding, protecting and comforting. Dex is warmth and safety, and I cling to him—fingers curling into his shirt to anchor and ground the terror and disbelief that is now making my head spin.
I’m not sure how long we sit like that—long enough that I feel like a child being held by the only true security I’ve ever known.
Dex came into my life mere days before my first date with a psychopath. Then, he discovered a killer spying on me without my knowledge. All of this... all of this is what Nana meant in my dream. It was supposed to happen. He has saved me how many times now?
I might hate the idea of being a damsel in distress, but I was, wasn’t I? Neither the threat of Lawson nor of Kenneth Rider showed up on my radar, and it’s unlikely they would have until it was too late to avoid them.
I burrow further into Dex’s arms, knowing full well that if I could enter him—go all the way and stay safe inside his skin—I would.
"Is she okay?" I whisper.
"Who?"
"The woman he hurt?"
"Yes, I think so. She’s safe from my brother anyway."
So Dex saved her, too.
"You’re the angel, you know that? Not me."
He shakes his head silently, his hand rising to caress my hair as he kisses my head one, two, three times. The next words from his lips come out in a whisper.
"I’m the furthest thing from an angel, my love."
