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“Where’s the exit?”
Kieran searched the hall. The sounds of pounding footsteps competed with the frantic beating of her heart.
“Near the west wing!”
They rushed down the hallway. She should’ve known that their lead was a trap. She heard the lies, and yet, again, she led them here, in a building full of phantoms, that was about to explode.
“How do we always manage to find ourselves in a building with a ticking time bomb?” He asked, kicking the fire exit door before they hurried down the stairs. “It's like we're magnetic to bombs.”
“At least we're not carrying it this time.”
Halfway through the second floor, a door burst open and four phantoms aimed their guns at them. She shot a man in the leg and the others opened fire. Kieran threw a dagger to an arm and engaged with another. Bullets clanged on metal bars and bodies dropped one by one.
She heard another door open and looked down to see more of them coming. Four minutes. They could try to go up again but that won’t lead them out of the building nor did they have the time. They didn’t have a choice.
“Kieran!” She said and pointed down.
He nodded, understanding. She reloaded her gun and secured her last clip. It’d be stupid to miss now. She was glad she had spent time with Kym in the shooting range this week.
Kieran jumped and crashed on one of them, sweeping another with his sword. She blasted the phantom closest to him then the one that aimed at her. They collapsed and Kieran pushed them off the edge, out of the crossfire. Three more minutes. Bullets roared each second that passed. Just before she pulled the trigger of her last shot, a hand gagged her and pressed the cold metal of a knife to her throat.
“Don’t move.” He warned. Fuck.
The last of the phantoms fell and Kieran turned to see her problem. She had seen it before but it never ceased to unsettle her. The most notorious criminal lord, the Phantom Scythe’s deadliest assassin, the Purple Hyacinth trembled and froze in fear, for her.
“Do as I say or else!” He pressed the blade harder.
Two minutes. The hand that clamped on her mouth smelled of metallic blood and musk, she wanted to retch her guts out.
“Time to have some fun tonight.” He cackled. “You,” he said to Kieran, tracing the tip of the blade on her jaw, “cut yourself.”
Kieran lifted his sword.
“And don’t think of doing anything funny because I’m really good at slitting people’s throats.”
If she tried to swallow her fear, it would pierce her skin. He slashed the back of his arm and remained unfazed, his eyes brewing a plan. The man giggled, relishing the sight.
“I see how it is. We’re about to die but who cares!”
“I did as you said. Let her go.”
“Oh no, but the show is just starting!”
One minute.
“Hey, pretty lady.” His breath burned her ear. “Your gun still has some bullets, right? Kill him.”
She spat on his hand. “Go to hell.”
“I said,” the man tightened his grip on her face and the knife drew blood, “shoot him. Or die.”
“Lauren.”
She met his eyes. If her last seconds were spent staring into them, it would be worth it. But they told her, not yet. She aimed her gun at his head and he gave her a small smile.
“Shoot.”
Her arm recoiled from the blast of her gun and with the momentum, she drove her elbow into his ribs. A simple tilt of her head and a dagger whizzed and wedged in between his eyes.
Kieran grabbed her arm and they raced out the stairwell. Three seconds — they bolted down the hallway — two — pulled her into his embrace — one — and launched themselves out a window.
BOOM!
Kieran’s apartment door slammed shut and they limped to the couch, collapsing onto it. They heaved ragged breaths. He looked down to see their blood mixing, like the first time they sealed their deal. It dripped down to stain his carpet. He groaned. That was going to be a pain to clean.
“You okay?” Lauren asked.
“Yep. Just fantastic.”
She chuckled lightly, then hissed, bringing her hand to her neck. His hand twitched and he looked away.
“I’ll get the med kit.”
It ached to stand, to drag himself to the bathroom, and haul the heavy box to the dining table, but he would be fine. He’s been through worse. He helped Lauren sit on the chair and checked her injuries.
A few grazes by bullets, bruised knuckles, some cuts on her face, blunt trauma to the head, possible concussion, and, the one that almost caused his heart to stop, the slim line of blood on her throat. Too close.
He must have lingered because Lauren had grasped his arm and wiped away the blood with a wet rag. Where’d she get that? It barely stung. She was too gentle.
He let her finish before taking the rag to the sink and cleaning it of his blood. He didn’t deserve this care. Lauren had taken out the bandages and laid them out. Always helpful. He loved that about her. He loved…
“What are you staring at, Subordinate?”
“Just your beautiful pensive eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“Mhm.”
Then she stared at him like he said something outrageous. Maybe it was.
He sat on the table and leaned into her, tipped her chin up and delicately wiped off the blood from her nape. If looks could kill, then he’d be dead now. However, when he met her eyes, he thought he would die. Warmer than fire, richer than gold, digging deeper than the depths of his soul.
He cleaned the blood off her forehead, then the cuts on her cheeks. Her blood seeped into the rag. She had bled enough to cover every fiber of its cloth. He was a rag, dirty, tattered, and disposable.
“What’s wrong?”
“Thankfully, nothing much. You won’t need any stitches, despite our fall from the second floor. Just bandages will do.”
He picked up a roll on the counter, ignoring her annoyance. He unfurled it and raised it to her head.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean, detective?”
She lowered his hands and held them tight.
“I meant,” she said and took a sharp breath, “you’re my partner. I care for you, so talk to me. What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? Everything. He wasn’t supposed to care for her. She wasn’t supposed to make him human. Monster. The voices in his mind chanted it.
Monster! Murderer! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Monster! Worthless! Murderer! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! It’s all your fault. Monster! Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Useless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Useless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! It’s all your fault. Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Worthless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Murderer! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Worthless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! No one will ever love you. Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Worthless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Murderer! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Murderer! Useless! Monster! It’s all your fault. Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Worthless! Monster! Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monster! Pathetic! Monster! Monster! Monster! Monst-
“Kieran?”
He once held her face, it was soft and warm, so unlike the cold fingertips that cradled his cheek. He wondered if his heat was enough to warm her if he melted into her touch.
“Later?” His voice sounded smaller than he would’ve liked. “Please?”
“Okay.” That’s all she said.
Then they quietly went back to treating their wounds. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. They left the supplies out; they could pack them up in the morning before heading to the bedroom.
Lauren flopped onto his bed, as careless as she could with her injuries, and snuggled underneath the covers like she owned them. It reminded him of the first time she was here. The mattress dipped as he sat on the edge.
“Lie down…” She whispered.
His covers were thin and the night was cold, so she shivered as she patted on the spot beside her. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she suppressed a yawn.
“Lauren.”
He, again, held her hand. It was cold, but it was warm. She was alive.
“Hmm?”
“Do you regret it?”
“Regret what?”
“Making a deal with me?”
She didn’t pause nor hesitate. “No.” She only smiled. “Maybe before I did, but now, I don’t regret you.”
Regret. He’d done so many things, enough to last him ten lifetimes of shame and guilt. But if he could have her in each of those lifetimes, then he’d suffer again and again. He kissed her hand and said, “I don’t regret you either.”