Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 3
“Shit,” I hear Aziah curse. “Talk to me, Rella.”
I want to. I want to open my mouth and tell him I’ll be okay, but I’m not sure if I ever will.
Using my heels, I rock back and forth, my eyes open but not focused on anything. I know Aziah’s in front of me, not too close, but too close for comfort. My vision begins to blur, and it feels like I have tiny spiders crawling over my scalp. I mumble something over and over again, but it’s so jumbled, I can’t even understand it.
“Trouble,” I hear him shout, but it sounds like he’s ten miles away.
Black spots dance in my eyes. I try to draw in a breath, but either there’s not enough air in the room or my lungs just aren’t working.
Just as the darkness takes over and I’m sucked into a black void, something warm and comforting surrounds me, followed by an agonized voice.
“You’re home, Rella. Nothing and no one will ever hurt you again.”
CHAPTER THREE
EMO
I CARRY RELLA’S UNCONSCIOUS and limp form to the bed. She’s so tiny and weightless, it feels like I could easily crush her with a simple squeeze of my arms.
“What in the hell happened?” Trouble demands, coming into the room.
Ignoring him, I gently lay Rella on the bed, making sure her head lies on the pillow, take a step back, and look down at her.
A sharp pain pierces my chest. I should have known better. Trouble said she wouldn’t let him get too close to her. If she won’t let her own brother get near her, she sure as shit won’t let me. But seeing the agony on her face as she spoke about being scared to come back here, I was moving across the floor before my brain registered what I was doing.
I don’t feel compassion or pity or concern toward people. Yes, I love my brothers and I’d give my life to protect them and the people in this town, but Rella is different. I feel everything for her. I feel so damn much that it’s overwhelming, and I don’t know what to do with all the emotions.
One thing I know for certain; she’s brave as fuck for coming to Malus. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she never stepped foot in this town again, even if it meant never having her brother in her life.
I take several more steps back until the backs of my legs meet the chair. I slump down, my elbows going to my knees and my eyes still locked on Rella’s face.
“Emo!” Trouble barks, appearing on the other side of the bed, a worried scowl warping his features as he looks down at his sister.
Without taking my eyes off Rella, I tell him hoarsely, “I got too close. She shut down, then passed out.”
Out the corner of my eye, I see him grip her wrist to check her pulse. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to get his fucking hands off her, subconsciously knowing she would hate it if she were awake, but I hold the words in. Trouble would rather saw off his arm than hurt Rella. His movements are slow and gentle, so I know he’s being cautious in case she does wake up.
Her eyes don’t even twitch beneath her eyelids. Her chest moving as she breathes is the only indication that she’s alive. Her face is pale, too fucking pale, and I don’t like it.
Hearing that once she left Sweet Haven her abuse continued for fourteen more years and knowing I could have stopped it when I heard her scream that night a few days after she attempted to kill herself has my blood boiling and guilt stabbing at my insides. Why in the hell didn’t I investigate further? Why didn’t I demand to speak with Trouble and Rella’s parents? And how could she have survived losing that much blood? I may have only been twelve at the time, but even I knew she lost a dangerous amount.
“Her pulse is fine,” Trouble says, interrupting my thoughts. “It sounds like it was a panic attack.”
More guilt sinks in my stomach like a lead weight. Lowering my head, I grip my hair, smearing blood from my hand through the strands.
I should leave and stay the hell away. With damn good reason, and I wouldn’t expect anything less, all the shit Rella has been through has caused a lot of mental issues for her. It’s a goddamn miracle she’s as sane as she appears. Even without knowing how bad things were for her during her time with Marco and Gabriela, I know most people would be in a mental ward if they went through half the shit she did.
My number-one priority is to find them both and slowly peel the flesh from their bones. It’s a task I plan to enjoy thoroughly.
My mind is fucked to hell and back. Rella needs stability, comfort, and family right now. I’m about as stable as a house of cards during a windstorm. The only thing having me near will do is bring back the haunting memories of what I did to her when we were kids.
I think all this, but the thought of leaving this room terrifies me, like she’ll disappear if I let her out of my sight. Or I’ll wake from a dream only to find out it was a nightmare because she was never really here.
“Did she say anything to you?”
I drag my head up and regard Trouble. I don’t know when she came in, but Remi’s standing beside him, her own concerned gaze fixed on Rella.
“She was taken to some friends of the Moores. Names are Marco and Gabriela.” My jaw clenches. “She didn’t give me details, but those fuckers hurt her too. She was with them for fourteen fuckin’ years.”
The wrath that darkens Trouble’s eyes matches what I know is in mine. Retribution will be damn sweet once we find them.
“Where was she afterward?”
“With Mick and Deanna, Jenny’s parents.” His brows jump up in shock. He’s not the only one who was surprised by that news. “They found her while she was out with Marco and Gabriela one day and talked her into leaving with them.”
“What are the fuckin’ odds of that happening?” he remarks, mirroring my exact thoughts.
I shake my head. My blood pressure rises, and I fist the hand that has a new small nick in it. The dull end of my nail digs into the shallow cut. I press harder, letting out a breath with the sharp sting. “She was less than two hours away for fourteen years,” I growl.
“Shit!” Trouble hisses. I can feel the heat of his anger radiating off him.
I look back at Rella and watch her sleeping form. There’s more color in her cheeks now, and it lessens the noose around my heart only slightly.
“You need to go home and get cleaned up,” Trouble suggests. “Call Grace and have her meet you there.”
“No,” I state bluntly without looking away from the unconscious girl on the bed.
“Emo.” He sighs with irritation. “You’re in no shape to be here.” His eyes flicker up to my hair and over to my temple where I feel the blood I smeared there a moment ago already drying. “I’ll call if she wakes up. Go get your shit together and come back tomorrow. Better yet, go to the fuckin’ basement.”
At the mention of my basement, my rage renews. My need to go there is damn near blinding, but my need to be here is stronger. I’ll go to the basement soon enough.
“I’m not leaving.”
It’s never affected my brothers, but I still look him straight in the eyes and let him see just how dark my thoughts are at the moment, silently telling him there’s not a force on this earth that could make me leave. Including him.
He wants to argue, I can see it in his eyes and in the tense way he’s holding his body, but he wisely relents.
“Fine,” he grits. “You can stay in the room across the hall.”
“No,” I grunt. “I’ll stay in here.”
“Goddammit, Emo.”
A growl rumbles from him as he begins to stalk around the bed. I get to my feet, ready to take on my brother if I have to. Whatever it fucking takes. I’m not leaving this room until Rella does. If that means I have to fight Trouble, then so be it.
He only gets to the end of the bed before Remi grabs him by the back of his shirt.
“Trouble, let him stay,” she says softly.
Her eyes lift to mine, and the look she gives me is sad understanding, like she knows how badly I need this. How bad I need to see for myself that Rella is okay. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for any of my brothers, except this. I can’t.
Trouble stops and drops his head. His shoulders lift and fall as he takes in several deep breaths, calming himself. This is hard on him. He knows I’d never hurt Rella in any way. Despite my own inner beliefs, he’s never blamed me for what Father made me do to her when we were kids, but even so, he’s her brother and still protective of her. My being here might upset her, and I don’t blame him for wanting to avoid that.
I tense when he looks up, and at first, I think he’s going to press the issue, but his shoulders drop and a look of understanding forms on his face. He knows this is tearing me up inside too.
“I’ll come back and check on her in a while.” His look turns harsh. “Come get me if she wakes before then.”
Giving him a clipped nod, I retake my seat and rest my elbows back on my knees, my eyes moving back to Rella.
“I’ll bring her something to eat in just a bit for when she wakes up. Would you like something?”
I barely glance at Remi at the door, giving a single shake of my head. “I’m good.”
They leave the door open a couple of inches, and I’m finally left alone with the girl who’s haunted my dreams for more than half of my life. There’s so many things I want to say to her. During and after every Hell Night, I always apologized to Rella. It never seemed like enough though. There won’t ever be enough apologies, but I still want to give them. I want to apologize for not stopping my father. For not being strong enough. I want to apologize because she felt her only option back then was to take her life. For not following my instincts the night I heard her scream. For not saving her from the pain she endured at Marco and Gabriela’s hands.
I was never physically forced to rape her. I hated every single second, every single time, but I always did it willingly. The alternative was so much worse. I was always given two options. Either I rape Rella while he raped me, or he would take Rella. At least if I was doing it, I could somewhat control it. If he were to ever do it, it would have been rough and brutal, and he would have felt no compunction about irreparably damaging her small body.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and it takes every bit of willpower I possess to not dig the key out of my pocket and jam the fucker into my forearm and yank down. The skin actually itches, as if screaming at me to do it. But when I open my eyes and they land on the unconscious girl on the bed, I know I can’t. Not right now, anyway. I’ll gauge the hell out of my flesh later when I’m alone.
A soft moan comes from the bed, and I jump up, taking a step before I force myself to stop. Stupid fucking move, asshole. Being close to her is what set her off in the first place.
I watch closely as Rella’s eyes slowly blink open and she stares up at the ceiling. Her brows scrunch together; she’s probably momentarily disoriented.
I shift my stance, purposely making a noise to alert her that she’s not alone. Her eyes widen when they fly to me. It fucking kills me when fear is the first emotion that flashes in her eyes, despite the relief taking its place only seconds later.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, confusing me.
I cross my arms over my chest to keep from reaching in my pocket.
“What in the hell are you sorry for?”
She licks her lips and rolls to her side to face me, one hand tucking beneath her cheek. “For freaking out.”
“There’s not a damn thing you should be sorry for, Rella. I should have kept my distance. It’s no surprise you’re scared of me.”
Her eyes glisten with tears, and it makes my cold, dead heart shrivel up even more. Comfort isn’t something I’m used to offering people, I don’t even think I’m capable of it, but for the first time since I can remember, I want to offer something to Rella that will take that sad look from her eyes.
“I’m not scared of you, Aziah,” she says, so low I barely hear her. “I’m just so used to being scared when someone gets close.”
My brows dip down. “You should be.”
Her lips press together to form a straight line. “Maybe, but I’m not. I never have been.”
Her words both anger me and send a warmth through me I’ve never felt before. Rella’s being naive. She should be scared of me. She should be terrified to be alone with me. She should look at me with nothing but disgust and fear, not the innocent curiosity that’s currently on her face. I’ve done vile and repulsive things to her. I may not have wanted to do them, but I still did them. I get that some may believe my beliefs are dumb and uncalled for, to still blame myself when I had no control over what happened, but Rella’s not the only one who was affected mentally by our childhood. My head is a deep, dark hole of fucked-up.
“Come closer.”
My eyes jerk to hers at her gently spoken request. She still has one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting on the edge of the pillow. Her long dark hair fans out behind her in soft waves and her green eyes watch me closely. Now that her complexion isn’t ghostly white, I notice her flawless skin. Even as a kid, she was always small for her age, and that hasn’t changed.
It’s strange to see her as an adult. She’s turned into a beautiful woman.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rella,” I warn. “After what happened earlier, I think it’s best I stay over here.”
Her lips tip down at the corners, and her brows crinkle. I fucking hate her frown.
“Please.”
Her whisper is hoarse, and it sends spikes through my heart. I’d give anything to ensure I never hear her beg again.
I take a tentative step, watching her body and eyes for any indication she’s becoming nervous. They remain clear and focused as she watches me take another step. Once I’m only a few feet away, a shadow of apprehension clouds her eyes. I pause, about to put more distance between us again, when her hand lifts from the pillow. Her fingers reach out to me.
“Stop.” Her mouth tightens and her brows pucker. “I want to do this. Just… move slowly.”
Locking my jaw, I take two more slow steps and stop again. I’m so close that if I reach my hand out, I could touch her fingers. Instead, I curl them into fists.
Her forehead shines from sweat and her complexion isn’t as pale as it was earlier, but it’s not her natural color either.
She’s suffering, putting herself through this on purpose, and it fucking kills me. And sorta pisses me off. I’m not worth this heartache and stress. Why she’s doing this to herself is beyond me.
My own palms sweat, along with my forehead, as I look down at her hand. A desperate need to reach out and grab it, to link myself to the girl I’ve hurt in horrific ways, to beg and plead for forgiveness, almost has me staggering. But it terrifies me to think about her flinching at my touch. I still don’t understand why she would want to touch me. Even just a simple brush of the hand should be too much. Her mind recognizes it, but for some reason she’s fighting her natural instincts.
Her voice wobbles when she whispers, “Closer, Aziah. Please.”
“I can’t,” I whisper back.
Her lips form a frown and the wrinkle is back between her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”
Some of the tension leaves her, but her body’s still too stiff for my liking. The fear isn’t as pronounced in her eyes, but it lingers.
“You would never hurt me.”
“Never physically,” I concede. “But being close to you will mentally.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a slow breath before opening them again. Her hand falls back to the bed.
“I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to fear being touched. I don’t want to freeze when someone gets too close. You’re one of the only ones I trust to help me.” She swallows. “Please.”
Fucking goddammit to hell. I can’t say no to her.
I close the rest of the space between us. Instead of taking her hand, I drop to my knees beside the bed and sit back on my heels. Her gaze follows me, and I warily watch her in return.
It’s hard to believe I’m so close to her. That she’s really alive and here in front of me. That she isn’t freaking out and demanding I stay far away from her.
Time stands still as we stare at each other. I won’t make the first move. I’m not touching her, but I’m still giving her what she wants by being close enough for her to touch me.
After several tense moments, her hand hesitantly lifts again. I close my eyes at the first whisper of her fingertips against my face. It’s warm and smooth and oddly comforting. Her nails gently scrape across the bristles on my cheek. I’m not used to such tender touches. I either don’t let people touch me or I demand something harsh because that’s what I like. Knowing that it’s Rella’s delicate fingers gliding along my cheek and over my nose is strangely hypnotizing.
Her fingers move up to my temple and stop. “Why do you have blood on your temple?”
I blink open my eyes and find hers trained on the dried blood I forgot was there. I should have washed it off before she woke up.
“It’s from my hand,” I answer quietly, afraid to break the spell we currently seem to be under.
Her eyes flicker down to the hand on my thigh. The one I unknowingly gauged in her presence earlier. I silently curse myself for being so stupid.
“What was in your hand? What were you using to hurt yourself?”
Against my better judgement, I answer honestly. “A key.”
Her confused gaze jumps to mine. “A key to what?”
I’m not ready to answer that question yet, so I shake my head. Now that she’s here, she’ll know soon enough what the key unlocks. She, more than anyone, has the right to know.
Thankfully, she doesn’t press me for an answer.
Her fingers move slowly over my forehead and down my other temple, across my cheek and down to my chin. Her expression is one of awe and amazement.
“I still can’t believe I’m here,” she says wistfully, mirroring my thoughts from a moment ago. “That I’m looking at you. I’ve missed you, Aziah.”
