Wildblood

Chapter 21

21

Kai was spared Ama’s legendary vitriol. She was gone by the time Miya greeted him at the door, her face stricken with worry that quickly melted into befuddlement as she took in the scene: Kai with a mangled arm and a gunshot wound as he mulishly held a feral cat by the scruff. The damn thing hung limp, growling a low warning tune. His other hand was occupied by Caelan’s death-grip. Apparently, she’d taken to him after he scared a cop pissless and saved a flea-ridden furball with too-short legs.

Ushering Caelan inside, Kai shut the door and dropped the cat. He mewled and scurried under the couch where he could safely swipe at passing feet. Caelan stood frozen, absorbing the modest apartment while Miya riffled Kai with her stare. He sighed and kicked off his boots only for Miya to crash into him, her arms snaking around his neck. His nose dropped to her hair, exhaustion and relief sagging his shoulders.

“I’ve got a bullet I need to dig out,” he murmured as he held her tightly.

Miya nodded into his shoulder, then reluctantly withdrew. She looked shattered. “I’ll get Caelan settled in.”

Once in the bathroom, Kai stripped off his shirt, then whipped it to the floor. Sweat sheened his skin, and he felt warm with impending fever. His immune system was pissed. Blood smeared his abdomen, the area angry and inflamed, and he retrieved the rubbing alcohol and a pair of pliers from under the sink. Dousing a clean towel in antiseptic, he pressed it to his wound, pursed his lips, and swallowed a groan as the sting seared through him. Then, he disinfected his pliers and got to work.

Sticking dull metal into an open wound was about as pleasant as raw dogging a tin can. He tried to relax, fighting the instinct to tense in response to the pain. Jaw clenched and teeth bared, he bit back a snarl as he managed to clip the bullet. At least it hadn’t hit any organs. Projectiles rarely penetrated deep enough, and it helped that he beat people up for a living, his body carved from years of hardship.

Kai ripped out the lead nub and dropped it into the sink. A trail of blood speckled the white porcelain where the bullet had rolled to a stop. Kai braced his hands on either side of the sink and hung his head, breathing heavily. Although the wound still throbbed, the sharpness had dulled. The tissue would knit itself back together by morning, leaving only scabs and bruises. After washing the pliers and disposing of the slug, Kai rinsed off in the shower, aggressively scrubbing the grime from his body. He watched the water run brown and scarlet, then swirl down the drain. Toweling off, he yanked on a clean gray T-shirt and black sweats, then stepped into the hall.

“Come on, I’ll show you the bathroom.” Miya bundled clothes and a fresh towel in her arms as she pushed open the bedroom door. She locked eyes with Kai, then quickly averted her gaze to check that Caelan was following.

Opting to give them space, Kai stalked to the main room and threw himself down on the couch with a heavy sigh. The shower squeaked on, and when the bathroom door shut, Miya padded over to the kitchen. She grabbed a can of tuna from the cupboard, popped the top, and placed it on the floor by the couch. As she straightened, she inspected Kai’s arm, covered in scratch marks.

“We can set Caelan up in the bedroom,” he suggested. “After she’s eaten.”

Miya plopped down next to him. “Can you make her something? I’m wiped.”

Kai nodded, and they fell into a tense silence. After several long minutes, he angled his head toward her and glimpsed the shadows collecting beneath her bloodshot eyes. His furtive foray into a mob-owned warehouse hadn’t just angered her. She was hurt.

“Ama and I fought,” she answered his stare.

Kai was the only fissure in their sisterly bond. Ama was clamping down harder than usual with her Mama Bear bullshit, and it was wearing Miya down. He opened his mouth to ask about it when the bathroom door chirred open, and Caelan’s wraith-like silhouette skulked into the hall.

“We’re over here.” Miya waved for her to join them, and as she did, a paw swiped out from under the couch, rattling the tuna can. A chunk of the flakey fish disappeared.

Caelan shuffled into the room, her shoulders slumped and her eyes downcast, though Kai could see her gaze darting around, scoping out every corner, every window and door in search of potential exits. She was drowning in Miya’s clothes; her torso swam in a T-shirt with a faded chubby pigeon graphic, and she’d traded her ratty flannels for a pair of fleece pajama pants, the bottoms rolled up to her ankles.

Kai hauled himself to his feet, his limbs like cement. “There’s not much in the fridge, but I can make you a sandwich.” He grabbed the loaf of bread from atop the microwave and whacked it down on the counter. “You cool with PB every time he feigned stability, pretended to have things under control, he hurt those he tried to protect.

“Say something,” she pleaded.

Kai threw back the covers, lowered himself onto the mattress, and slid closer to her. What could he say? That he was sorry? He was, but his apology was worthless when he lacked the confidence to know he could choose differently.

“I fucked up,” he said when he failed to excavate anything better. “I thought I could take care of it?—”

“You would’ve kept hiding it if it went smoothly?” she interjected, her ire flaring.

He tried swallowing that bitter taste. “I guess I would’ve.”

Tears rimmed her eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she fought to contain her hurt. Words weren’t his forte; he often spoke out of turn, said things that were cruel in their honesty, and forgot that bluntness wasn’t always truthful. Sometimes, it was merely scorn masquerading as truth.

“I’m not trying to hide anything that matters.” He threaded his fingers with hers, drawing small circles with this thumb—anything to keep himself from fidgeting. “I make bad decisions…a lot. You know that. But you don’t have to carry the weight of them too.”

“I do,” she countered. “Sooner or later, it’ll catch up to you—and me.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s not up to you. You don’t get to choose what I can handle. Let me make my own judgments. I already have one Ama in my life.”

To be compared to that pompous, overbearing—“Fuck.”

“I thought that comparison might hit the mark.” A tired smile bent her mouth, and she tugged on his hand as she settled under the covers. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”

Worn to the bone, Kai peeled off his T-shirt and made to kick off his pants when Miya grabbed his waistband.

“Sorry, hot stuff. We’ve got a kid in the other room. You probably shouldn’t walk around with your dick flapping free.”

A frustrated whine crawled up his throat as he threw himself onto his back. He was going to boil to death.

“You’ll be fine,” Miya dismissed his bellyaching, then killed the table lamp.

The darkness swallowed up what little fortitude he had left. Unable to quell the panic that carved out his ribs and snatched his heart whole, Kai rolled onto his side and curled a tentative arm around Miya’s waist. When she neither tensed nor jerked away, he drew her closer, the unbroken seam of their bodies a needed comfort.

Miya turned to face him and pressed her lips to his collarbone. “I love you,” she said, the words heavier than anything passed between lovers ought to be.

Kai was made whole and unraveled all at once. The last person to love him died fifteen years ago, when he was too young to be alone but old enough to know what it meant. Alice had given him a second chance at life, and life mocked him by stealing her away. Love was a curse—a harbinger of loss donning a sinister smile. People insisted it was a gift, but to Kai, it was gilded rot.

And yet he wanted Miya’s love—had it even. She declared it freely, but he couldn’t say the words back. Why could he never say them back?

“I—” The last two syllables died in his mouth. His teeth clamped together, grinding in pathetic revolt. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Miya lowered her head, her arms wooden around his back. He heard the hitch in her sigh, smelled the brine of her tears, and something inside him fractured.

“You’re everything to me.” The admission left him raw, flayed open. He wove his fingers through her hair, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. She nodded stiffly against his chest, the unspoken tearing at the seam that’d held them together moments ago.

Miya never questioned Kai’s loyalty or dedication. He knew it wasn’t about hearing the words for the fuck of it; it was about what they carried. It was the surrender that came with the acknowledgment—the acceptance—that the harbinger with a sinister smile was scratching at his door, and he was powerless to look the other way.