he was a doctor and could get into more places than Demyan. In spite of his wounds, the terrible toll on his body, Czar and Reaper had to hold Steele back from killing Sorbacov. He told Sorbacov what he’d done, how he’d killed Merhi and the others, and how he hadn’t felt a thing when he’d done it.
He told Sorbacov that he won, he’d finally created the monster he wanted and if he killed Absinthe, he would tear him apart, piece by piece. His brothers and sisters, Torpedo Ink, had stood with him, guns on them, ready to die, and they backed him, echoing what he’d told Sorbacov. He gave Absinthe back to them. As always, whomever he’d had was in bad shape, but he was alive.
The others wanted to help him recover. His body was a mess. His mind was worse. He couldn’t get out the image of Demyan suffering, dying right in front of him.
He should have been there with Demyan. They’d always kept eyes on one another. Always. It was Czar’s rule. Their rule. Their code. Their promise to one another. It was how they survived. But he hadn’t. He’d taken his eyes off Demyan and he’d died in the worst possible way.
“No one would blame you.”
“I took my eyes off him. We always have eyes on one another. That’s the code. That’s how we stay safe. Especially when there’s sex involved. We watch one another’s backs. I let him down. I didn’t see what they were doing to him.” He repeated the rules over and over because if he’d just followed them, there would be eighteen branches on their tree, not seventeen.
“Honey, you’re not thinking clearly about this.”
That voice, so like the touch of her fingers. He was with her now, ashamed that he’d told her everything while he was living it. He had no idea what he’d said or hadn’t said. He looked at her over his shoulder, drinking her in, seeing the tears running down her face, or maybe they were running down his and he couldn’t see clearly. Maybe it was both.
Breezy was such a compassionate woman, she would never be able to sleep after this. He’d been selfish telling her. He’d been afraid to have her know. Ashamed. He should have known better. She was all about empathy. He hadn’t slept in years—not since he’d lost Demyan. Now she would have trouble as well.
“Babe, you always get me to sleep.”
He’d said that aloud too. He forced himself to press his lips together, to keep from blurting anything else out. He blinked, trying to clear the misty veil between them. To his shock, it lifted, which meant it hadn’t been the fog. She was definitely crying. Breezy. His woman. He’d told her his worst nightmare. The moment his life had changed. The birth of his monster. She was still looking at him as if the sun rose and set with him.
“I’m sorry, Bree.” He looked down at his hands. “You can see I’m always going to be a fucked-up mess. Always. It isn’t going to go away because I talk to someone. And I wouldn’t. There’s no counselor for men like me. There’s no fixing me. You’ll be living with that the rest of your life. Me holding too tight. Eyes on you all the time. Eyes on the kids.”
It was true and she had to know it. His kind of trauma didn’t go just go away. He felt like he’d run a marathon, his body hurting physically. “This thing isn’t going away, baby. Not ever. I wish I could tell you it will.”
Breezy touched her tear-damp face, looked down at her wet fingers and shook her head. “I’m such a crier. You’ll have to get used to that about me. I think, as time goes by, you’ll relax a little bit, Steele.”
She wasn’t a crier. Breezy didn’t cry and he knew it. Tears had been beaten out of her when she was a child by her father. “Maybe. I hope. In the meantime, I need you to tell me where you’re going when you leave my bed. I swear I’ll try, Bree. I will, but I’ll need you to cooperate when I’m losing it like this.”
She nodded. “Bathroom and Zane. Whatever order, but I’ll let you know if I’m going anywhere else when I get out of bed.”
“You go down to the kitchen.”
“If I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think about taking a three A.M. swim, but I know you won’t like it,