Chapter 54

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

LAYLA

Doing exactly as Tristan instructed, I keep my face buried against the console between the front seats. The scuttle outside the car wills me to look, but I don't disobey him.

I'm going to be a good girl for him.

Someone pulls at my car door, and shards of glass fall over me as it's yanked open. Their hands touch my back, and I scream as I spin to fight them off.

Arms flailing, I hit him again and again as he drags me from my seat and scoops me into his arms and his chest. He holds me tightly as I continue to cry for help.

"It's okay, beautiful." He pulls me tighter and shields my face with his hand. "You're safe."

"Conor?" I exhale, slowly placing his voice. I fling my arms around his neck and cling to him as he holds me..

"You're okay," he reassures me as he carries me from the car, broken glass crunching beneath his feet .

"Tristan?" I fear the worst, being cradled by Conor instead of him.

"He's okay, beautiful." His voice stays soft as he tries to comfort me. "He wants us to get you out of here."

"Conor! No!" I fight against his hold, worrying that he's lying to me. That Tristan isn't okay. "I need to see him."

"He doesn't want you to see him like this." Conor shakes his head.

"Like what!" I shout as I clammer from his arms.

Finding my footing, I look around, and it's like a fucking bomb went off. Tristan's car—and the one we hit—are totally destroyed. Both are crumpled, but his is riddled with bullet holes.

Bullets he used his body to shield me from.

Tiny shards of glass are speckled across the pavement, reflecting the glow of the city lights above them. Many of them being drowned in growing puddles of blood.

So much fucking blood.

Dead men lying in the middle of the street where they were haphazardly discarded as they fell. And Tristan, standing in the middle of them with his back to me.

"Tristan!" I scream, my voice pained with excitement as I run to him.

"Stop!" he demands as I cross the last few feet between us. "Go with Conor and Liam."

"Tris— "

"Go!" He raises his voice when he repeats himself. "This isn't the way you want to think of me."

I stand behind him, my feet rooted in place as I struggle against my need to disobey him. Lifting my hand to reach for him, I pause upon seeing the crimson droplets falling from his fingertips.

"I told you." He lets out a heavy sigh. "This isn't how you want to see me."

"Tristan Evans." I slide my fingers through the sticky, warm liquid covering his hand as I lace my fingers with his. "Occasionally, you might have to admit that you don't always know what's best for me."

Squeezing his hand, I urge him to turn to face me. Letting him be the one to expose this last piece of himself to me. He turns slowly, revealing his face to be equally as drenched in blood as his hands. His blue eyes practically glow beneath the crimson mask covering his face.

I reach for his other hand—also dripping with blood—and take it into mine. "You don't need to hide from me. I take you as you are."

He shakes his head, as though he's in disbelief. I lift his hands to my face. Cupping my cheeks with his palms, I rub the blood of the dead over my skin as I continue, "I take the darkest part of your soul. Give me the parts that scare even you. I want them all… Because they're you."

Tristan dips his head and presses his forehead to mine, cradling my face as his eyes stare back into the deepest parts of my soul .

"How did I get so fucking lucky?" His words waft over my face.

"Declan." I smirk as Tristan holds me against his chest, and I wrap my arms around his waist, staining my clothes and smearing blood over me as he pulls me against him.

" Tá mo chroí istigh ionat," he whispers, his deep version of I love you .

"And mine in you." I stare up at him.

Conor lays on the horn of the SUV parked in the middle of the street and shouts at us out of the window. "This is fucking beautiful and shit, but do you two fucking lovebirds think you could get your arses in fucking car before the cops arrive?"