Flawed Heart (House Of Obsidian #1) (13 page)

The crowd is still roaring, people are still stomping and I’m being thrown about the sea of people as if I weigh nothing more than a sack of flour. People don’t care; they’re just waving their arms, pushing anyone out of their way to get closer. I spin frantically, trying to figure out where I am, to get my bearings, but I can’t do anything but fumble around, tears pouring down my cheeks. People start screaming louder and I lift my head to see Raide drive one last punch into Max’s face.

My husband goes down, blood pouring from so many different wounds it makes my stomach turn. He turns his head sideways and looks right at me. The tears blur my vision, but I can see his stare penetrating mine. He’s hurt. Oh God, he’s hurt. I start fighting harder, this time in an attempt to get to him, to help him. People are going nuts, but I keep my eyes on Max’s as Raide accepts his win. Max spits blood on the floor and sits up, barking my name.

I don’t make it to him, because an elbow launches out and hits me right in the eye, making my world go black.

I
t’s foggy tonight. The cool, crisp weather is causing a light sheen of mist to float around. It’s dark and the only thing I can see on the road is a faded white line. I follow it as best I can, going slow, watching for the other cars and their headlights. I’m not too far from home, maybe five minutes, ten in these conditions.

I’ve been spending all my time at the club lately. It’s surprised me, because I’m actually enjoying it. I had it re-done with the help of an interior designer. She picked new, bold colors and we came up with a new, more modern take on the old rundown club. I still have a long way to take it, but it’s a start. It took six weeks to re-do, but now it’s open and it’s thriving. People love it and come from far and wide to spend a night dancing and drinking there.

Aside from questions and asking me how it’s going, Belle hasn’t come into the club, and I don’t blame her. It’s not her scene, but it doesn’t affect me in any way. I don’t expect her to spend her time there, and when we have children, I don’t want them being a part of it. Our life works for us; it’s balanced and fucking perfect. The only part that’s been hard is this right now, and that’s because I’m still hiring new staff and so therefore am spending more time than I’d like at the club.

I’ve also started an underground fighting ring. I haven’t told Belle about it, because I’m not sure it’s something she’d agree too. It’s not dangerous, and there are only boxing matches, but it’s still fighting and she’s never much liked violence. I set it out underneath the club, also putting down a training area for during the day when the club isn’t open. I let my boxers fight against each other every Saturday night for money, and the men seem to eat it up, betting and enjoying the atmosphere it creates.

It’s tripled my nightly income, so it’s more than worth it.

The sound of screeching tires snaps me back to my driving and I see a car launch off the road on the opposite side to me. We’re on a highway, but at this time of night it’s rather deserted. This is the first car I’ve seen. I pull over immediately as the headlights disappear, and jump out of my car. It’s so fucking dark. I go to my trunk and dig out a flashlight, and then I run over to where the car went off the road.

It must have slipped, or maybe something ran out in front of it. I have no idea why it went off the road like that. My heart pounds as I cross and reach the bank on the other side. I flash my light down, trying to see the car. It’s so fucking dark in the trees that line the road—it’s nearly impossible to see. Adrenaline fills my body and I run down, skidding a little as I slide down the narrow hill. This is a big drop. That’s not good.

I dodge trees and keep my light on the seemingly broken path the car created. I finally flash it on the silver, crumpled mess. My heart stops beating as I see it, smashed, bent around a tree, smoking. Fear rises up and clogs my throat, and I start running, hard and fast. I pull out my phone as I go, dialing an ambulance. If these people are still alive, they’re not going to be in a good way.

I manage to get through in a couple of seconds and I bark out what’s happening and where I think I am as I reach the car. I shine my flashlight through the windows but it’s too damned hard to see. The lady on the other line tells me someone will be there soon, and not to move or touch anyone. I hang up and shove my phone back, before taking the door handle and pulling it, over and over. It finally breaks open.

“Hello?” I call, listening for something, anything.

I flash my light in and a pained cry rips from my throat as I see the first person, crushed in the front seat. That person is no longer alive, and the graphic scene in front of me has my body going numb with horror. I keep moving, forcing myself to keep on checking. Someone could be alive. I can’t risk missing them. I flash my light around, but the car is bent at odd angles, and I can’t see the other side.

The windscreen is smashed wide open and there seems to be blood over the hood of the car. I run around the other side and try to catch a glimpse through the passenger door. It’s a mangled mess, but I’m sure I can see another person; it’s so hard to tell when the car is such a mess. I call out again, over and over, feeling vomit rise in my chest.

I leave the passenger side and check the back. There’s nothing in there, but a scatter of toys on the seat has me filling with fear. I run back to the front of the car, where I saw the blood and see it trails down past the car. I move my legs as hard as I can take them until I see another body lying beside a cluster of trees. That body isn’t of an adult, but a young child, maybe ten. I rush over, dropping to my knees and lifting the small child into my arms.

It’s a little girl. She’s still alive.

There are wounds all over her body, so many I can’t pinpoint which ones are causing the most bleeding. She’s breathing, but unconscious. Her body is a mess. Pain tears through my chest and fire burns in my heart as I look down at her, holding her in my arms, completely at a loss. Why wasn’t she wearing a seatbelt? I don’t understand. She’s just a child.

“You’re going to be okay,” I croak, even though she can’t hear me. “Help is coming.”

She’s still in my arms, and her breathing is becoming shallower. Tears burst forth and start rolling down my cheeks as I stare down at her face. She has black hair, beautiful, thick. Such a precious gift. She shouldn’t be here, lying, injured in the dirt. She’s just a child. What were her parents thinking? Why the hell didn’t she have a seatbelt on? Did she take it off?

“Why didn’t you have a seatbelt on?” I croak. “Why, sweetheart?”

I hold her close, trying not to move her, trying not to make anything worse.

“Help is coming. Hang on.”

The sound of blaring sirens cuts through the horror, and before I know it flashlights are shining in my direction. “Hello?” someone calls.

“Here,” I croak out, holding the girl close.

Footsteps sound out and then the area lights up as the officers arrive with re-enforcement. I can see the car now, and it’s more mangled than I first thought. I turn away, vomit rising in my throat. I just keep holding the girl, keeping her warm in my arms, willing her to just hang on.

“Sir,” an ambulance officer says. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I look up at him, and see he has four people with him. Two kneel down and start pulling the girl from my arms.

“I just . . .” My voice is so thick, so broken. “I was driving home and I heard their tires screeching. I looked over and they just launched off the road. There was no one else. I don’t know why the hell something like this happened.”

“So you didn’t see any other vehicles around?”

I shake my head.

“We need to assess this young girl. Can you tell me if you pulled her out of the car?”

“She was . . .” My voice hitches and pain stabs my heart over and over, like a thousand tiny needles. “Thrown. I found her here. She’s alive . . . breathing . . . I could feel her pulse in her wrist.”

The officer looks at his teammates, and one of them nods weakly.

“She’s gone.”

I shake my head rapidly as they pull her from my arms. “She was alive!” I yell, clenching my fists. “She was.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she has passed. It’s nothing you did; the injuries she has sustained were far too severe.”

“She was alive!” I roar.

I killed her. I moved her when I probably shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have touched her. I didn’t do CPR. I didn’t call the ambulance quickly enough. Dammit, why didn’t I call them as soon as I got out of the car? Why did I leave it a few minutes? They might have been able to save her.

“There’s nothing anyone could have done. Please believe that. Let me help you up; you’re in shock.”

Arms curl around mine and I’m pulled up and to the top of the bank.

I don’t remember what happens after that, because I black out.

I let her down. I could have saved her.

I as good as killed her.

~*~*~*~

“R
ight this way, madam.”

The sound of running feet makes me lift my head. I’m sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, ready to go home. The police told me that I did everything I could, that I couldn’t have saved those people, that little girl, but they’re wrong. I could have saved her. I shouldn’t have touched her. I should have bandaged her wounds. I should have gotten to her more quickly. It’s my fault she didn’t make it.

They told me the father was drunk. Drunk. Drunk.
Drunk
. With his little girl in the car. With his wife in the car. They used the words ‘difficult, damaged family.’ Because that makes it any better. Because that makes putting your child and wife in your car with you drunk so much fucking better. They said he was a problem of theirs, and had been for months. A bad seed, a dangerous man.

He still put his child in that car.

She didn’t have a seatbelt on.

“Max?”

I jerk and see Belle enter the room, her face pale, her eyes filling with tears. She rushes over, throwing her arms around my neck.

“Oh God, you’re okay. My beautiful Max.”

I’m not okay.

“What happened?” she whispers, pulling back and cupping my cheeks. “They told me you witnessed a car accident. Are you hurt, Max?”

I stare at her. Really stare. I look into her beautiful blue eyes and I can see the fear there. I can see how hard this is for her. I’ve never looked into her eyes and seen so much terror. If I tell her what I saw, it’ll make her chest feel the same way mine is feeling. It’ll crush her. God, what if she blames me too? What if she thinks I didn’t do everything I could?

What if she thinks I failed?

“I’m not hurt,” I say, my voice thick.

“I’m so sorry, Max. They didn’t tell me much, just that the people all died. Are you okay? Did you...did you see anything? Oh Max.”

Those eyes again. The ones that are wide and filled with tears, desperate for me to say it’s okay. She’s so scared for me. So broken for me. Her eyes are almost pleading for me to say it’s fine, that everything is fine. That I’m not broken or damaged from this, that our lives aren’t going to sink into fucking despair over this, that we’re going to be o-fucking-kay.

We’re not.

But she doesn’t need to know that.

I lock down, pushing the images of the little girl into the depths of my soul. I’ll find a way to deal. I’ll find a way that doesn’t damage the beautiful, blue eyes of my wife. A way that doesn’t cause them to drown, and be any less vibrant. A way that lets her sleep at night, the way she deserves . . . horror-free.

So I do the only thing I can.

I lie.

“Everything is fine, Blue Belle. It was just a shock. I didn’t see anything. I’m going to be fine.”

I’ll never be fine again.

“H
ey,” a voice calls and a hand gently taps my cheek. “Wake up. Come on.”

My eyes flutter open and a sharp pain pounds through my head as I try to focus on the form leaning over me. It’s a man, a man with a patched face full of stitches and gauze to cover his wounds. It’s not Max, and as my vision gets clearer, I realize it’s Raide. The man Max was fighting. I go to sit up, fury washing through me, but he takes my shoulders gently and pushes them down.

“Don’t sit up that fast, you’ll hurt yourself.”

I open my mouth to demand he lets me go, but he gets in before me.

“Don’t be pissed at me. It was a fair fight, and he gave it as hard as he got it. I’m not here to hurt you; I’m watching you while Max gets patched up. Now calm down and don’t put up a fuss. You got hit pretty hard out there.”

“Is he . . .” I swallow, “okay?”

Raide grins, and gosh he’s good looking. “He’s fine. Max is a warrior.”

“I hope you sleep in a lot of pain tonight,” I grunt at him.

He chuckles. “Fair call. Now come on, sit up slowly.”

He helps me up, and I’m forced to hold his wrists for balance. My head is pounding. I release one wrist and reach up, rubbing a tender spot near my temple. “Ouch,” I mutter.

“You got hit good. Sent your man in there into a tizzy.”

“Max?” I say, my eyes scanning the room. We’re in a locker room, and it seems it’s just the two of us.

“Yeah, he got up and leapt out of that fucking ring like a raging bull. He put blood everywhere.”

“Oh,” I say.

“You got elbowed in the temple, so we need to keep an eye on you.”

“Wait,” I say, letting him go fully now. “Why are you in here looking after me?”

He shrugs. “I know Max. He’s helping me out. He asked me to watch you.”

I study his face. Gosh he’s beautiful—well, in a rugged kind of way. He has these amber eyes, that most intense, incredible color. His hair is dark, his skin is olive, and he’s got a few imperfections on his face, like a slightly crooked nose, but they only add to the flawed perfection that he is.

“I’ve never heard him mention you.”

He flashes a grin. “That’s because I don’t get mentioned.”

“What are you?” I groan, shifting. “A criminal or something?”