CHAPTER 27
MAYA
Eve and I are at the window, watching as Drex, Axle, and Sledge talk outside the shed. They’ve been out there for a really long time.
For some reason, Axle is shirtless.
“Will you hurt me if I ask how he got the scars? I understand I’m just being nosy, but I can’t help myself. I feel like these guys know my life, inside and out, yet I barely know anything about them,” Eve says on a sigh, dropping to a chair and looking at me. “And they act like it’s their right to know everything about me.”
“He got them as a child. That’s all I know,” I tell her, understanding the feeling of everyone knowing your life but knowing nothing of theirs.
The Demon’s Child comment he made has sent a few theories into my head. Only one makes sense, but I keep it to myself, feeling like it’s Axle secret to share.
“He sees red when rape is brought up. It makes me a little queasy worrying that’s what happened to him as a child, and that’s why it’s such a trigger,” she says quietly.
An uneasiness settles in my stomach, but I don’t think that’s what it was. Still, I don’t share that with Eve, and she takes my silence as a sign to change topics.
“How did you know about the hit coming to us? What’d you see on that video?” she asks me seriously.
I slant my gaze toward her, wondering what Drex would do if he heard my theory. After having Axle be so attentive and concerned, I also wonder how he would react, only I’m not as scared of his reaction anymore.
“She looked at the camera,” I tell Eve, my eyes moving back to the window.
“What?”
I shake my head, deciding against telling her. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”
She looks like she wants to press for more, probably confused at what I said, but I turn and walk to the bedroom. I’m wrapped in a towel; there are no clean clothes to wear, since Drake hasn’t arrived yet.
Dropping the towel, I climb into the bed that smells fresh, as though the bedding was just washed yesterday. No sooner than I get comfortable and covered up, Axle walks in.
His gaze meets mine as he shuts the door and starts undoing his jeans. As soon as he’s down to his black boxers, he comes to the bed, pulls back the covers, and slides in next to me.
I don’t hesitate to quickly shuffle over to his side. This day started out so damn good. And went south so damn fast.
“What’s going on in the shed?” I ask him.
“We’re torturing Herrin’s right hand for information,” he answers flatly, no hesitation at all.
“Okay,” I state simply, hoping he doesn’t elaborate.
Blowing out a breath, I peer up at him, and he looks down at me, his hand resting on the curve of my waist.
“Go to sleep. I’ll stay in here with you until the others get here.”
I shake my head. “I’m scared to go to sleep right now. I’m afraid I’ll dream.”
He runs his other hand through my hair, turning to face me a little better. “You froze because you were back there…back to the day your parents were killed in the explosion,” he says softly.
My brow furrows. “How’d you know th—”
“I was in a hospital from ten to twelve while they worked on fixing my fucked up head. They kept me in a colorful room with the lights on all the time the first year, because when it was dark, I was back in my own hell. They spent a lot of time sedating me before the doctors made the suggestion.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as he talks about this so dispassionately, as though he’s not opening up his darkest secrets for me.
“So it stopped when you were ten?” I ask him quietly. Since he said he was in the hospital at that age, that’s all I can figure.
“No,” he says, sighing. “Only the pain stopped at ten. It took me a long damn time to get out of that place mentally.”
Even though I don’t want to push him, I still ask him, “What happened? Why were you in the hospital?”
“They realized I needed the psych ward when they were tending to my burns. I was begging them not to hurt me, screaming for the light to stay on. I never got much light in the hole.”
“The hole?” I ask shakily.
He goes on, his tone still flat, as though this is just any conversation. “The hole is what I called it. It was a cellar with no windows. The ground was dirt, and I had a small hole I slept in for three years. At least on unchained days.”
He heaves out a breath, his eyes moving away.
“Someone kidnapped you?” I ask, confused.
He slowly shakes his head. “No. My grandmother passed away from heart complications, and the state awarded my mother custody. She’d turned her rights over to her mother when she had me and ran away.”
“So you did have a name?” My question comes out soft as I tilt my head.
“I did,” he says tightly. “But the memory of that name has been gone for a long time. It was part of my punishment. When I tell you that name is gone, I mean it. I can’t remember what my grandmother called me. Even though they later found out my name, it still didn’t feel right to use it. Or even claim it.”
My hand slides over him, trying to be supportive. “So your grandmother didn’t do this?” I ask him, just to clarify.
He shakes his head. “I only have a few memories of a kind smile and a gentle voice. But I know my grandmother was loving, gentle, kind…everything my mother wasn’t.”
“Your mother did this?” I ask, anger and sickness mixing together in my stomach and souring it as I sit up, running my finger along the deepest scar on his face.
He catches my hand, his gaze meeting mine again.
“No. I did the ones on my face.”
Admittedly confused, I study him silently, waiting on him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Why would you do this to yourself?”
He shrugs. “I thought if I looked less like him, she’d be less inclined to punish me for what he did. So I took a piece of broken glass and cut until I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.”
The Demon’s Child…
After another long exhale, he says, “I’m the product of my mother’s rape.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat. That’s not what I expected. I expected him to tell me his father had done this to him because of radical religious reasons, given the name choice.
He goes on, his eyes averting mine again as he continues to clutch my hand, bringing it to his chest and resting it there with his over it.
“She was fourteen, and her family was strictly Catholic. The man who raped her was some thug who’d just gotten out of prison for the very same thing. He left her abandoned in the street, and when she found out she was pregnant, her mother refused to allow her to have an abortion, saying it wasn’t my fault this happened and God wouldn’t want an innocent child punished for a monster’s sins. Like I said, she signed her rights over after I was born and ran away, hating her mother for forcing her to have me. But my grandmother never blamed me for any of it.”
“You weren’t to blame. You were just as much a victim in this as she was,” I say softly, hating the pressure on my chest.
I feel violent, knowing where this story is going.
“Anyway, seven years later, my grandmother died, and my mother came back into the picture. She was so fucked up in the head by then the state never should have let her walk away with me. She’d been on the streets, getting abused on repeat, and taking shelter with junkies she fucked for food and warmth. She said she was going to hell, but she was taking the demon inside me with her.”
He clears his throat, his eyes meeting mine again.
“Between the drugs and psychological issues, she honestly believed there’d been a demon in the man who raped her. She believed by impregnating her, he’d passed that demon along to me. She performed her own versions of exorcisms, dehydrating me for days. Every time she asked my name, I told her, but she’d punish me.”
He gestures to some of the scars on his chest.
“These aren’t as bad as the ones on my back because she was terrified to face me, worried the demon would leap out of my eyes and into hers if she stared at me. So she usually put a hood over my head. Then she’d burn me with hot metal crosses, cut me, whip me, dehydrate me. I was fed and watered once a day like a dog, because she was afraid if I simply died, the demon would escape and she’d have to worry about it coming after her again, planting a new demon child inside her.”
My hand on his chest slowly curls into a fist as I fight back the tears in my eyes. He keeps his gaze off me.
“She believed if she inflicted enough pain, the demon would show himself, and then she could exorcise it,” he says quietly. “One day, she went too far. She went to cut off my dick, saying if she couldn’t kill the demon, she’d make sure he could never get out of me the way he got out of the last host. I wasn’t chained. She was so out of it, that she’d forgotten it was a no-chain day.”
The scar on the base of his penis comes to mind, and I hold back a grimace.
“Not sure why that particular thing prompted my survival instincts to kick in, but the second that knife bit into my flesh, I shoved her as hard as I could. She fell backwards, and I grabbed the knife, stabbing it into her leg, frenzied and terrified. I started to run up the steps, but she grabbed me as soon as I reached the top.”
He laughs humorlessly, running a hand over his face.
“It was so bright up there that I couldn’t see. I’d begged for light for so long, then the damn thing blinded me as though I needed to be kicked while I was down.” His gaze comes back to mine. “She knocked me down, and I was crawling blindly, bumping into shit as she limped after me. I felt something wet hit me, and then I heard the strike of the match.”
My eyes inadvertently drop to his legs that are covered by the blanket.
“The pain I felt next was some of the worst I’d faced. My legs were burning as I ran, falling on her. I heard her scream as I scrambled out, crashing into a door and falling outside. On instinct alone, I rolled on the ground even as I screamed.”
His eyes find mine once more, staring intently as his jaw tenses.
“The first thing I was finally able to see when my eyes somewhat adjusted was that house burning rapidly, catching fire because of the gasoline she had doused me and half the floor with. And she was on fire with it. I heard her screams and I fucking smiled, knowing I’d finally hurt her as bad as she’d hurt me.”
He releases his hand that’s over mine as his look hardens.
“Then I went to the hospital, the psych ward, a foster home, and finally juvie before ending up running with Drex. My mother’s rapist was caught and put back in prison. He died before I ever had to deal with him. And my monster wasn’t the man behind bars; it was his victim who was turned into a monster. I was just collateral damage. Now you know all my secrets.”
And my heart hurts.
“Don’t show me so much pity. It’s why I don’t like for fucking people to know,” he bites out. “It was a long damn time ago, so don’t think I’m that weak little shit anymore.”
My eyebrows go up in surprise. “Pity is for strangers you care nothing about but can’t help but feel sorry for them. It’s the side effect of being human,” I say softly, leaning closer so that our faces are inches apart. “What you see right now is a range of emotions on my face. This is me being angry for you. Me hurting for you. Me wanting to go back in time and hurt her while saving you. This isn’t pity, Axle. This is me caring about you. It’s a side effect of loving you.”
He cocks his head, but I hold his gaze.
“And that kid wasn’t a weak little shit. That kid is the ultimate survivor,” I add on a breath.
He searches my gaze for a moment before his lips find mine, and he kisses me like he’s thanking me. Or needing me. Or just caring about me too.
It takes me a few minutes of being lost in his kiss to realize I just told him I love him.
I really have the shittiest timing ever for romantic notions.