“Stop, you promised you wouldn’t hurt them!” I yell, my vision blurring from the onslaught of tears. I struggle against Banks and Sullivan, but there’s no point. Their hands are like heavy iron shackles around my limbs.
“I promised nothing bad was going to happen. This isn’t that bad… not considering what we could have done to you for threatening the Rossi family.”
More tears slip down my cheeks, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I watch them land another kick to Oliver’s stomach.
“Okay, okay, you made your point. Please, just… just leave,” I barely get the words out as I speak between sobs. “I swear, it will never happen again.”
Scar face lifts his hand, and his partner stops mid-kick. “Next time, it won’t be a little ass-kicking. Next time you’ll pay in blood.”
“We understand,” I pant. All I want them to do is leave so I can take care of Oliver. Staring at his unconscious body, all I can think is how this is my fault, if I hadn’t threatened my father then maybe none of this would have happened. This is my fault, all mine.
“Excellent,” scar face smiles, and gestures for the other guy to come over by him. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. Have a good rest of your night.”
Together the two men leave as if they were never here. As soon as the door closes behind them, Sullivan and Banks release me.
“I’ll lock the door,” Sullivan tells Banks, “make sure he’s okay.”
The guys bustle around me, but I’m too consumed with a need to get to Oliver that I don’t even pay attention to what they’re doing. Scurrying across the floor, I drop down to my knees near Oliver’s head. A whimpered sob escapes my lips when I see his face. He looks as if he’s sleeping, no pain on his features, but I know once he wakes up, he is going to be in a world of hurt. I just hope he is going to be okay… he has to be.
Holding his head in my lap, I run my hand over his forehead before spearing my fingers through his hair. I find a bump right away, and do my best not to press against it.
“He’s got a pretty good bump on his head,” I tell Banks, who is kneeling on the floor beside me. He’s got Oliver’s shirt pushed up, and I try my best not to flinch when I see that his ribs are already swelling, taking on a deep red, bluish color.
“He’s got some bruising, but he’ll be okay. He’ll be in a lot of pain, but he’ll live,” Sullivan tells both Banks and me, and even though, I know he’ll be okay, it doesn’t make the fact that none of this would’ve happened had it not been for me, any easier to handle.
“This is my fault, all mine. I’m sorry…I’m so sorry, Oliver.” I start to sob uncontrollably, my heart crumbling in my chest.
“Stop, Harlow. Don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault. Not every bad thing that happens is your fault.” Banks tries his best to soothe me, his voice soft and kind, but I don’t want to hear him tell me it’s not my fault, not when I know deep down it is.
“This could’ve been much worse, so we’re lucky that it ended like this, and not with you hurt, or one of us dead. People get their houses broken into all the time.” Like always, the guys pretend that these bad things would’ve happened to them even if I wasn’t part of their lives. This wasn’t a random break-in. These people were here because of me. I’m a poison, destroying and infecting everything in my wake.
Holding Oliver’s head in my trembling hands, I pray he wakes soon, and that I can find a way to make the Bishops’ lives safe again.
Every time I need saving, they’re there for me, rescuing me like white knights, but I don’t want to be a princess that needs to be saved anymore.
I want to save myself and them.
11
“Would you stop, you’re worse than a mother hen.” Oliver slaps at my hands as I inspect his ribs for the fiftieth time today. The guilt of what happened a few days ago is still fresh. Like a newly stitched wound, it stings and burns.
“I’m sorry,” I pout, “I just feel terrible about what happened, and you wince every time you walk. It makes me…”
“Stop,” Oliver orders his voice strong, powerful, and way too loud for the library. “You’ve been beating yourself up for days over this, and it’s not your fault.” Leaning into my side, he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. “I’m glad it was me. I would much rather feel this than ever see you bruised and in pain. If it were you that was hurt, you know damn well my brothers, and I would most likely be dead by now, trying to kill those fuckers.”