Rouge: Act 4 – Scene 37

Lacey

Harsh beeps pulse in my ears, making my splitting headache even worse. The satin sheets I’m wrapped in are soft, but they scratch against my skin. Red-orange light burns through my eyelids and I scrunch them tighter to block it out. It only drives the hammering sensation deeper into my skull.

Fine, I’ll just open them instead.

When I crack my eyes, blinding pain stabs into my brain, and I cry out.

“Shh, you’re okay, Lace.”

Kian’s smoky, sweet amber scent envelops me as he gingerly wraps one arm over my chest. His lips brush the shell of my ear as he whispers warm, comforting words, but I can only understand them once the agony subsides.

“You’re safe, tine. You’re home. He’s not going to hurt you anymore. No one will ever hurt you again.”

I try to thank him, but my throat is so dry, it only comes out as a whimper.

“Here.” He shifts beside me until a straw meets my lips. “This will help.”

My lips part to allow the cold, refreshing water to leak between them. I lap it up greedily, and when he pulls the glass away, my eyes instinctively open to follow where it went. But that bright light crashes in, making me groan and Kian flies off the bed.

“I knew they shouldn’t have opened these bloody things.” Metal rings clatter against the rod as he violently closes the curtains. “Sorry, that shouldn’t have happened. Fuck, none of this should’ve ever fecking happened.”

With the light dimmed, my eyes flutter open again to finally assess my surroundings. Kian sits next to me on a silver comforter, shirtless and dressed down in gray sweats. His weight dips the mattress, and it takes me a second to realize I know this bed.

“Are we—” I clear my throat and wince. “Are we in your home?”

“Our home,” he answers while positioning the straw at my lips again. I drink as he fills the blanks in my memory.

“We’re in our suite at the McKennon. You went to the hospital after… after everything happened last night. You’ve been in and out of sleep most of the day.”

“No wonder I feel like crap.” I try to sit up but a shooting pain down my spine stops me. A hiss escapes my chest and I reach for the back of my head to feel where most of the ache seems to stem from, but Kian catches my hand.

“Don’t touch it. You got a bad concussion and they had to stitch you up. It’s best to leave it alone.”

“A concussion?”

Exhaustion sags his shoulders and dark circles bruise the skin underneath his glassy eyes. His voice trembles when he answers.

“After I found you, I tried… I tried to save you. The paramedics said I kept your heart going until they got there. Once they arrived, they were able to bring you back to life. Do you… do you remember any of it?”

Almost as if my thoughts are trying to answer the question for me, memories knife through my mind while shame and guilt fill my veins.

“Kian, oh my God, that phone call… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. The Baron—”

“Shh, it’s okay, Lace. I know.” He rubs my thigh soothingly over the covers to calm me. It feels amazing, but all I can focus on are the cuts and bruises on his knuckles.

“Jesus, what happened to your hand?”

He glances at his hand as if it’s the first time he’s noticed. “I, uh, I lost a fight with my reflection. Definitely not the only thing I fecked up last night, though.”

His hazel eyes glisten until a drop of emotion trails down his cheek, and he massages his eyelids.

“Fecking hell, you were apologizing, but I’m the one who needs to apologize. I’m sorry. So goddamn sorry. I’ve made so many mistakes. I should’ve figured everything out sooner. I should’ve trusted that you wouldn’t say any of those things unless you were forced to. If I had—”

My heart breaks for the grief cracking his voice and making him falter. I use my thumb on my uninjured hand to swipe the moisture from his cheek.

“So many men demand respect by ruling with an iron fist, but they could be loved if only they gave us their tears.”

“I’d give you everything to be given your love in return.” He cups my hand against his cheek and kisses my palm.

I keep it there and lock my gaze with his as I make my confession. “Maybe we both could’ve been better. But honestly? I’d do everything wrong all over again if falling in love with you feels this right.”

His jaw slackens, and he lowers my hand. “You… you love me?”

“I do.” I smile and try to remember the words. “Is tú mo rogha. I love you, Kian McKennon, and I choose you.”

He holds both my hands in his and his voice is rough when he speaks, “Is tú mo rogha. I love you, and I choose you, Lacey O’Shea.”

“McKennon,” I correct him with a small grin. His smile makes my chest light and I go to touch it, but my left hand is stiff. My eyes flare at the sight of the fresh cast wrapping it.

“Is it… it’s broken?” I whisper. “And… and my ring. Where is it?”

He cradles my hand, but his careful touch is in complete contrast to the rage on his face.

“I don’t know where the ring is, but after I found you… I’m just happy you’re alive. That piece of shite tried to kill you, Lace.”

“But Kian McKennon wouldn’t let him.” I try to grin until a horrid thought crosses my mind. “W-what else did he do? I-I don’t know what he did when I was out. What if he—”

“He didn’t.” His tan skin blanches. The words seem as hard for him to get out as they were for me. “They wanted to do a rap—a… a kit to see if he assaulted you. But I-I watched the surveillance myself. He didn’t do that.”

Relief makes me dizzy. “What did he do then? I hurt… everywhere. I’d hoped him punching me after Mass would’ve been the worst thing he’d do, but obviously—”

“He punched you after church? And you didn’t tell me?”

“If I had told you, you wouldn’t have let me stay, and I needed you to find answers for my dad, or it would’ve all been for nothing.”

His lips thin, but he takes a deep breath. “I wish you had told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You did what you felt you had to do in dealing with Monroe. So will I,” he murmurs as he begins to caress the inside of my left ring finger.

The move flexes his forearm, showing off a group of circles freshly inked there. His chest and back are tattooed in symbols and ornate designs, but for the first time, I really notice the ones on his left arm. On his bicep are two playing cards, an ace of hearts and a queen of diamonds. Fluttering soars in my chest at the realization, but the new circles on his forearm are still a mystery.

With my uninjured hand, I trace each tiny circle that makes up the oval… right where I—

“Did you get a tattoo of my bite mark on your forearm?”

He huffs a laugh. “I did. I told you if you marked me, you’d be marking me forever, wife.”

“I didn’t know you meant literally!”

“Fair warning, next time you scratch me, I plan to get those, too.”

A laugh tries to fall from my lips, but I grimace at the thought that the marks on me right now aren’t Kian’s.

“I don’t like that he left marks on me,” I whisper. “I liked yours.”

He squeezes my finger, and his face hardens. “You’ll have mine again soon, I promise you. And you’ll have justice, too. I plan to give the bastard back every injury he gave you and then some.”

“What, um, what other injuries do I have? I mean, I’m glad I’m here, but with the way I feel, I’m kind of surprised I’m not in a hospital right now.”

He sighs. “When Merek found out Monroe stayed in Vegas, I couldn’t risk having you vulnerable to that fecker again, so I brought you here.” He gestures to the bedroom that’s been converted into a chic makeshift hospital room before continuing, “You have deep bruising to your kidneys, abdomen, and throat. A concussion and stitches in your head to match. Cuts and scratches from glass, and a broken wrist that will require surgery.”

“Surgery? But what about dance? I need my hand for certain moves—”

“We’ll figure that out. The rest of you needs to get better first, alright?”

Panic still flutters in my chest, but his encouraging smile comforts me as he strokes my palm. His warm fingers tickle my skin until it reminds me…

“Your chip? Do you have it? I held on to it…”

“I have it, tine. You kept it safe.”

He shifts and pulls the coin out of his sweatpants pocket before placing the chip into my palm and closing it. Remorse and rage cloud his face as he stares at my chipped fingernails. His jaw tightens until the small muscle pulses beneath his short beard. Finally he levels me with a determined gaze.

“I’m going to kill him. You won’t be able to stop me—”

“Good.”

His brows rise. “You… you don’t have a problem with that?”

Instead of answering him straight away, I ask the question I have a feeling I already know the answer to. “Did you tell the police what happened?”

His lips thin, and he shakes his head. “I wanted to take care of this in-house. My police contacts know enough not to ask more questions, and your injuries made it easy to convince the paramedics to keep quiet. I believe everyone agrees that the justice system’s methods aren’t going to cut it this time.”

It was what I expected, and with the anger raging inside of me, I’m grateful that, for once, the Garde’s influence protects the good guys.

“Do you know how to get my father out of jail?”

He nods. “I made the calls last night. He’ll be freed and have his name cleared any moment now.”

I stop my head from jolting at the news just in time. “That was fast.”

“You can do a lot of things if you wield the right secrets, and when it came to freeing an innocent man, truth, money, and blackmail were powerful motivators.”

“Monroe said several families in and out of the Garde helped him frame my dad.”

“I know, and they’ll all pay for it, I assure you. I just need to know everywhere Monroe touched you and then he’ll take a swim.”

“Lake Mead?”

He’s watching me for my reaction as he answers. “Would you… want to be there for it?”

I think over the question before I slowly answer, “McKennons are known for their revenge… and I’m a McKennon now, so…”

His eyes darken at my words. “I plan to use my wild card.”

My eyes widen. “You only get one, though.”

“If I’m ever going to use it, this would be the chance, and I’ll have no regrets.”

Kian’s job is only referred to in hushed tones for both his benefit and for the ones who give him the playing card that orders a hit on an enemy. The only time he gets to call the shots himself is if he uses his one card. The joker. If the wild ace is using his wild card, Monroe Baron is already as good as dead.

I inhale and exhale deeply, letting the pain in my body fuel me to give him my blessing.

“Make him hurt.”

A wicked smile curves his lips before he gently kisses my forehead.

“You have my word, tine.”