Ultraviolent [Kylo Ren X Reader]

Chapter Thirty-One

*Kylo's Point of View*

He could practically feel his knuckles turning white as he held you right to him, almost as if the closer he held you to him, the safer you would be. Given the circumstances of the night, that was farther from the truth.

He was the reason you were tangled up in this mess. And it killed him.

Kylo tried to calm himself by listening to your deep breathing, taking in the swelling of your chest against his, your skin warming from the blasting heat and him holding you so close. Ushar, sitting beside Kylo, was working to brace your broken ankle, concealing the ill angled appendage from sight. A small whimper escaped your lips as Ushar twisted the compression wrap around the bruising, swelling skin, a wrinkle rippling the skin between your brows.

He brushed his lips against your smooth temple, humming softly into your skin, hoping that wherever your subconscious mind had drifted, his low notes floated around you, wrapping and holding you close, shielding you from the pain of the real world.

"Hold on!" Vic yelled, cutting the steering wheel all the way to the left, tires screeching as the vehicle barreled into the parking lot of the nearest hospital. Kylo held fast to you, as well as the door handle, gritting his teeth against the force of the car speeding towards the building. Almost as soon as the vehicle came to a halt beneath the small Emergency Room pavilion, Kylo was out of his seat, sprinting through the automatic doors, clutching you to his chest, Vicrul and Ushar in tow.

"Please! Somebody help us!" Kylo yelled into the small waiting room, frantically eyeing anyone the space for anyone in scrubs. A young mother holding a sniffling toddler to her chest seemed to pale at the sight of you in his arms, limp and slathered in blood. An elderly couple averted their gaze, interlacing their fingers and whispering a prayer to whomever would listen, the withered face woman gripping a gilded cross between her frail fingertips.

Kylo watched as a young, stone faced doctor ushered him forward, eyes tight as he inspected the unconscious woman he held close.

He knew exactly what he saw.

The laceration on your left temple, still seeping blood down the side of your face.

The bloodied, now crooked nose, causing your eyes to swell, already shadowed with bruises.

The raw, irritated skin of your wrists from struggling against metal bonds.

The braced ankle, staving off the swelling and pain before professionals could tend to you.

Each injury you had sustained had Kylo's guts churning, begging for release of the light dinner and countless drinks he'd consumed. You were here because of him.

This was his fault.

As he laid you gently on the cot in a cold, nearly sterile trauma bay, he watched as nurses nearly shoved him out of the way to get to you, exposing your body to them, attaching wires to your skin, sinking needles into the precious flesh he once worshipped. He backed out of the room, watching as everyone buzzed around you, unable to tear his eyes away.

He had caused this, dragged you into the whirlwind of organized crime and living in the moment before danger had gripped you in its bloodthirsty talons, threatening to rip you away from those you knew and loved.

Kylo watched with bated breath as the doctor held your head fast between his hands as a nurse adjusted a cervical collar around it, locking your head in a fixed position. He couldn't help as his thoughts lingered to the nights he had spent, brushing his lips against the warm skin of your throat, tangled in sheets, listening to your breath catch, feeling you writhe beneath him in pleasure.