How could I go from wanting to kill them myself, to whatever…thisis.
I think of Elias taking a bullet for me, of Callum’s entire body shaking as he broke that vat open, and of Dante being brave enough to look past his trauma and help us all escape.
Ever since stepping foot into my home, they’ve given every ounce of information they could to my fathers, from what I’ve heard.
They’re trying to make amends, be it for themselves, or me.
Every time I soften to the thought of them, my wretched mind reminds me that they’re still the son and nephews of the man who has my mother right now, locked in that same hell I endured.
How could we ever walk a path side by side after all of this?
I clench my fists so tightly my nails bite into my palms. I need somewhere to put this flood of fury and confusion.
Tomorrow, we launch the attack and I will walk back into the place that nearly destroyed me. If I’m going to have a clear mind when I face it, I need to let all of this out now. If I let it churn inside me, I’ll be no use tomorrow and will make reckless decisions.
My palms press against the cold iron handles to our large gym, desperate for the solitude I came here to find as I let it all out in private. A place to rage, to sweat, and maybe to break something before I break myself. Its infrastructure is built to hold any noise inside, making it the perfect place. But the moment the doors swing inward, the thuds of fists hammering into leather greet me, followed by the sharp exhale of breath between impacts.
My gaze zeroes in on him instantly.
Dante.
Sweat slicks down his bare chest, muscles taut with every strike as he drives his fists into the heavy bag. His knuckles are already red, his jaw tight, each blow landing like it’s the only thing holding him together.
I halt just inside the doorway, the thought flashing through me before I can stop it.Oh, fucking great. The third musketeer I’d love to avoid in my confusion.
He doesn’t notice me at first, too locked into the rhythm of his own destruction. Each hit lands harder than the last, his breath tearing out between clenched teeth, sweat dripping from his jaw to his chest.
I should turn around and slip back into the corridor and find another outlet. But my feet don’t move. While part of me is irritated that it’s him of all people standing between me and my outlet, another part can’t look away.
It’s somewhat shocking and unsettling, seeing him like this. He’s not the careful, calculated Dante who always seems to keep his emotions sealed tight. This is a raw version, stripped bare and cracking open every time his fists slam into the bag.
Maybe that’s what keeps me rooted to the spot, just seeing the exposed pieces of him.
Dante is a puzzle I haven’t figured out yet. With Elias and Callum, I briefly glimpsed the boys they were before Terrance put them under his thumb. I saw them as students and people like me with a dream that was just out of reach. Those flashes of who they were before gave me something to hold onto and compare against the versions of them I hated in that compound.
But Dante?
I never saw him before the compound, before Terrance’s grip locked him in place and ground him down into obedience. All I know of him is the man shaped by survival–the one who kept his head bowed and his mouth shut, who obeyed because he hadno other choice. The one who nearly died under his own father’s hand just for daring to run.
That’s the version I’ve lived beside. A man of scars and silence.
Seeing him like this, sweating and snarling under his breath, I realize I don’t know what lies underneath. Maybe even Dante doesn’t know what lies within himself any longer.
Maybe he’s trying to find that now.
The chain above the bag rattles with the force of his last punch before he lets out an animalistic roar of fury that reminds me of shifters. His chest heaves with deep and uneven breaths as he drops his hands to his side and turns. His gaze collides with mine in the open doorway.
For a beat his expression is pinched and filled with rage, but the second he realizes it’s me, I watch him attempt to shove it deep within. His jaw tightens, his mouth pulling into a line, and the storm in his eyes shutters behind something practiced.
Exactly how Terrance wanted. Silent and compliant.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he offers while wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm as if that can erase what I just saw.
He glances at the bag, then back at me, fumbling for something to say as I simply stare at him. “Did you…need this? I can go.”
I step further into the room, letting out a sigh as it hits me that maybe I’m not the only one who deserves to have this outlet right now. The tension in my chest eases by the smallest fraction as I shake my head and accept that.
“I’d offer to hold the bag for you,” I tell him in a lightly teasing tone to ease any discomfort my presence may have brought, “but I think the added weight for vampire strength is doing well enough for you.”
