The violence pulls me deeper into its seductive web. I tell my trusted men to bring them to me unharmed to the warehouse at the outskirts of town, where I prefer to have my fun with traitors.
I am the first to step inside, the cool, heavy energy of this place a testament to my numerous kills. I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and lean my back against the wall.
Silence surrounds me, trapping me with my somber thoughts. The wind blows, rattling the chains hanging from the ceiling. Alone with my pain that craves some vindication, a darkness sets in.
Cracking my head, adrenaline flows through my veins with a thirst for blood. Needing an outlet for this rage that is consuming me whole.
One of my men thrusts the first traitor inside, and I pick up the spiked steel baton from the metal table by my side. It scratches along the floor, the jarring sound of the impending gore ringing out.
He’s about to open his mouth, but I am not in the mood for excuses. I swing it at him in one violent strike. He flies onto his back, landing with a thud. The instant I yank the baton out of his skull, blood seeps from the holes in his temple from where the spikes embedded themselves.
Eyes wide open, his body jerks one more time before he stills. He’s dead, and I don’t even feel marginally better.
The next two waver inside, and they exchange a quick glance at their dead colleague lying in a pool of blood at my feet.
Thinking that together they have a chance, they come at me. Such fools. A manic laugh erupts from deep within me. Just to feel something other than the agony slaughtering my chest, I let each of them hit me once.
I feel fucking nothing, so I end them as well in quick succession. With both hands, I hoist the spiky baton above my head and smash their heads against the cement. Brain matter flies everywhere, their blood spraying a grotesque scarlet painting on the cement wall and drenching my suite. The metallic, tangy smell fills the air, accompanied by an eeriesilence. Death surrounds me, turning me into the reaper with feet firmly planted in hell.
Breathing heavily and not one bit calmer, the last two stumble in.
With these two, I take my time to satiate a need that no blood, no violence, nothing else can fulfill.
Only her. Only ever her. But she left me.
Roaring, I chase after them, the rage leading me until I leave nothing but carnage in my wake.
Surrounded by the five dead bodies, I stare at my bloody palms and battered knuckles. Misery presses heavily on my back, and I drop on my knees—a fallen king. The baton clanks on the floor, rolling away just like my dream of a future with her.
I throw my head back and scream.
Scream until I lose my voice.
Scream until the piercing bellows turn into muffled sobs.
Palming my face, I cry for the first time in my fucking life. The worst part is I know it’s for the best.
Only a monster can love a monster.
But a saint and a sinner?
That’s unheard of.
27
DAHLIA
What have I done?
My heart yearns for him, and my soul wails, crying in misery.
I thought breaking up would be the best way. To end things before we return.
Once I walk inside, my mother greets me, but her smile fades when I drop to my knees and hold my face as I sob. Ugly cries rip from my chest, and my mother slides in front of me, wrapping me in her arms.
“What’s wrong, figlia mia?” she asks in a soft voice that only makes things worse.
“I was happy, Mom. I was so happy.”
