No. Away from the enemy.
One thing.
One thing.
One thing.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my eyes burning as I try to choke back the tears. She almost died, and I was powerless to fucking stop it.But he didn’t even hesitate. He saved her. He saved her, and then he….
I don’t remember when it happened, but suddenly, I’m killing Eric Keaton.
My fist collides with his face again and again. My teeth scrape together, my jaw pulses, my knuckles crack, but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
Eric grunts when my brother lands a kick in the fuckers gut, and I let out a sound of satisfaction. “I hope you fucking rot, you sick asshole!” Gage snarls, and the sound is dark, so viscous, I peel my eyes from Eric’s.
His face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Worse than when I was a kid, and my father was being the twisted bastard he is. Worse than when we found Ella in her house, tied up and injured. Worse than when she was missing.
He’s just…empty.
I swallow and look back at the man sprawled out across the ground, his body broken and bloody. It’s not enough. The pain he caused, the horror and devastation. The fucking scars, physical and mental…
It will never be enough.
There is no pain, no damage, we could inflict that’ll ever make it right for her, for them. Nothing. But taking his life slowly, brutally, will have to do.
Feeling him bleed out under my fingers will have to do.
I suck in a sharp gasp, the organ in my chest squeezing at the reminder of what happened. Ofwhohappened.
“One thing at a time,” I breathe, sinking deeper. My hands tremble as I lift them in front of me, eyeing the thick, dried blood stains. His and mine. My jaw ticks as I take in how perfectly the stains blend together.
When we’re created, we’re all the same—just a mix of blood, muscles, and bones. We’re blank canvases waiting for life to paint us. And when we die, we’re all nothing but broken promises, half-written stories, and unfinished breaths.
I know it’s what’s in between that counts. I know it’s what you make of yourself that matters. But what we, whatI’vebecome, isn’t all that different from Eric, is it? From my father?
I ruin families and take lives. The stains on my hands are nothing compared to the stains on my conscience.
One thing, Maddox. Just one thing. Nothing more, nothing less.
I choke on my next breath as Gage’s voice circles through my mind so loudly it feels like he’s here with me. I quickly wipe my hands down my slacks and inhale deeply, letting the next part of my memories through the thick wall I keep the darkness trapped behind.
“What the fuck?” Gage grunts, but I barely hear him over thethump, thump, thumpof my heart filling my ears. “Oh, fuck. Where is she?” Again, I try to tune him out while continuing my assault on the man beneath me. I don’t think he’s breathing anymore, but I don’t give a fuck.
I know where she is.
She’s holding her best friend while he dies.
Fuck, maybe he’s already dead.
The thought of that sends a sharp stabbing pain through me that penetrates my nothingness, and I shove it down.
“He needs to pay,” is all I can manage to grit out between clenched teeth.
I pull my fist back, and it collides with Eric’s shattered cheekbone. I feel his blood coat my jaw, but I don’t even blink, refusing to look away. His ugly eyes are locked onto mine, lifeless and unseeing, but it still doesn’t matter.
She matters, though.
