“Come on, come on,” I muttered, stroking harder, as if I could physically force my body into submission.
But it betrayed me, leaving me limp and dejected. In that moment, anger flared, hot and potent, surging through me wildly, making me want to be reckless. My breath quickened, an urge to strike something hard, to shatter the noise of failure, swelling in my head.
With a primitive yell, I swung my fist at the window, feeling the glass shatter beneath my knuckles. The crackling sound reverberated through the room, as if my own pain echoed back at me. Knuckles shredded, blood welled and streamed down my skin, and the fragile windowpane spiderwebbed out into a hundred fractures.
I dropped my hand to my side; it throbbed and stung. I stared at myself in the broken glass. I’d been stripped bare, not just of my clothes but of my tightly held composure too.
I stumbled back from my splintered reflection. Is this who I am now? A guy who can’t get it up? A guy who lashes out because of his shortcomings?
I leaned against the nearest wall. My heartbeat synched with the pulse in my wounded hand.
This rage I felt wasn’t just about Xander’s crash; it was about my own ability to face the oncoming darkness, to accept the parts of myself I tried to ignore.
But as blood dripped to the floor, I realized I didn’t walk this path alone. That thought was the one to finally settle my soul and lighten the weight in my chest. We were all teetering, just one slip away from losing our footing in this chaotic world. At least if we crashed and burned, we’d do it together.
KANE.
I sat in the Shelby project car, staring at the box from Otto’s on the floorboard. I lifted my gaze, counting the various parts scattered across the cracked leather of the passenger seat. It all felt like a lost cause now. I’d never given up on a build, but at the moment, I just didn’t care about resurrecting the mangled Mustang.
The stale air in the cab clung to me, thick and suffocating, as the silence around me hummed with questions I couldn't answer.Why did Xander’s crash feel different this time? Why was it making me sink down into this depression?Fuck, it had even zapped the joy out of the garage.
When any of us had an accident, all the others could do was watch it happen. Feeling helpless as Xander slammed into the ground wasn’t something new. But I felt like a waste of fucking space right now. Fury surged through me, clashing with powerlessness as I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. It wasn’t just anger directed at the crash; it was at the reality that I couldn't hold everything together, not anymore.
I yanked at the collar of my shirt, feeling like I might choke on feelings I didn’t want.
I turned my gaze to the scattered parts again. I should be able to fix this. I should be able to fix everything, damn it! Like Xander’s crash. I should have known it was coming, some fucking how, and made sure I took measures to stop it. Fix it before it even happened.
Rationally, I knew it was impossible to predict the future and prevent a tragedy. Irrationally, I still thought it was my fault I couldn’t do just that. What was going to happen next? Which brother would get hurt?
I never understood how I remembered things so well, despite being so damn young, but the memories surged through me.
How I’d felt after my parents died, and how I’d thought I’d never smile again. How I’d rejected every foster parent who’d tried to be kind because they weren’t my actual mom and dad.
Then I was at the orphanage, feeling alone and lost. I’d met Xander and the others.
Quick scenes flashed now: those moments of laughter and chaos shared with my pack brothers, the unchecked energy of us just being alive with no worries, no responsibilities. Each happy snapshot fought against the crushing despair of now. Sneaking out late, spending hours at a nearby skate park. Raising hell and giving the orphanage staff palpitations. We’d exhausted them, which is probably why we were allowed to emancipate ourselves as a pack and go independent earlier than other Alphas.
We’d been living life to the fullest since the day we met. Even now, I could almost hear the echoes of our reckless, youthful abandon.
DemonX had always felt unbreakable, but it was slipping through my fingers, and I was helpless to stop it.
I slammed my fist against the center of the steering wheel in frustration, the loud blaring of the horn—one of the only things that worked in this damn car—blasting through the air like an anguished cry. I raised my hand, then slammed it down again. It hurt. Each keening note felt like a scream for help. My insides churned, my chest ached. Everything felt so fragile, so damn tenuous.I hit the horn repeatedly, until the damn thing cracked.
Were my brothers suffering this way? If so, what if we all fell deeper into madness? What if every show from now on ended in a crash? Or worse, death?
I leaned my forehead against the top of the steering wheel. Without the wailing of the horn splitting through the garage, my thoughts got loud again.
Fuck, this couldn’t be the beginning of the end. It just couldn’t be. We had to use Xander’s crash to fortify us. We had to wake the hell up as a pack and fight tooth and nail against this Alpha decay. We had each other to hold onto, to share the brutal burden. I knew Xander was keeping up with Eros, but that couldn’t be the only hope we chased. The Institute had proven useless so far.
I reached down into the box, running my fingers over the salvaged part thoughtfully, determination fueling my resolve. I’d fix this fucking car. And, somehow, I’d fix the pack too.
24
LUCY
{A week after her last treatment}
This morning, I went outside for the first time in a very long time.
