Everything I’ve done since we separated is all for her.
I had to walk away from her in her room. I can’t think straight around her, and one thing I can’t do is lose control around her.
She’s not even been here a week, and already the band to my restraint is stretched to its limit. I can feel the snags increasing every time I look at her.
When she told me I could touch her?
I almost lost my fucking mind.
Six years ago, I would have sold my soul to the fucking devil to hear those words from her.
Now?
I’ve traded places with him instead, but my avarice in having her has never faded away.
And greed is a deadly sin.
Gentleness is something I’ve always struggled with, never knew the meaning of.
I was crafted into a machine for war from a young age. Naturally bred for hunting one purpose. Six years is a long time to know nothing else but utter savagery and blood lust.
But when I looked into those haunting blue eyes after all this time, I felt something I haven’t known since her.
Calm.
I’ll never know peace, not until I raise the fires of hell and scorch the earth with them.
Not until those who harmed her are screaming for mercy, gurgling in their own blood and tears and begging me to stop.
It won’t be a quick death; it’ll be unhurried, lengthy, and agonisingly painful.
It’s a shame I’m physically not immortal, because it’ll be nothing close to what they deserve.
Instead, I’ll dedicate my life to prolonging their torture, just to do it all over again in the next.
Indie doesn’t know the weight her words hold when she says these people never face justice. It’s rotten into the very history of that society. And the fucked-up thing is, all this?
It didn’t just start with her, or Regina and Jenna.
Indie was the last straw, my biggest motivation, and I knew I couldn’t fail her, or my father. He’s the whole reason I have the knowledge I bear. Handing me keys to my own vicious empire that I wield to bring these fuckers to their knees.
It’s my own tool of mass destruction, and I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to unleash it.
When I had to witness with my own eyes what they did to her, I saw fucking red, felt that darkness I’d hidden from her roar to life.
I still see it every time I close my eyes.
I feel it when I think about her, and anyone in my path learns a hard fucking lesson.
It fills my need to keep this going, the heat scorching like a never-ending inferno. They’d broken her mind into something irreparable, when she wasn’t theirs to touch.
No one touches what’s fuckingmine.
But I can see she conjured a darkness of her own in my absence and became one with it.
She’s a walking, beautiful disaster.
I’d come to terms years ago that I was never going to get her back. The realisation made me kill more men than I’ll likely ever admit.
