Skin meets skin—bone cracks bone.
He persistently pounds the motherfucker’s skull in with his naked knuckles while Rowan’s bloodied and swollen face whips back and forth. There’s no doubt that Lex is bleeding too through cracked skin, but I know this kind of grit. It numbs the pain until the only thing you see and feel is a wall of scarlet clouding your vision. Lex pulls back his arms, landing one blow after another until Rowan’s features are coated in crimson and engorged. Bloated beyond recognition on the screen. Rowan stills, his body limp under Lex’s strong build.
I’m sure his heart is still beating, but it won't be for much longer.
When Lex bends forward, I think he’s about to push off Rowan. But what he does next is a crack of lightning zipping through the air, stilling me entirely. He wipes his fingers across Rowan’s cheek, drenching them in blood. Then, I’m nearly fucking blown out of my chair when he raises his fingers to his lips.
“Jesus fuck,” Brody exhales.
I have seen many deranged things in my lifetime, more than most, but this is…
He dips them again and touches his face, but I can’t quite see why from this angle until he looks up.
I stare at him while he glares into the void of night. The rainbow lights from the rides glide off his face, making the scene appear like a horror scene from a carnival. Lex is not looking directly at the security camera, but somehow it feels like he is, his eyes revealing the crimson smudged under them like war paint.
THIRTY-ONE | PRESTON
Something ugly snakes through my ribs, seeping through my pores to lie heavy on my skin.
I shouldn’t be judging another man for having dead eyes, but there’s something about tonight that has me on edge. Brett had to knock out Cathal, but Lex beat Rowan enough that his decayed heart stopped beating thirty minutes after Vincent and Nolan intercepted them.
By that time, I had had enough.
I pushed away from the monitors and stormed out of the room, my hands itching to wash off the unknown feeling from my body and send it down a drain that I’m sure is as black and disgusting as my soul.
Everything has felt off tonight. I’m not sure why.
It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since I’ve seen Kate.
Is this what it feels like to have an obsession?
To be so utterly consumed by someone that the withdrawals attack your insides like an illness destined to destroy you. It could be in the best way or the worst way, but it doesn’t fucking matter because without it, you could be just as miserable.
I blow through the front doors of the estate, letting that thought simmer. The cool rush of the air conditioning washes over me, useless against the heat that envelops my body with every move I make.
In this life, Kate will constantly be a target.
Be in danger.
But she is out there anyway.
Losing her or letting her go would be just as excruciating.
Is fighting to hold onto something beautiful, even if it's fleeting in this lifetime, better than regretting never having tried to begin with?
After one night of having Kate in my bed, I want her to keep infesting it with her warmth. I want her sugared scent to permanently intertwine with the particles in the air. I want it to fill my lungs constantly.
Driving me fucking crazy.
Her sentence is almost over, and I wonder if a part of her is dreading the approaching deadline. The only way to know what’s going on in that beautiful head is to ask her to stay.
Turning the corner, I march down the hallway to her bedroom. I need a shower, but not after quelling these rampant thoughts causing a ruckus in my head. She’s probably asleep, since it’s almost one-thirty in the morning, but I don’t care as I knock on her door softly so I don’t startle her.
My sternum is so tight that it's pushing my heart violently into my throat.
I knock again, with more of an edge this time out of pure nervousness. When I stop, the silence taking over is deathly still. All too quiet. Reaching for the door handle, I slowly push the door open.
“Kate,” I murmur.
