The next strike meets his rib cage. It caves beneath my foot, and it’s the first cry he gets out. A second one doesn’t come once the curve between my pointer and thumb meets his throat.
It’s not a stranger struggling beneath me. Those aren’t dark eyes pleading. They’re blue, below a head of brown hair. He’s tall and lean. A face I’ve seen a thousand times before and have featured in too many of my nightmares.
“This is for stealing my parents,” I snarl. His head whips to the side from the blow of my fist, but it isn’t enough. “Threatening my job.” Another punch. “Talking to my sister.” A kick. “Going near my fucking girl.”
Again and again, strike after strike. I can’t feel the ache in my hands or the broken skin along my knuckles. I keep raining down attacks, one right after the other. My lungs burn, and the twinge in my shoulder screams.
But I don’t stop. He deserves this.
Jackdeserves this.
Years of pent-up rage come out. The inferno that’s always fueled me seeps from me until the well refuses to cater to my delusions anymore.
The breath rushes out of me, and I stagger back, hitting a wall. My hands tremble as I hold them up to see the dark liquid coating my gloves. I swear I can feel it seeping through the latex and burying into each fold and wrinkle of my skin.Hisblood. Jack’s.
Cuts and bruises mar his face and bare torso. I can’t recognize his face. He’s no longer Jack or Thomas, but a disfigured creature I created from my rage, and I’m not content. His blood seeps onto the carpet, saturating the once-light fabric. It’s inky black in the darkness. Another matter that doesn’t sate my bloodlust.
I killed a man, and it wasn’t enough. I need more. I needhimto be fucking dead.
None of this would’ve happened if she was there at six.Hewouldn’t have had to die if she put on that fucking dress and went to dinner with me like we fucking planned.
I stumble out of the room and hang my head back, trying to pull oxygen into my lungs. What must be a whole minute passes before I get myself under control and start knocking things over around the house to make it look like a real home invasion—like on the news.
My hands don’t stop trembling even once I’m in the car, parked in front of my house, replaying tonight’s events in my head.
The screams he could never let out. The terror in his eyes. The choked gasps. The ripple going down my arm with every strike.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and send a single text.
Leo: You fucked up, Mina.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mina
My favorite place to go might as well be a plague house with how I’ve been avoiding it since Leo showed up at my apartment. The ominous, downright fucking concerning text I woke up to solidified my decision.
We need distance.
Knowing it’s what’s required for my soul and psyche doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. I miss being in his house. I miss texting him. I miss spending every single moment of my daydreaming about him.
I feel like I’m in mourning at the same time I’m giddy. It’s confusing.
If I don’t figure this all out soon, I’ll probably have a full-blown mental breakdown. The anxiety of all things Leo and work is weighing on me because next week I’ll find out if my last-chance book will end up flopping.
Joyce’s bedroom door opens, and I freeze just as I’m about to send another text to Sabrina assuring her I’m alright but shaken—that’s why I haven’t been replying much. And to think I might also be able to sneak a snack from the kitchen without getting caught. I could only be so lucky.
“So, are you going to start talking, or are we going to keep ignoring the big-ass elephant in the room?”
I’ve been avoiding Joyce too. With the hands-on-hips, disapproving Mom pose she’s rocking, she knows it too.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to come up with a response. “Well...”
“And don’t bullshit me.”
I’m going to bullshit her.Have been for the past several months in fact. I wonder at what point I stopped feeling guilty about it.
“He’s just not... as he seems.” That’s a fucking understatement. But neither was I—which he knew, so I don’t think that’s even a relevant justification anymore.
