A scream.
Lexie’s scream.
I’m movin’ before the sound even fades.
It’s not just adrenaline; it’s a visceral, primal roar erupting in my chest. I tear into the lounge and don’t bother with the restroom door handle. I shove it with enough force to rattle the stone walls.
And I see red.
I see slaughter.
Brett.
The bastard’s pinned against the sink. His hand is clamped over her mouth, his other fist twisting her wrist until her fingers are white. A bruise already forming on her cheek. Something inside me snaps. Not hot rage—but a total, frigid eclipse of the soul.
I don’t see a man. I see a target.
“Let her go.” I don’t shout. Instead, a low, guttural growl leaves my throat, sounding like a reaper come a’knockin.
Brett spins, his eyes wild and bloodshot. “You, you’re the one who?—”
“I said, let her go.”
He shoves her away, and she stumbles, terrified, catching herself on the edge of the marble sink. Something ancient and merciless stirs in my bones.
Brett turns to me, nothing but malice, hands balled into fists, bastard thinking he has a chance.
“She’s mine,” he snarls. “I saw you. I saw you with her. You think you can just take her from me?”
“She was never yours.” I close the door, clicking the lock behind me with a final, haunting sound.
He lunges, a clumsy, pathetic swing that I sidestep without effort. I grab his arm, twisting it behind his back with a force that makes his shoulder pop. He cries out, but I don’t let go.
My bruised ribs scream in protest, but the need to destroy is greater than any pain.
I slam his head down on the edge of the marble sink. Once. Twice. Three times.
Bones crack. His nose. His jaw. The sound is wet, sickening, and satisfying. He’s screeching now, but I’ve already moved my hands to his throat.
I squeeze.
I don’t stop. I watch his damned soul leave his body as he claws at my arms, his struggle weak. I don’t stop.
Not until he goes limp. Not until the light is completely, utterly gone.
I let him drop to the floor. He hits the tiles with a dull thud, broken, lifeless.
I turn to Lexie.
Lips parted, unblinking, she doesn’t move from the sink. Frozen with shock, she looks at me like she’s seeing a ghost.
I approach her slowly, my hands still covered in his blood. I don’t hide it. I want her to see the beast.
“Now,” I say, rough and raw. “You have seen it. The man who has no shame getting his hands dirty, bloody, when it comes to what’s his. So, what now, Elexia? Are you going to tell me what a monster I am?”
She shakes her head, her gaze searching mine. “No.”
I blink, the surprise piercing through the haze of the kill.
