There’s no version of moving on that has Valeria alive in it. Not for him. And not for me either.
The thought settles heavily in my chest—part terror, part relief. Because some part of me, a dark and hungry part I didn’t know existed until I fell in love with this broken, beautiful man, wants her gone just as badly as he does. I hate that about myself. I hate how easily the desire for her suffering slides into place beside my love for him.
But I can’t unknow what she did. I can’t unsee the scars on his body or the nightmares that still wake him up gasping. I can’t pretend that justice and mercy feel like enough anymore.
"We stay," I say.
He goes very still.
"We stay," I say again, more certain this time, the certainty arriving fully formed now that I've said it once. "And you get to have this."
"Sophia—"
"I know what I'm saying." I turn to face him fully. "I know every argument against it. I've made those arguments to other people in other rooms for years. I know what the research says and what the clinical consensus is and what revenge does to the person holding the blade." I hold his gaze. "And I'm telling you that none of it is louder right now than knowing she's alive somewhere while you're still carrying what she did to you. While Ian is carrying whatever he paid. While Mary is—" I stop. Breathe. "There's no moving forward with her in theworld. Not really. Not for you. And I'm done pretending there is."
Something shifts in his face. Opens slightly, then closes again, like he's making sure before he lets himself feel it.
“You understand what I’m asking you to be okay with,” he says. Not a question. A final check. The kind a man does when he needs to be certain before he moves forward with something that can’t be undone.
“Not just that she dies. Thehowof it. Because there’s no version of this where she dies quickly. I can’t—” He clears his throat, roughing a hand through his hair. “I know that once I hear her scream, see her bleed, I’m gonna want more of it. So much more.” He breathes, like he can already see it, feel it, taste it. “And the thing I’ll have to become… I need you to be sure—completely sure—that you can look at me afterward and not see something you can’t come back from.”
I hold his gaze for a long moment, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
The truth is, I’m terrified. Not of the monster he’s warning me about—but of how much Idon’tfear him. I’ve never been a violent person. Never condoned any sort of violence. Never believed that bloodshed could be anything but a failure of humanity.
But that was before I loved him. Before I understood that some wounds don’t heal. They fester. And the only way to stop the rot is to cut out the source.
I go to stand in front of him, the hem of his oversized shirt brushing my thighs. “She took so much from you,” I say, reaching under the shirt, slowly sliding my panties down to pool around my feet before sliding onto his lap,straddling him, weaving my fingers through his hair. “And I want you to take it all back. Every scream. Every scar. Every piece of yourself she tried to own.” I lean in and press a slow kiss to his scarred cheek. “Then I want you to come home to me.”
Strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
“Let the monster out,” I breathe against his ear. “One last time. Because the monster deserves his retribution.”
His eyes close for a single, heavy second. When they open again, something has settled in them—cold, clear, and absolute. The thing that lives underneath the man I love. The thing that was there long before me, and that I have never once been afraid of.
“But I need one thing,” I say softly, slowly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
“Anything,” he rasps.
I rest my forehead against his. “I want to be part of it. I want to see the monster.”
He shakes his head, jaw tight. “No. Not?—”
I press a finger to his lips. “She took something from me, too, down in that cell. She took the man I love and tried to break him into pieces I couldn’t reach. So, yes… I want to watch you take it back.”
That’s all it takes.
Something inside him snaps.
With a low, feral growl ripping out of his chest, Reth surges up from the bed like he’s done playing. His hands clamp onto my hips, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing, my legs locking around his waist on instinct as he spins us. My back hits the wall hard enough to knock the air out of me.He drops to his knees, hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, and drags his tongue up my soaked pussy in one slow, filthy lick.
I moan loudly, head falling back against the wall. He doesn’t tease—he devours. Long, hungry strokes from my entrance to my clit, sucking on my swollen nub until my thighs start shaking around his head. When I’m grinding against his face, desperate and dripping, he shoves two thick fingers inside me, curling them right against that spot that makes my brain short-circuit.
“Fuck—Reth—” I pant, right on the edge, grinding harder. He yanks his fingers out, leaving me clenching around nothing. Then he hooks my other leg over his shoulder too, rising to his full height in one powerful move.
My back presses harder into the wall as he holds me up like I’m nothing, legs draped over his broad shoulders, pussy completely spread open right in front of his mouth. The position is obscene and hot and perfect. I’m folded in half, suspended in the air by nothing but his strength, every inch of me exposed. Every nerve-ending scorched electric by the drag of his tongue.
His arms lock around my thighs, big hands gripping and spreading my ass wide. “Look at this messy fucking pussy,” he growls, voice rough. “Dripping everywhere for me.”
