Page 43 of Fractured Future

The snores of my fellow teammates aren’t enough to make me feel remotely tired. Not when the foul-mouthed redhead is resting mere metres from where I’m trying hard not to think about her muscular legs and near-bursting sports bra.

Jesus, Axel.

I don’t give a rat’s ass about what others deem to be right or wrong. People spend their entire lives abiding by meaningless principles, never tasting the sweet release of ending a man’s life with your bare hands.

And for what? They’re missing out. That rush has no comparison. Not a single drink, drug nor late night fuck can match the sheer power of holding a bloody, still-warm heart in your hands.

I’d say looking at Ember comes pretty close, though.

The things I’d do to those pouty lips.Fuck.

It’s not hard to imagine the sloping, lickable skin that lies beneath the bruised mess we found her in. The others may not see it, but I do. Or perhaps their morals are holding them back.

But not me.

I don’t care whose sister she is.

Setting the blade aside, I stalk to the attached bathroom to take another shower. I’m sick of this godforsaken room. I want to get out of here and hunt the ghosts who marked all that skin currently invading my thoughts.

My timing was shitty when I entered Ember’s room with two bags full of snacks and drinks. I saw enough of her scar-striped, purple back to make my awaiting joke dry up.

I too would like to know who the fuck laid their hands on her so I can hack them off. They won’t get the benefit of a bone saw. I’ll chip away at their bones with a knife and fork if it’ll hurt them more.

I’m about to flick on the shower to scrub away my irritating thoughts when an audiblebangechoes from the adjacent room. Our bathroom connects to Ember’s thin bedroom wall.

Straining my ears, there are no further sounds of struggle. Just a quiet shuffling before a soft, muffled sob leaks through the wall. God, she tries so hard to put on a brave face.

It isn’t hard to see the shadows writhing in her oddly mixed, blueish-grey gaze. A palpable anguish that haunts the windows to her soul, no matter what sharp retorts roll off her tongue.

How I’d love to dive into that cavernous pit and swim in her inner darkness. Something about the way she holds herself intrigues me. Just hearing what she’s spent the last few years doing had me fucking hard.

I wanna see her fight.

Damn, I wanna fighther.

When another thud echoes from her room after a few silent minutes, I decide to sneak out. Warner is still sleeping soundly,cuddling a pillow to his chest, while Hyland snores sprawled out on his back.

My first knock on her door goes unanswered. Doubt creeps in, pushing me to turn back. I quickly change my mind and spin back around to knock again before getting very far.

If anyone could see me wavering on her doorstep like some fucking idiot, they’d laugh. I’m not like Warner and Hyland. I don’t care for caring’s sake. But when someone intrigues me, that’s different.

After an eternal pause and several more knocks, I hear footsteps move inside the room. The door creaks open, revealing a bleary-eyed goddess who makes my cock twitch.

“What?” she groans.

My lips fall open, throat contracting tight. “Ah.”

She’s wearing a massive black t-shirt that can only belong to one person. I’m going to skin Hyland alive for being so damn thoughtful before I could offer her my clothes.

I get a flash of boxers where the t-shirt has ridden up, the cotton disappearing when she lowers her hand from the door. Well, fuck. He lent her some of those too.

“Um.” I cough awkwardly. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” She stares past me. “Is it time to leave?”

“No… Everyone is asleep. I just thought I heard something.”

Ember swipes a hand over her sore-looking face. It’s hard to tell with her wounds, but her functioning eye looks red and puffy from crying. She gestures over her shoulder.