Page 93 of Freeing Denver

I don’t need a weapon.

I am a fucking weapon.

The mugger’s back hits the wall, and I seize his hoody, bringing my forehead into his nose. He yelps and I throw him to the ground, my heel cracking against his already broken nose.

“Get the fuck up,” I say. He groans and turns over, trying to scramble away. I seize him and lift him to his feet, throwing him into the wall. “Don’t run, you fucking coward. You wanna run around killing people? This is what fucking happens.”

He tries to hit me. I weave left, then right.

I punch him in the throat. He chokes, his eyes widening.

“Hit me!” I roar, and he does.

It doesn’t even break my skin.

My knuckles meet his cheekbone, a repeated attack, my body numb to the pain and exertion it takes to beat a man. He slumps to his knees, and I grip his hoody, keeping him upright as I continue my assault. Our blood mingles and is lost to the rain, his cries drowned out by the city sounds as I push him closer to death.

His skin breaks. His bones snap. Teeth dribble onto the floor between us.

The monster I’d tamed for Callie, hid for Amy, and eventually buried for Denver … he laughs. He revels. He watches on and encourages me to keep going.

Ghost—stretching out his muscles like he’s been asleep for far too long.

Ghost—a demon made of shadows rising to full height and soaking in the cold, rain, and blood.

Ghost—no longer my past. He is me. I am him.

I’m Ghost.

And I realize I’m the one who’s laughing.

As I beat a man to death.

The house isquiet when I return. I drop my keys onto the coffee table and take a seat on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees and threading my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands.

“I’ll only know how to love you for the rest of my life.”

Denver’s voice, her smile, her laugh tries to soothe the ache in my chest. Like cooling water across broken, burned flesh, I hear her whispering in my ear.

“You really love me?”

Tears burn my eyes, and I only lift my head when Alistair says my name. He’s crouched in front of me, brows pulled together in concern as he examines my blood- and rain-soaked shirt.

“What happened?”

All I can do is shake my head.

He grips the back of my neck. “Colt, you need to stop this. You can’t kill your way back to her.”

“Then tell me what to do,” I say quietly, my voice breaking. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do with this … this festering feeling.” I blink, and tears mix with the rain and blood on my face. “I’m rotting from the fucking inside.”

My friend watches me with more anguish than I’ve seen in a long time, and we both know there’s nothing he can say. There’sno remedy for this pain. No balm to soothe a soul this raw, no stitches strong enough to pull together a heart this broken.

I’m beyond repair until I’m with her again.

Chapter 28

Colt