Page 36

“ F uck!” I roar, slamming my fist into the wall.

I can’t wrap my head around why she’d break the fucking rules. I storm into the living room, grab a bottle of whiskey, and slam back a drink.

“What did she say?” Griffen’s voice cuts through the noise of my rage.

“Nothing,” I growl, running a hand through my hair. Another drink, another attempt to choke down the fury. “She’s got this fucking delusion that I give a shit about her.”

“You don’t?” He raises an eyebrow, as if he’s waiting for a punchline.

“What? No,” I snap. “She’s just a fuck. Nothing more.”

“Really?” He laughs, shaking his head. “Axe, if you didn’t have feelings for her, you wouldn’t be so pissed.”

“Fuck off.”

He rolls his eyes and kicks back, resting his feet on the table. “She’d been drinking when I got there. Something went down, and of course, she’d break the rules the night you return.”

“Now she’s got more than the rules to worry about,” I say, pouring another drink. I glare at the fire, the flames mocking my rage. I know something happened. She texted the masked man. She only messages him when she’s hurting. When she’s in need. So, what the hell did she need him for?

I know you care about me plays on repeat in my mind. She thinks I care. Why? I don’t care about her. I’ve never cared about anyone. My focus is on the rules, her disobedience, and the fucking stupidity she has to think otherwise.

Her trembling body, tear-streaked face, and those wide, fear-filled blue eyes replay in my mind. I need answers. I storm out the door, anger fueling my steps.

“Where are you going?”

“Getting answers,” I snap over my shoulder. Her phone has to be in the Range Rover, and maybe it will have some goddamn answers.

As I reach the SUV parked in front of the garage, my steps falter. The front end is crumpled, a massive dent marring its surface. My blood runs cold. Did she crash into something? I circle the vehicle, searching for more damage. There it is—the rear passenger side door, dented. The impact was severe, it’s a fucking armored SUV.

She’s been in an accident. Why the fuck didn’t she tell me? Have they found her? Did the Dolore get to her? Is that why she’s so damn scared?

“What the hell happened?!” Griffen yells from inside when I slam the door open.

“She was in a fucking car accident,” I growl, barely containing my rage.

“Are you sure?”

“Check the damn SUV!” I bark, urgency slicing through every word as I bolt for the basement.

Was she hurt? Did they drag her back to the townhome? Why the hell did she lie? Each possibility claws at me, darker and more twisted than the last.

I wrench the door open, and her sobs hit me like a gut punch. She’s curled up on the cold concrete, knees drawn to her chest, shaking with each ragged breath. I’ve seen her cry before, but not like this. This isn’t just tears; it’s something deeper, raw and broken, like she’s been gutted from the inside out.

I force myself to step closer, my movements stiff, unnatural.

“Rory,” I say, and she jerks like I’ve struck her, shrinking away as if I’m a threat. Her eyes—wide, terrified—cut into me, sharp and unforgiving.

“No, please,” she whispers. “Don’t hurt me.”

Those words—they’re a knife to the gut, ones I’ve heard a thousand times from people I’ve tortured. But hearing them from her? Knowing she means it? It’s an unexpected pain—one that settles in my stomach and twists.

My rage vanishes, replaced by something I barely recognize—this primal, relentless need to protect her. What the hell is happening to me? Her fear and pain cut through me, leaving me rooted to the spot, useless.

“Rory,” I start, my voice betraying a softness I didn’t intend. “I need to know about the car accident.”

She flinches, looking away, as if she’s afraid to meet my gaze.

“Look at me.” I drop to my knees, my hands moving to cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “Tell me. Are you hurt? Did the Dolore find you?”

“What?” Her voice is so quiet, it’s almost swallowed by the room.

“Did the Dolore find you?”

“No. They didn’t find me.”

“What happened? How did the car get damaged?”

“A truck hit me,” she finally says, her voice cracking. “On my way to rehearsal. He ran a red light.”

An unfamiliar feeling slams into me, imagining the terror she must have felt.

“Were you hurt?” My thumb brushes away a tear from her cheek with a tenderness I didn’t know I was capable of.

“No,” she whispers, but my eyes catch a large bruise on her collarbone that I’d missed in my rage.

“What’s this?” I ask, gently touching the bruise.

She winces, her eyes darting away from mine.

“Rory, look at me.”

She hesitates but finally meets my eyes. “It’s just from the seat belt.”

“Did you go to the hospital? Did the paramedics check you out?”

“No, I was fine,” she says, her gaze dropping.

My anger fades, replaced by an uneasy concern.

“Who was driving the other car?” I keep my tone steady, trying to maintain control.

“Just some man,” she replies.

“Do you know his name? Anything about him?”

She shakes her head. “He gave me his card, but I didn’t read it. I didn’t think about it. I was just scared.”

My mind races, realizing the SUV’s computer system should have alerted me. She could have been seriously hurt or worse…

“Is that why you broke the rules? Because of the accident?” I press.

“No,” she says quietly.

“Then why?” I demand, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm.

“Because,” she hesitates, her voice trembling.

“Because what?”

“My father lied about selling my mom’s villa in Italy. It was a place that meant so much to me. She left it to me in her will, and he kept it from me.”

I pull back, the impact of her words hitting hard. Her mother . She hasn’t shared much about her with me, but she confided in the masked man. And for some fucking reason, it bothers me.

“Rory,” I start, grappling for the right words.

“I don’t have anything of hers,” she whispers, her gaze drifting. “I was just so upset. I drove and ended up at my townhouse.”

There’s more to this story. I can feel it.

“So, you broke the rules because you were upset.”

She nods, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“That’s it?”

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Rory, look at me.”

Her eyes reluctantly meet mine.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was a mistake.”

“It was,” I say, wiping away her tears. “You could have been killed. There are dangerous people after me. You can’t just ignore my calls.”

She pushes my hand away and sits up. “Not that you care.”

“I don’t,” I respond. She glares at me, her jaw clenched. “But you’re my possession, Rory. My toy. And I don’t want you getting killed before I’m finished playing with you.” She flinches at my words, turning her gaze away. “Now tell me, did anyone approach you? Did anyone find you?”

“No. But I hope they find you. And when they do, they rip you apart.”

“Rory—”

“Just leave me alone,” she pleads, her voice strained and broken. She buries her face in her knees, breaking down again.

I’m not supposed to feel anything. But seeing her like this, it stirs something inside me, something I can’t fucking explain. It’s a feeling I haven’t let surface since—Lucas. The pain, the sorrow, that fucking emptiness—it’s all there, in her eyes, in the way she looks at me. And it’s pissing me off.

“Go to your room.”

“What?” She looks up, confused.

“Your room. Now,” I bark.

She hesitates but then moves toward the door like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her steps are slow, hesitant, but she obeys. I watch her walk away, feeling something twist inside me—something I don’t fucking like.

I’m a void, an empty shell. My father made sure of that. And now, this girl is forcing me to confront emotions I buried a long time ago.

She means nothing.

Absolutely. Fucking. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I snarl, raking my hands through my hair. “What the hell is happening to me?”

I storm upstairs, finding Griffen sprawled on the couch, a whiskey bottle dangling from his fingers. He takes a long gulp, eyes tracking me with amusement.

“I’ve never seen you like this, Axe,” he says with a chuckle.

“Like what?”

“You know…caring.”

“Fuck off.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, admit it. You were concerned. Maybe even worried,” he laughs, pouring another drink.

“No, I wasn’t. I just don’t want the Dolore thinking they can fuck with my wife.” My jaw immediately clenches, the word burning as it slips out. Fuck, that shouldn’t have come out.

“Your wife, huh?” He grins like he’s caught me in a lie.

“Griffen, you better shut your fucking mouth. I meant she’s mine. If someone’s going to kill her, it’ll be me.”

“Hey, it’s okay to have feelings. I know it’s hard to remember, but you are human.” His smirk makes me want to break his jaw. “Even the big bad Reaper’s allowed to feel something.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I snarl.

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Don’t admit it. But it’s obvious you’ve got some attachment to your wife . You wouldn’t have reacted like that if you didn’t.”

I don’t dignify him with a response. I grab the whiskey bottle and stalk off to my room, slamming the door behind me. His words echo in my head, taunting me.

I open my laptop, pulling up the video feed from her room. There she is, curled up on the bed, face buried in a pillow. Her muffled cries bleed through the speakers, each one slicing through me like a blade.

What the hell happened to her? Is it just about that villa her father kept from her, or is there more she’s not saying?

She wouldn’t risk disobeying me just because she was upset. There’s something else. I can feel it.

As her sobs die down and her breathing steadies, my mind drifts to the masked man. She confides in him—trusts him in a way she doesn’t trust me.

There’s nothing to be jealous of. He’s me. I can’t be jealous of myself. That should calm me down, but it doesn’t. It pisses me off. She has something with him —something that doesn’t exist between us. I want her hatred, her anger, her rage. But if she’s going to feel anything, let it be for me.

I’m losing my fucking mind.

The masked man is me, but he’s not me.

I should just walk into her room and rip the mask off. Let her see the truth—that the man who hurts her, threatens her, and terrifies her is the same man who holds her, comforts her, listens to her, and knows her darkest secrets.

I’m not those things.

I can’t have feelings for her. But as I watch her sleep on the screen, curled up and vulnerable, the unfamiliar ache in my chest tells me otherwise. I slam the laptop shut and reach for the whiskey, letting the burn chase away the unwelcome pain.

As I drift into a restless sleep, the past claws at me—one regret, the only thing I’ll never be able to fix. The one failure I’ll carry to the grave.

The wind howls, gnawing at my skin as I haul myself up the jagged cliffside. My fingers, raw and bleeding, cling to the cold rock. Below, the waves crash violently against the shore, sending icy mist up to my face.

Each surge of adrenaline keeps me moving, keeps me from feeling anything but the burn in my muscles and the sting in my hands.

Pain I can control. Pain I choose.

“You got this, Axe!” Lucas shouts from somewhere below, his voice barely cutting through the roar of the ocean.

“Faster than you, loser!” I yell back.

This is our thing—our spot—the only place where the weight lifts, where fists and rage can’t touch us. Out here, we’re not worthless sons. We’re not failures. We’re just free.

“In your dreams!” he laughs.

I grin, heart pounding, as I reach the top and collapse on the ledge, breathless in the biting cold. The ache in my ribs is sharp—a reminder of the lesson I failed to learn yesterday.

Lucas clambers up beside me, wheezing with laughter. His black shepherd mix, Zeus, rushes over and licks his face. Lucas chuckles and throws the stupid mutt a stick.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing at the bruise darkening my side.

“Yeah,” I lie, staring at the darkening horizon. The sky bleeds orange and purple, but I don’t give a fuck about the view.

I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to go back to him.

“One more climb,” I say.

Lucas groans, shaking his head. “I’m done. My arms are wrecked.”

He’ll follow me. He always does.

“Don’t be a pussy.” I nudge him.

This cliff—this climb—it’s more than just a game. It’s freedom. It’s escape. Every second we climb is another where his belt doesn’t hit, where we don’t have to be perfect soldiers.

“I’m not scared.”

“Then prove it.” My smirk hides the desperation threatening to choke me. I need this. I need to feel the rush again, to feel something other than the endless pounding of fists.

“Axe, come on. Let’s just go back to Griff’s house.” His voice wavers, and I hate hearing that crack in it. I hate how it makes me feel.

“One more.” I’m already moving toward the edge, adrenaline surging as I glance down. The rocks below look sharper in the dark. But I shove the fear away. Fear is weakness. That’s what he always said. You don’t survive by running—you survive by pushing through it, by taking what you want, no matter the cost.

“Don’t be stupid!” Lucas yells, but I’m already descending, blood slicking my hands from earlier scrapes.

Each step feels more dangerous, but I don’t slow down. I can’t.

“It’s too dangerous!” His voice trembles, louder now, panic starting to creep in.

“It’s fine!” I snap, pushing myself faster, trying to drown out his fear, trying to drown out my own.

I reach for a handhold, but my bloody fingers slip, sending me stumbling.

“Axe, stop!”

“Shut up!” I bark, teeth gritted, angry—angry at him, at myself, at the whole fucking world. But then I hear it—his scream—cutting through everything. My heart stops.

I whip my head up just in time to see Lucas lose his grip, his body falling, plunging toward the rocks.

“No! Lucas!” His body slams against the jagged rocks below with a sickening crack.

This isn’t happening.

I scramble down the cliff. Everything blurs—rocks, water, sky—until all I see is him, broken and motionless, the waves already dragging him under.

“Lucas!” I dive into the freezing water, the cold seizing my muscles, but I don’t care. I fight against the tide, against the pain ripping through me.

His body floats, lifeless, his eyes dull, his mouth slack. “No, no, no.”

I grab him, dragging his limp body to the shore and collapsing onto the sand. My hands shake as I pound on his chest, desperate to force him back to life.

“Come on, Lucas! Don’t do this! You can’t fucking leave me!” I scream, voice cracking and eyes blurring with tears—but he doesn’t respond. I press my ear to his chest—nothing.

In the distance, Zeus barks, a hollow sound swallowed by the endless roar of the ocean.

“Help! Someone, help!”

No one’s coming. It’s just me. Alone.

I pound his chest again, over and over, but it’s no use.

“I’m so sorry, Lucas. I’m so fucking sorry,” I sob, cradling his body, tears streaming down my face.

I killed him. My best friend. My brother. Gone. And it’s all my fault.