Page 102 of Ruthless Chaos

An intense bolt of pain whips through me. I bite down on my mouth guard, but it’s too much.

I stagger and fall, ending up staring at the ceiling.

Fuck.

Now I’ve stopped moving, I realize I’ve pushed myself too far.

My arms and legs are numb, and when a cough rattles my chest I see stars. It’s been two days since I bashed Keller’s face in, but my rage hasn’t subsided.

I’m angry at him.

I’m angry at myself, too.

Keller deserved what happened to him. It was the consequence of his actions.

What I can’t make sense of is how I felt when I realized he was about to hurt Allie, and how I almost lost myself while discussing her self-harm.

Those two moments are etched into my brain—they play behind my eyes when I try to sleep like a fucked-up highlight reel.

It was all so raw, so distinct.

Both times, I was sure I was going to lose her, and it made me…scared.

Fear, the one thing I’m never, ever supposed to feel. The thing that leaves people vulnerable and pathetic. The flip side ofattachment.

Forcing myself to sit up, I rest my arms on my knees and spit out the mouth guard.

I’m not even sure how I ended up caring about her like that. It happened suddenly and all at once. My face feels weird when I remember Ibeggedher to stop hurting herself.

Me.I begged.

And I would beg again if it meant she would always come back to me.

I can’t put a finger on what exactly changed.

For fuck’s sake, we haven’t even had sex yet. This is the most irrational feeling I’ve ever had in my life; a harbinger of something deeper and more meaningful.

I don’t let myself take that thought any further.

Instead, I stick to the facts of the situation. One, there’s something about Allie that calls to the deepest parts of me, and I can’t leave her alone. Two, she’s mine now and I like that. Three, I want her tight, wet cunt clenching around my cock.

This must be some sort of evolutionary thing that makes men like me drawn to protecting vulnerable women like her.

That’s got to be it.

It takesthree attempts before I finally get on my feet.

There’s pain in places I’ve never felt before. In hindsight, skipping all my meals and classes to exercise—and bleeding out all over the equipment—wasn’t my brightest idea.

I’m hobbling to the exit when the doors swing open.

A harried-looking Kingmaker Aide comes rushing in. The boy’s no older than twelve, with pasty skin and curly brown hair peeking out from under his newsboy cap.

Come to think of it, he looks a lot like Hans.

The service workers in the House often come from the same family. This could be his grandson.

“Mr. Duke, sir,” The boy stumbles over his words, beady eyes wide. “You have a phone call in the Grand Library, sir.” He belatedly remembers we’re inside and takes off his cap.