Rage

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

D ays blur into nights, a hazy tapestry of pain and fleeting lucidity. Jaz is my constant, a shadow that never strays, his presence both comforting and unsettling. He tends to my wounds with a gentleness that belies the strength in his tattooed hands, applying salves that sting and soothe in equal measure.

I drift in and out of consciousness, my mind a broken kaleidoscope of fractured memories. Each shard cuts deep, leaving me gasping and trembling. Jaz is always there, his voice a lifeline in the tempest of my thoughts.

"You're safe, little fighter. I've got you," he murmurs, over and over, until the words become a mantra that anchors me to reality.

"You... you keep calling me that," I say.

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Jaz's mouth. "You didn't have any ID on you when I found you," he explains. "And I didn't want to push for your name until you were ready."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "It's Beyanka," I tell him. "Beyanka Harvey. But... most people call me Bee."

Jaz's smile grows warmer, a spark of something like affection in his eyes. "Bee," he repeats softly. "My little Bee."

His words hang in the air, a gentle claim that should make me bristle but instead wraps around me like a warm blanket. I let the silence stretch, savoring this moment of calm before the inevitable storm of reality crashes back in.

His fingers, calloused yet impossibly gentle, brush a wayward strand of hair from my face. The touch sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of instinctive fear and something else—something I'm not ready to name.

"Bee," he says again, his voice low and careful. "There's something we need to discuss."

I tense, bracing myself for whatever's coming. "What is it?"

Jaz takes a deep breath, his dark eyes searching mine. "I know this is difficult, but we need to consider your health. After what happened... it would be wise to test for sexually transmitted diseases."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, dragging me back to that night on the beach. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away.

"And..." Jaz hesitates, his usual confidence faltering. "We should also check for... pregnancy."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down. "I have an IUD," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Relief flashes across Jaz's face, quickly replaced by concern. "That's good, but we should still test for other things. STDs, infections... just to be safe."

I nod, grateful for his matter-of-fact approach. "Okay," I whisper.

Jaz reaches for my hand, his touch feather-light. "I can draw the blood myself," he offers. "You won't have to go to a clinic or explain anything to strangers."

Curiosity pricks at me. "You know how to do that?"

A shadow passes over his face. "I have... experience in many areas. Not all of it pleasant."

I don't press for details. We all have our demons, and Jaz has been nothing but respectful of my boundaries. I owe him the same courtesy.

"Alright," I agree. "Let's do it."

Jaz nods, squeezing my hand before standing. He moves with fluid grace, gathering supplies from a nearby cabinet. I watch him work, marveling at the contrast between his imposing physique and the delicate way he handles the medical equipment.

As he prepares my arm, swabbing the crook of my elbow with alcohol, Jaz clears his throat. "Bee," he begins, his voice hesitant. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... if you didn't have the IUD, what would you have done?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I meet his gaze, unflinching. "I'm just glad it's my body and my choice," I say simply. "That I have the free will to take care of that." My words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Jaz nods, a flicker of understanding passing through his dark eyes. "I respect that," he says softly, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "Your body, your choice. Always."

He turns his attention back to my arm, his fingers tracing the delicate network of veins beneath my skin. The touch is clinical, but there's an underlying tenderness that makes my breath catch in my throat. I watch as he selects a needle, the metal glinting in the soft light of the room.

"This might pinch a little," Jaz warns, his eyes meeting mine. "Ready?"

I nod, steeling myself for the pain. But when the needle slides in, it's with such practiced precision that I barely feel it. Jaz works quickly and efficiently, filling several vials with my blood. The crimson liquid seems to glow in the dim light, a stark reminder of my vitality--and my vulnerability.

As he withdraws the needle, Jaz presses a cotton ball to the small puncture. His thumb rubs gentle circles on my skin, the motion soothing and intimate. "You did great," he murmurs, his praise warming something deep inside me.

I watch as he labels the vials, his handwriting a scrawl of barely legible letters. "How long until we know?" I ask, hating the tremor in my voice.

Jaz pauses, considering my question. "I have connections," he says carefully. "People who can run these tests quickly and discreetly. We should have results in a day or two."

The word 'connections' piques my curiosity, but I don't press. There's so much about Jaz that remains a mystery, layers of complexity I've only begun to scratch the surface of. Instead, I focus on the immediacy of the moment, on the strange comfort of his presence.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words feeling inadequate for all he's done.

Jaz's eyes soften, the hard edges of his face smoothing into something almost vulnerable. "You don't need to thank me, little Bee," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I told you, I'm here to help."

A lump forms in my throat, threatening to choke me with the weight of my gratitude and fear. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the intricate tattoos on Jaz's forearm. He goes still at the contact, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

"Why?" I ask, the question that's been burning inside me finally spilling out. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

Jaz is quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on where my hand rests on his arm. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and intense. "Because I've been where you are," he says. "Lost. Broken. Thirsting for vengeance.”

The room seems to shrink around us, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths. Outside, a gentle rain begins to fall, its patter against the window a soothing counterpoint to the storm brewing within these walls.

I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Did you... did you get it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "The vengeance you wanted?"

A small smile plays at the corners of Jaz's mouth, a dangerous curve that sends a shiver down my spine. It's not a smile of joy or mirth, but something darker, more primal. His eyes flicker with a memory and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the man he must have been—raw, wounded, driven by an all-consuming need for retribution.

"I did," he says simply, his voice low and rich with satisfaction.

The admission hangs between us, charged with possibility. I lick my dry lips, heart pounding. "How did it feel?" The question escapes me before I can stop it, a mix of fear and fascination coloring my words.

Jaz's smile widens, revealing a flash of white teeth. His eyes lock onto mine, intense and unblinking. "It was the best feeling," he says, each word dripping with dark pleasure. "Like finally scratching an itch that's been driving you mad for years. Like taking your first breath after being underwater for too long."

I shudder, not entirely from fear. There's something intoxicating about the raw honesty in his voice, the way he doesn't shy away from the darkness within him. It calls to something deep inside me, a part I've kept locked away and hidden.

"Even now?" I press, unable to stop myself. "Do you still feel that way?"

Jaz's expression shifts, becoming more guarded. He studies me for a long moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. Finally, he lets out a slow breath. "I'll be honest with you, Bee," he says, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "I still get that feeling every time I kill someone."

The admission hits me like a physical blow. I gasp, my eyes widening as I process his words. Jaz watches me carefully, his body tense, as if preparing for rejection or recoil.

"Does that scare you?" he asks, his voice gentle despite the weight of his confession.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to really consider the question. The old me, the Bee from before that night on the beach, would have been terrified. She would have recoiled in horror, fleeing from this dangerous man and his dark confessions. But I'm not that girl anymore. The waves washed her away, leaving behind someone harder, someone with jagged edges and a thirst for retribution that threatens to consume me.

"No," I whisper, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "It doesn't scare me."

Jaz's eyebrows lift slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settles back into careful neutrality. "Why not?" he asks, his tone gentle but probing.

I close my eyes, letting the darkness behind my lids become a canvas for my thoughts. The memories of that night surge forward, a tidal wave of pain and rage that threatens to drown me. But instead of fighting it, I let it wash over me, through me, until I'm trembling with the force of it.

"Because," I begin, my voice low and raw, "I think I understand. I think... I think I want to feel it too."

The admission hangs in the air between us, charged with potential. When I open my eyes, Jaz is watching me intently, his dark gaze boring into mine. There's something in his eyes--not judgment or disgust, but a spark of recognition, of kinship.

"It's addictive," he says softly, his words a caress against my skin. "That feeling of power, of control. Of making them pay for what they've done."

I nod, a shiver running down my spine. "I have some memories but not their faces," I confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But I hear their laughter, feel their hands on me. And I imagine... I imagine making them suffer."

Jaz reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing against my cheek. The touch is electric, sending sparks skittering across my skin. "Tell me," he urges, his voice a low growl that resonates deep in my chest.

I lean into his touch, letting my eyes flutter closed again. "I want to hear them beg," I whisper, the words feeling like a prayer and a curse all at once. "I want to see the fear in their eyes when they realize what's coming. I want to make them feel every ounce of pain and terror they inflicted on me."

When I open my eyes, Jaz's face is inches from mine. His pupils are dilated, his breathing shallow. There's an intensity to him that should frighten me, but instead, it fans the flames of my own desire for vengeance.

"I can help you," he says, his voice rough with promise. "I can teach you how to make them suffer, how to extract every drop of pain they deserve."

My heart pounds, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through my veins. Jaz's words paint vivid images in my mind--dark, violent fantasies that should repulse me, but instead ignite something primal within. I lick my dry lips, voice barely above a whisper as I ask, "How?"

Jaz's eyes darken, a predatory gleam flickering in their depths. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear as he murmurs, "First, we find them. Then, we make them regret ever laying a hand on you."

A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts anticipation and apprehension. "But how will we find them?" I ask, frustration edging into my voice. "My memories are still so fragmented."

Jaz pulls back slightly, his expression softening. "It'll come back to you, little Bee. And when it does, I'll be here to help you piece it all together."

His confidence is infectious, and I find myself nodding. "Okay," I breathe, steeling my resolve. "So what's the first step?"

Jaz's eyes soften, a hint of tenderness breaking through his hardened exterior. "The first step, little Bee, is to heal. To get stronger." His hand finds mine, his calloused fingers intertwining with my own. "Your body needs time to mend, and your mind... well, that's a different kind of healing altogether."

I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a warm blanket. The rage still simmers beneath my skin, a constant companion, but there's wisdom in his approach. I can't exact my revenge if I'm broken and weak.