Twisted in Chaos (Destructive Devastation #2)

Chapter 42

My fingers run up Journey’s bare leg, drawing circles around her scuffed-up knee. Wounds Shadow, without a doubt, inflicted on her. An infraction he’ll pay for later when I get my fucking hands around his throat and block the air from his lungs.

My nostrils flare as my brain tortures me with images of Journey and Shepp being held against their will. Their screams. Cries of pain when Shadow inflicted his sadistic ways on them. No. I shake it away, refusing to think of the shit they went through.

They’re tough. There’s no doubt about that. They could walk through fire and come out the other side burned but ready to fight.

But I know they went through something awful.

The rage I feel bellowing inside me swarms through my veins. My muscles tighten, and I ache to bleed the anger from my system. Whether I fight Arrow to the brink of death or inflict pain on a thick tree trunk outside. I need an outlet before it consumes me and brings out the monster aching to reign free from inside me.

Only, I refuse to leave my wife’s side. Ever the fuck again. The look on her face—so peaceful and serene—tamps down the feelings inside me. If I stare for long enough, I’ll swallow it all. The Pain. Regret. Guilt. It all mixes in a deadly concoction.

I shake it off. For now. As best I can, at least. Journey is more important than the anger festering beneath my flesh. I have to remain strong for when she finally opens her eyes after Arrow drugged her to get her here. Half of me is thankful I didn’t have to fight to get her into the stolen car we used to get to the mountains. And the other half? Pissed the fuck off Arrow had to drug her again.

No fucking more.

My black fucking heart aches dangerously in my chest, shattering for her. For Shepp. We’ve all lived through bullshit that would knock any normal man to his knees, begging for death.

Two medium-sized moles scatter over her right kneecap, peeking out from the red scrape. I know they’ve always been there like tiny dots on her flesh for me to trace. I work my fingertips up her leg, which rests over my lap. Arrow had been sitting, cradling her head. But his demon took over, and the need to torture answers out of Shadow’s screaming throat became too much. Should I have unleashed him? Probably not. But there was no stopping him when he had finally had enough.

It was the bruises on her. The fresh wounds that once bled that tipped him over the edge.

The moment we got to our haven—the cabin in the woods that no one knows about—we stripped Journey of the god-awful dress Shadow dressed her up in. In its stead, we put her in an oversized long-sleeve pajama shirt with a fresh pair of panties and soft socks.

One of ours. With our scents on it.

Footsteps pull me from my thoughts, stomping up the wooden stairs from the basement—a door slams and locks engage.

Thick tension bleeds through the air when Arrow reemerges. Bloodied and sweaty, looking demonic to anyone observing from the outside. But I see the tension slowly bleeding from his muscles and the demon retreating into his mind when his shoulders sag, and relief flows through him.

“Better?” I ask, leaning my tired head against the back of the couch.

“Mostly,” he answers, gently raising Journey’s head from the couch and placing her back on his lap. Between the two of us, her torso rests on the sofa.

“Any answers?” I turn to watch his slack face as his fingers run through her wild curls, getting stuck in their depths.

“Not a fucking word. But don’t worry, Daddy Jer. He’ll talk whether he wants to or not.” He doesn’t look away from her as he speaks. “He’s gagged for now.”

He can’t. She’s his magnet, drawing him in—especially when she sleeps. There’s something that pulls him toward her the moment her eyes shut. It’s why he’s always sneaking out to watch her chest move as she rests.

“I know once we’re truly done with him, he’ll have a lot to say,” I hum with a heavy sigh.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders, drooping my eyes. If I could grasp sleep with my fingers and have it pull me under. I would. Too bad it continues to run from me. Every part of me begs for it. My mind—the main issue. Usually, I’d take out my frustrations on my violin, playing it until the dull ache ceased and my eyes hurt to keep open. Only then could I fall asleep without a problem.

My violin is gone. Therefore, sleep is out of the question until I can get another one, whenever that is.

“Any news from Brandon?” I ask.

Our loyal soldier stayed behind, watching Rave and ensuring our empire couldn’t topple more. Through our secure lines, he’s kept us updated on what’s happening around town while he lies low from the people who were intent on killing him. AKA my fucking father. No matter what price is on his head, he’s working his ass off and reconnecting the remnants of our army. Soon to be more prominent with Elias’ help.

Arrow licks his lips, finally peeking up from Journey’s face. “Yeah. He says Rave is still locked and secured. He’s keeping it in tip-top shape until we can come back and reopen.” He gives me a half-hearted grin. No doubt feeling the same thing I am.

Will there even be a Briar Cove to go back to? A legacy to continue? Only fucking time will tell.

"Fuck Gabriel," I grumble, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Have we discovered anything about the deeds to my father's businesses?"

"Dad has been working on it since we last spoke,” Arrow throws in with a tight grin.

“Interesting,” I mumble, stumbling over my heavy tongue.

“So, when Dad finds out something, he’ll let us know,” Arrow says, furrowing his brows. “You don’t think…” he trails off, a hint of insecurity passing through his tone. His fingers brush over his lips, wiping back and forth several times, getting lost in his deprecating thoughts.

Strange. Arrow rarely shows any sort of vulnerability. Perhaps his father brings out that side of him.

“He seems very genuine in his love for you, Arrow. I don’t think he’d ever sell us out to my father.” And that’s a fact. There’s no way Father Amour would ever think about forsaking his only son.

Arrow doesn’t outright acknowledge my words, but I know they’ve punctured through his skin when he awkwardly settles back into the couch, hauling Journey with him. He fidgets. Constantly moving his leg or fingers, tapping away on the couch.

He needs a distraction—something to take away the torturous thoughts consuming his mind.

"So, how long now?" I ask, peering down at her sleeping form again with impatience. I’m eager to have her eyes open and get her anger out of the damn way.

I do not doubt that the moment Journey wakes up from her unintentional slumber, she’ll have beautiful words for both of us. Not that I completely sanctioned what Arrow did to get her back to this cabin without a fuss.

Arrow pulls out his phone carefully from his pocket and hums, checking the time.

"Not too long now," he softly says, stroking her hair more.

I nod. “You know this can never happen again, Arrow. Not only will she take your balls this time, but I’m tired of seeing her like this.” Like she’s Sleeping Beauty waiting for Prince Charming to kiss her awake.

I hate that I can’t see the storm raging in her eyes, the unshed tears threatening to spill, or the anger twisting her features. She’s muted right now. Dead to the world. And I fucking hate it.

Arrow's face screws up, and he glares at me. "Well, you are a party pooper, Daddy Jer. What's the fun of friendship if we can't knock each other out every once in a while?"

I roll my eyes again at his antics.

“Shake on it, Arrow,” I say, extending my hand. “No more drugging any of us. Reserve it for your enemies.” I raise a brow when he stares at my hand with narrowed eyes until he thrusts his hand into mine, roughly shaking it.

“You’ll never know if I have my fingers crossed,” he grumbles, pulling away with a pout.

Well, it’s nice to see the real Arrow peeking out from beneath the shadows. I only hope this experience doesn’t affect us detrimentally.