Chapter 43
That fucking piece of shit.
I’ll kill him. I’ll rip him the fuck out of this world and drag everyone who ever breathed his air straight to hell with me.
How the fuck does he know where I am?
That’s the part that’s driving me insane. That question is eating me alive. Gnawing. Scraping.
I was careful. Hell, I was fucking obsessive—counting every move, paranoid to the point of madness.
I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t leave traces. I buried those places, buried myself, and somehow, he still fucking knows, like he’s inside my fucking skull.
And he’s fucking playing with it. Dragging it out. Letting me feel it.
Dangling it in front of me like I’m some stupid animal he can poke with a stick just to see how hard I’ll snap. Like I’m entertainment.
Me.
Three days since it happened and I fake stability, pretending I’m not losing my shit.
I laugh when I’m supposed to. I work out like a good boy, pretending that the punching bag is his face.
I don’t let my hands shake where she can see.
I do it for her. Because if we run, she’ll be tagged and not protected anymore.
She’ll be an easy target. A problem with legs.
Besides, I’m not a runner. I never was and never will be.
So, I stay planted and let the pressure build until my skull feels welded shut.
Everything in me wants to fucking detonate. My nature is feral and loud, and it wants a target. It wants me to go find him, split him open, dig the noise out with my bare hands.
It wants the quiet that comes after.
My thoughts keep circling it like flies.
But I still don’t go. I clamp down and let the impulse chew me from the inside instead. I let it make me sleepless and fucking unstable.
For her.
I could ask Grayson for help. It’s right there. A clean fucking option. All I’d have to do is open my mouth and admit I can’t hold this alone, but my selfish, pride-addicted, control-freak ass would rather chew glass.
However, time’s closing in, and I don’t have the luxury to stall anymore. I need a solution—and fast.
The bag’s chain whines every time I slam into it, and I’m still nowhere near empty.
The rage won’t drain. It just keeps refilling with every new or old thought.
My knuckles are sore, my shoulders on fire, and the knife digging into my palm with every punch sends these sharp flashes up my arm, but fuck, it’s nothing.
Not enough to matter. Not enough to slow me down.
“Hey,” she says softly, leaning against the wall, watching me.
“Hey.”
“I feel so bad for this bag,” she jokes, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” I say. “Kind of a party pooper, knowing it’s not the bastard who actually deserves this.”
I drive my knee up into it. The mount rips free and the bag comes crashing down, tearing out of the ceiling and slamming to the floor.
She widens her eyes, pushes out her lips, and shakes her head.
“Adam, look.” She sighs. “I’m sad about Wes too, but—”
“No,” I snap, cutting her off as I close the distance. My hands fist, then rake through my hair. My chest is heaving, every breath scraping. “He is …” My jaw locks. “He was …”
“A good man,” she says quietly. “I know. I’ve known him longer than you.” She swallows, lips pressed thin. “And I’ll admit, I was wrong about him.”
She looks away for a second, then back at me, eyes hard with regret.
“He was noble. Deep down.”
My grip on the handle of the blade tightens.
“I will make them pay. Whoever did this.”
She drops her gaze. Those dark blue eyes finally lose their edge and realize the truth.
She knows I mean her bastard of a father. That lying, manipulative sack of shit who’s been poisoning everything he touches since the day he slithered into existence.
That coward, that fucking parasite who calls himself a man already has his seat in hell reserved. He carved it out himself, and I was more than willing to drag him there.
What he did now only buried him deeper in it, far past anything he thought he deserved.
She moves closer, rises to her feet, and cups my face.
“Maybe I should go back,” she says, hesitant.
I pull her hands away. “Brilliant plan. Hats off.”
She lets out a long sigh through her nose. “We’re just here, doing nothing. He knows where I am and he’s playing with us. If I go back, at least he’ll leave you alone.”
I take a few steps farther away, letting the space stretch. “Right. Because your daddy’s famous for his mercy.”
“But—”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t.”
Her mouth snaps shut.
“You’re with me. End of discussion.” I let out a bitter chuckle. “You really think I dragged you all this way just to hand you back?”
She stares at me, her jaw tightening. “Then let’s go face him.”
That’s more like it. That’s the fire I fell for. The girl who doesn’t back down, even when she should.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no us in that.” I give a broad, fake smile. “I will face him. I will kill him.”
“No, Adam! I told you if you fall, I fall.”
“I said no. Don’t say that again.”
“Mr. Manson?” The maid’s hesitant voice interrupts us. I give her a sidelong glance. “Grayson wants to see you.” She turns to Isabella. “Both of you.”