Chapter 47
It’s been two days. Two long, crawling days with Cain and Kate?ina under this roof, breathing the same stale air.
Judas is gone. Probably ran off to chase ghosts or bury more of his secrets. I didn’t ask. I don’t care.
What eats at me is this silence, this stalling. We’re sitting ducks, and Adam just waits. He knows damn well my father’s aware of where we are.
He wants us to come. He’s baiting Adam like some twisted game, and Adam—the prideful, stubborn, arrogant bastard he is—won’t bite.
Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe he just wants my father to come here so he can play the martyr. So we wait in this suffocating standoff between two monsters who’d rather watch each other rot than make the first move.
Adam barely talks to me anymore. He spends every waking hour lost in training, running himself into the ground like pain might make the silence easier to bear. He never says a word. He just keeps hitting the pads, kicking the bag, and shooting at targets.
Cain is no better. He’s turned into a ghost in his own house, locked away behind office doors or buried in his room. No one sees him, no one hears from him. But when he does show his face, it’s like the air freezes around him.
Then there’s Kate?ina. Sweet, soft-spoken, and somehow untouched by all this tension.
Like she floats above it. She doesn’t seem phased by Cain’s frostbitten personality.
I guess she’s used to it. Maybe she’s seen him worse.
But she doesn’t talk much, either; she just offers small comforts and warm glances.
And Grayson … Grayson is distant with the boys. Or the boys are distant with him; I don’t know.
It’s nearly midnight, and the only sound is Adam’s fists hitting the punching bag over and over. The lights in the gym buzz overhead as he trains, repeating the same punches, kicks, and knife throws. He’s soaked in sweat, every muscle tense, his jaw locked, barely holding himself together.
I stand in the doorway, watching him. He hasn’t noticed me yet. Or maybe he has and just doesn’t care.
“Something tells me this is your favorite room in the house,” I say calmly.
He doesn’t answer.
The bag jerks on its chain from the force of another blow. Then another. Then silence, except for his breathing.
“You’re not sleeping.”
“I’m not tired,” I reply, walking closer.
“I can think of a way or two to wear you out,” he says, smirking as he tightens the wrap around his wrist, eyes dragging over me.
“Something tells me I won’t be able to resist that,” I murmur, fingers trailing down his torso.
He doesn’t say another word, just grabs my jaw and pulls me in, crashing his mouth onto mine. It’s rough and deep and, oh God, I’m wet already.
His grip tightens in my hair, the other hand dragging down my back, knife still in his palm.
I push into him, breathing hard as his teeth sink down just enough to pull a gasp from me. And fuck if it doesn’t make me melt into him.
I pull back to look at him, still catching my breath. My fingers trail along his chest, then slide behind me, brushing the handle of the knife he’s holding.
“Why always a knife?” I ask, voice low. “Why not a gun?”
He huffs a soft laugh. “You really like asking that.”
I smile warmly. “I like the answer.”
“Same question, same answer,” he says softly, bringing the blade to my throat. “Guns are for when I want it over.”
His mouth brushes mine when he speaks, his voice quiet and steady.
“A knife drags. It makes you feel everything. Makes you beg for more, or beg to stop. Sometimes both.”
He kisses me again, passionately, then pulls back to murmur, “Same reason I fuck like I kill. I like the mess.”
God, I want him to take me right here. Rip the last bit of control from my hands and ruin me like he means it. But that’s not why I came. I didn’t come to fall apart under him again.
I came to end this waiting.
To pull him out of whatever slow-burning hell he’s sinking into, or let him drag me down with him.
“What are you waiting for?”
His eyes meet mine and hold. For a second, I can’t read him, then something shifts. He pulls back, whatever softness was there just burned out.
“To be sure I won’t be alone,” he says.
“You won’t,” I tell him. “They’ll help you.”
“I don’t mean them. I mean you.”
And just like that, it clicks. It was never about the plan or backup.
“That’s why you don’t make a move?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“Forcing you to follow me isn’t how this works,” he says, stepping closer. “I don’t want fear or guilt. I want you to see exactly what I am and step into it anyway.”
His fingers brush mine, his lips curving into the faintest smirk.
“I’m not dragging you into the dark. You’ll walk in because part of you already belongs there.” His thumb trails my cheek tenderly, his head cocking to the side. “And I’m not asking for your permission. I’m just giving you a moment to understand that once I do this, there’s no way back.”
My hand rises and caresses his face, my fingers brushing over the sharp line of his jaw.
“I told you. If you fall, I fall.”
His eyes darken, but his voice stays calm. “You don’t know every part of me. You don’t know the version no one sticks around for. The one that likes the mess.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say, holding his gaze.
And I mean it. Even if I should be.
He leans in, mouth close to mine. “You will be. And that’s when I’ll know it’s real. If you stay after that.”
I lift my chin defiantly. “I want to see that other version of you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I told you, I’m not afraid.”
“And I told you, you should be.”
He takes two steps back, eyes still on me, then tosses the knife in the air and catches it without looking.
“Besides, you’re too slow. I’ll catch you before you even reach the damn door.”
I cross my arms. “I don’t think so.”
He grins wickedly. “Let’s be honest. You don’t really wanna run.” He twirls the blade once more. “You just want to see what happens when I catch you.”
I take a step closer, eyes locked on his. “Is that a dare?”
His smirk widens and for a second. It’s like he’s already gone, playing this out in his head. He flips the knife in his hand and offers it to me.
“Garden maze. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
A grin tugs at my lips, but I can’t stop the shiver that crawls down my spine.
“And then what?”
“If I catch you, you’re fucked.”