Chapter 23 #2
“I don’t kill people. I don’t kill children.
I don’t burn families in their beds. The guys who killed my family were barbaric.
They were ruthless. They were murderers.
Somewhere in my twisted logic, I thought that if I could go and do their job properly, the way they were supposed to do it, just acting out the orders they must have had, then maybe my mum and sister would still be alive.
There was no need for them to die, yet they did because of two fuckwits who took it upon themselves to burn them to death. ”
“Then what did you do for my father?”
“I broke bones, made people bleed. I spoke with my fists and my scars. I put the fear of God in the people who owed your father. I sent messages that were heard loud and clear. But I never killed anyone unless they were about to kill me or another Hellhound.”
I’ve always thought myself a good judge of character, but I’ve misread this man completely.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t find any words or anything to say that’ll make this all seem okay.
There’s nothing that’ll put a different slant on his story, because it’s fucking shit.
Shit, shit, shit. Shitty life doing shitty things to people, and my father is just as culpable.
I want to scream.
“This is the reason you’re so protective of me,” I say at last. “You think this is all your fault.”
Fenrir nods, glancing at me. I see it now, his need to protect.
The way he smothers me with such force that I can’t breathe.
The way he won’t let anyone near me. It’s all because of his actions, because he knows he brought this to my door.
But I also see something else on his face—the side without scars, the side that’s Fenrir Therion, the seventeen-year-old boy who tried to save his sister and failed.
I want to tell him that I’m not his sister. That I’m a twenty-year-old woman who can fight her own corner. But this isn’t the right time.
“You’re just trying to do your job, and sometimes, I make it very difficult for you. I apologise.”
“There’s no need. I see your cage, and I know who put you there. I admire you. Fighting for what you believe in.”
I want to laugh, because he doesn’t know the half of it. “I don’t think throwing a tantrum can be labelled as something so bold. I try my best to kick up a shitstorm where I can, but I’m not as brave as you think I am.”
Fenrir eyes me, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.
“Are any of us?” he asks.
Sitting up, I can’t help but wonder how right he is.
Silence trickles over the tiled floor, reminding me of how late it is and how this night has turned into something entirely different.
“Not the bedtime story you were after,” he says, as if reading my mind.
“Don’t say that,” I scold, although he’s right. I’m not sure I’ll sleep after this revelation. “I’m glad you felt you could tell me.” And I mean it. He’s opened up to me and admitted what he’s done and why he did it.
Something dawns on me. “Why have you told me?”
He cocks his head, confused, his eyes a little glassy from the whisky.
“Aren’t you worried I’ll tell my father?”
There’s no hesitation as he answers. “No. I know you won’t tell your father.”
He’s right, but… “How can you be so sure?”
“Because we both have secrets, Hayami. You sent Willa away and have sworn me to secrecy.”
Touché.
“Besides,” he says, rising from his chair and pushing it under the table, “I trust you.”
There’s a stab in my chest. I want to be able to reciprocate, share with him what awaits me when we get off this mountain, but this was his show and tell, not mine. I’ll be damned if I’m going to overshadow his pain with my own sob story.
“You should get some rest.” He angles his head, a softness brushing his skin as the light changes on his face.
“Why? Big day tomorrow?” I joke.
“No, but I need you to have your wits about you if you’re going to learn how to fire a gun.”
I sit up. “Really? You’re going to teach me how to shoot?”
“I said I would,” he says, “but only if you get some sleep.”
“I can’t argue with that.” I slide off the chair and hug myself. “Are you going to be okay in the office?”
He nods and heads towards the door. “I’ll walk you up to your room.”
“Are you going to check under my bed?” I ask as he follows me out into the foyer and up the stairs.
“It seems stupid, but it’s the basics,” he says.
We reach my room, and he enters first, completing all his sweeping checks before letting me follow.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says before closing the door behind me.
And I’m left in the soft glow of my room that looks the same as when I left it, but I feel different.
Everything feels different. And it shouldn’t.
He’s the same man who beat the shit out of a guy who was trying to cop off with me in the toilets seven days ago.
He’s the same man who dragged me from the river one month ago.
He’s the same man who pulled me from the pool six months ago.
But he doesn’t feel the same.
I see him.
I see what he is, what he can do, and his motivations behind it all.
He’s a victim. A survivor.
And he’s also a killer.