CHAPTER 37
Evren
Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge
It's been a day. A whole day living in her loft.
Eating whatever she had in her cabinets, exploring, snooping through her things.
I tried to understand exactly who I'm chasing. Who I'm stalking.
When I hear the soft beep of the door pad unlocking, a smirk spreads across my face.
It's followed by the hiss of the door sliding open.
I've spent half the day napping in her ridiculously expensive bed.
Finally.
Finally, she's home.
I'm about to sit up in her bed when I hear her voice—and a man's voice.
Another man's voice.
The grin dies on my face.
That deep, musky voice is unmistakably male, and he's clearly not sober.
Not drunk, exactly, but definitely not in the right mental state.
Who the fuck am I to judge? Still, who the fuck is that?
I surge to my feet, but I don't want her to know I'm here, let alone that I've been eavesdropping.
That bitch had a fucking boyfriend.
Pathetic.
Of course, she says things are changing.
I'm the one changing her life, and I'm not even sorry for it.
She deserves it. She deserves to be haunted by me for everything she's done since I met her.
He screams about the shirt.
I roll my eyes, this shirt is mine. Get used to it.
I can hear Riven shouting back, her whole life collapsing around her.
Oh.
She did tell him when I broke into her loft.
And he didn't believe her? His loss, he should have.
I hear him growing more desperate. I still can't see what's happening, only hear him saying he can't lose her.
Dude, you're losing her.
To me.
I grin and start walking slowly toward the stairs. But then hear Riven telling him he's hurting her.
I stop dead.
My grin starts to falter, my blood beginning to boil.
I shouldn't react like this. It isn't my problem.
Trouble in paradise because of me? I live for it--usually.
But I feel something in my gut. Something I hate, something I can't name.
I want to barge there and punch him until his head is a fractured mess but I know, troublemaker.
She’ll defend herself, she’s been doing it with me all along, so why wouldn’t she do it with him?
I crouch at the top of the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of them, my eyes glowing as I wait for her to punch him or tell him to fuck off.
Then I'll go down.
We will fight, we will hate each other, I will make her ‘safe’ life a living hell.
That’s why I’m here.
That is why.
Her boyfriend starts screaming.
Go ahead, buddy, kill yourself, kill her.
It’ll save me the trouble of doing it myself.
I scoff and roll my eyes.
He will never do it, he doesn’t have the balls.
But Riven isn’t answering anymore, I don’t hear her fists hitting him.
Something is wrong.
Is she trying to calm him down? Why? Why is she doing nothing? Why isn’t she telling him to fuck off like she does with me?
A knot starts to form in my stomach.
I silently take two steps down the stairs, still crouched.
I turn my head and the sight makes me freeze.
That bastard has his hands around her throat.
She’s turning purple, she’s weakening.
He’s killing what’s mine.
My body finally moves, I grab the stair railing and vault over it, landing with a heavy thud in a crouch.
I rise to my full height, I can feel the adrenaline booster flooding my veins, making them bulge beneath my skin.
I can feel my eyes glowing.
I lunge, grab that bastard by the hair, and wrench him away from her.
I seize his right wrist and squeeze until I feel the bones grinding against each other, I tighten my grip then twist.
Snap.
He screams, his grip finally releases Riven's throat. She slumps against the door, sliding down it as she gasps for air.
I don’t look at her, I can’t.
One look, and the last thread of control I have left will snap.
“Who the fuck are you?!” her boyfriend shouts, clutching his broken wrist.
“I’m your death,” I murmur, closing the distance between us. “You touched what's mine.”
“Now I'm going to make you pay for every second you had your hands on her.”
“Y-Yours? Riven is my girlfriend!”
He surges to his feet and lunges, swinging with his good arm.
I dodge, his fist passes just inches from my nose.
I catch his other wrist and yank him forward, driving my knee into his face.
The impact is deafening, followed by the sickening crunch of his nose breaking.
He staggers backward, his hand flying to his bleeding nose. His silver-white hair clings to his forehead.
“She may be your girlfriend,” I grin, “But I was supposed to be the worst thing that happened to her tonight.”
I grab him by the hair and yank his head back.
“You almost took something I didn't even know I couldn't lose.”
I release his hair and drive my boot into his stomach, sending him flying backward.
He hits the asphalt, rolling across the floor before curling in on himself, gasping for air.
I slip my hands into my pockets and walk toward him at an unhurried pace.
I’m just taking my time, making it last, making it enjoyable.
I’m going to kill him.
For trying to take her from me.
For hurting her so badly she nearly gave up.
I can’t let her think she gets to die without me.
He scrambles backward, horror filling his eyes.
“From the moment you put your hands on her,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “You were dead. You just didn’t know it yet.”
I leap forward and come down with both feet on his leg.
Crack.
The bone gives.
Before he can even scream, I lift my foot and drive it into his face.
Blood sprays from his mouth, splattering across the asphalt.
“Fuck yes!” I laugh. “Fight, you piece of shit! Fight! Prove to me she’s yours, since you sounded so desperate!”
He forces himself back to his feet, I let him.
One good arm, one good leg, his face is a mess, his wrist and leg are bent at wrong angles.
He deserves it.
He lunges, I let him hit me.
His fist crashes into my jaw, snapping my head to the side and splitting my lip, the coppery taste of blood floods my mouth.
Slowly, I turn back to face him.
Smiling.
I lick the blood from my lip.
The pain dampeners are already doing their job, making the blow feel like it came from a child.
“Good. Very good.” I pull my hands from my pockets. “My turn.”
His eyes widen, he turns and limps toward the open kitchen, grabbing a knife.
One of my eyebrows rises.
“So, we’re using weapons now?” I tilt my head. “Go ahead.” I grin. “I don’t need one.”
I lunge at him, in a split second, I'm standing five feet away, and then suddenly, I'm on top of him.
With one hand, I grab his throat and start tightening my grip, cutting off his air supply.
“Not so funny when it's the other way around, huh?” I lean forward, my voice filled with rage.
As I straighten up, I tighten my grip even further.
His eyes bulge, his face turning red from lack of oxygen, and I can't help but grin at the sight.
But then, I feel something warm spreading on my skin, I look down to see that the knife he had, is now impaled in my pectoral.
The blood spreads rapidly, staining my shirt black shirt crimson.
I blink once, twice, and then look back at him, still holding onto his throat.
I release him and grab the handle of the knife instead.
He's gasping for air, clutching at his throat in desperation.
I yank the knife out and turn it in my hand, looking at it now drenched in my own blood.
I feel the sharp pain of severed muscle, but the dampeners dull the worst of it.
My gaze lifts, and I stare at this bastard who dared to stab me.
A twisted sense of satisfaction fills me as I bring the knife to my mouth and lick my own blood off.
“So, you like playing with knives?”
I grab his good wrist with my free hand and slap it hard against the kitchen island.
He's struggling and moving around so much that it's difficult for me to keep his wrist unmoving.
“Don't!” he screams in panic. “What the hell are you doing? Let me go!”
I bring the knife down, just inches away from his skin.
“I'm cutting your hands off since you were so eager to strangle her to death.”
With a deep breath and a twisted sense of determination, I sink the sharp edge into his flesh and start cutting through it.
The flesh is pretty easy to cut through, that's some damn good knife she bought.
But when I will reach the bone part, I know it won't be as simple.
I might have to break it.
He screams in pain, trying desperately to move away from me.
“Stop! Please stop!”
He screams, his struggles start to weaken by the blood loss and the pain of being cut.
“Stop moving or it won't be clean.”
I growl at him, refusing to let up on my grip on his wrist.
I continue to cut through his wrist, his pleas to make me stop doesn’t sink in, doesn’t even reach me.
With each slice, blood spurts from the flesh like a fountain.
The wet sound of the knife gliding into his skin is a grotesque symphony, an awful melody for anyone sensitive to such brutality.
But I'm used to it, desensitized by my countless encounters with violence and pain. Tenderness has no place in situations like these, where every cut, every slice deserves nothing but cold efficiency.
I'm almost at the bone now, and as the flesh becomes tougher to penetrate, my focus intensifies.
My determination to make him pay remains, fueling my resolve to see this motherfucker pay for even fucking thought of ending her.
A heavy clang explodes beside my head.
My vision jolts sideways, and my grip on the knife loosens.
“What the fuck are you doing, Evren?!” Riven shouts.
I slowly turn toward her. The pain dampeners kick in almost immediately.
She's standing there, gripping a frying pan with both hands, chest heaving.
She hit me, with a fucking pan.
“Riven,” I say quietly. “I think it’s obvious what I was doing. You got a problem with that?"
“I have a problem with you cutting his hand off on my counter!” she snarls, her voice ragged and hoarse. “Like a fucking psychopath!”
My eyes drift to her neck, the bruises are already blooming.
Dark and angry. The unmistakable shape of his fingers stands out against her skin.
My jaw tightens.
“Why? Would you rather have me take it outside?”
I tilt my head, a crooked half-smile tugging at my lips.
But underneath it, I'm holding on by a thread, trying to keep myself under control.
But when I see her eyes, full of hate and reckoning, the bruises blooming across her delicate neck.
My chest tightens, I can’t look at it or I’ll rip the rest with my bare hands.
She is protecting him.
The thread snaps in two.
“He was going to kill you!” I snap. “He touched you!”
“And who gave you the right to cut his hands?!” She raises the pan.
The realization makes me see red.
Why is she choosing him, a man who was about to kill her over me?
“Me!” I shout back. “Hit me! But make sure you knock me out, because I will finish this!”
I snarl, tightening my grip on the knife and a half-severed wrist
“That son of a bitch was killing you, and you’re defending him?!”
“I’m not!” she screams, swinging the pan again. “But you can’t mutilate him on my kitchen counter like it’s a normal fucking Tuesday!”
I jerk my head back, the blow missing by inches.
I let go of him, the knife clattering onto the counter.
Then I lunge at her.
I catch her wrist, and with my other hand I cup the side of her neck, careful not to press on the bruises.
I lean in until our noses are almost touching.
“What do you want, Riven?” I ask, my voice low. “Because I wasn’t going to stand there and let him kill you. I’m not walking away while you become a cold body.”
I take a slow breath, trying to keep my murderous attempts in check.
“You are mine, whether you admit it or not.”
My gaze drops to her lips before lifting back to her eyes.
My thumb traces slow circles against the side of her neck, avoiding the bruises, absently.
“I'll never leave you. I'll always be behind you. I'll watch you. I'll hunt you. If death wants you, it'll have to go through me first.”
I hold her gaze, she has red-purple spots in the eyes due to the strangulation.
My jaw clenches.
“That is the only way.”