Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
THE ONE THAT’S MINE
Azariel
“Even if it ends in ruin, I’ll still choose you in every lifetime.” — P
T he cool night air brushed against my skin as I stood in the shadows, watching the streetlights flicker and the dim glow of the city beyond. The soft hum of the phone in my hand was the only thing that broke the silence. My mother’s voice came through, hard but gentle too.
“My sun,” she began, a soft smile on her face. “I’m so proud of you.”
I leaned back against the cold brick of the alley wall, listening to her words. The tension in my chest tightened, not from her question but from the weight of everything else. The anger that had been simmering in me for days since the attack on Poe, the worry for her, the frustration that I couldn’t make it all go away… It was all too much.
“For what, Mom?” I asked, my voice low.
“For finally seeing your worth. My beautiful boy you let love in…”
I didn’t respond immediately, her words lingering in the air. I loved Poe in ways I couldn’t fully express. But happiness? That seemed frightening. I’ve lived my life pushing her away because I was too afraid of hurting her like I hurt so many people before her. I was afraid that the darkness in me would hurt her but I know now that both me and my darkness would give everything up for her.
Before I could respond, I saw movement in the alley across the street—a man walking with a careless gait, oblivious to the watchful eyes on him. The same man. The one who had put his hands on Poe. I felt the familiar fury surge within me, cold and sharp.
My breath caught, and I didn’t even let my mother finish whatever she was saying before I ended the call with a quick click of the button. She wouldn’t understand, not now, and right now, I didn’t have the luxury to explain myself.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and moved quickly, silently, the darkness a perfect cloak. My body became a shadow, slipping through the alley with practiced ease. The man had no idea he was being followed, no idea that the monster who had caused Poe so much pain was now walking directly into his fate.
I tracked him for several blocks, my anger growing with every step he took, the image of Poe’s frightened eyes flashing in my mind. How dare he? How dare he lay a finger on her?
I didn’t wait for him to reach a secluded spot. I struck swiftly. Stepping out of the shadows, I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the cold, unforgiving brick of the nearest building. His eyes went wide with shock, and he tried to fight, to flail, but I was too quick. A single punch to the gut took the wind from him, and another to the jaw left him dazed, his legs buckling under the force.
I watched him crumble to the ground, unconscious before he could even understand what had happened. The fury was still there, smoldering beneath the surface, but I knew I needed to move quickly.
I grabbed him by the arms, dragging his limp body to the back of my car. I didn’t care if anyone saw me—I wasn’t trying to hide. This was justice, and the man had a debt to pay.
Once I had him securely in the trunk, I climbed into the driver’s seat and sped off into the night, my mind focused on the next step. I wasn’t going to let him get away. Not now, not ever. He had made a grave mistake, and I was going to make sure he understood that.
The drive was long, the headlights of my car cutting through the darkness as I made my way to one of my abandoned buildings on the outskirts of the city. The isolation of the place suited my purposes—no one would hear the screams, no one would ask questions.
I pulled into the parking lot of the old warehouse, the broken windows and rusted doors only adding to the grim atmosphere of the place. I slammed the car into park and climbed out, walking around to the trunk where the man was still unconscious.
I hauled him out of the car with ease, his body limp in my arms. His head lolled to the side, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he woke up. When he did, he’d regret everything.
I dragged him inside, through the empty, echoing hallways, and finally into a small, dimly lit room at the back. I shoved him into a chair and tied him down, ensuring there was no way he could escape. When he regained consciousness, I would be there, waiting.
I stood over him, watching as his eyelids fluttered, his body jerking slightly as he stirred. The moment he opened his eyes and saw me standing there, all he would feel would be fear. Because this time, there was no escape for him.
Not when it came to Poe. Not when it came to anyone who dared to hurt her.
And I would make sure he knew that.
The fucker was chained to the cold, damp wall of the dimly lit room. His wrists were bound above his head, his body slumped, unconscious, and utterly at my mercy. I stood a few feet away, watching him, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction settle deep in my chest. This was the picture I wanted to see since the fucker laid his hands on her. I had to keep my rage in check and take care of her before I went hunting.
That moment is here.
Martin— I learned that’s his name—groaned as he began to stir, his bloody and broken body jerking slightly, pulling at the chains. It wouldn’t take long before he woke up, and when he did, he would see me standing before him, waiting. The fear of death would come soon enough.
But as I stood there, I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to the bigger picture. This was not just about revenge for what he did to Poe. No, this went deeper than that. This motherfucker was a monster, not just because he hurt my girl, but because he hurt so many others. He had a long track record of hurting kids and of ruining their innocence.
He signed his death sentence the second he puts his hands-on Poe but he made it worst for himself when I found out the shit he did to those kids.
I’m making sure that someone like him could never hurt another soul again.
I watched him struggle against the chains, his breath ragged as he finally blinked his eyes open and focused on me.
“W-what’s happening?”
It took a moment for recognition to settle in. When it did, his face twisted, eyes wide with fear, realizing that he wasn’t in his apartment and that his body was covered in bruises. The look of panic that spread across his face made my pulse quicken. I smiled.
I didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t need to say shit. I wanted the fucker to feel it—the absolute isolation, the hopelessness. I wanted him to understand the terror those kids must have felt, to know that his own suffering was about to begin. I wanted him to feel pain just like Poe did.
I thought of her again, the image of her terrified green eyes and her shaking hands after the attack, and it made the fury burn hotter within me. This piece of shit deserved more than just pain. He deserved to know that every life he destroyed, every innocence he stole, was now coming back on him in full force. Those lives he ruined are here in this room waiting for justice to be served.
I stepped closer, the dim light casting shadows over Martin’s face, making his panic more pronounced. Good. He’s terrified. He should be.
“You fucked with the wrong woman,” I whispered, my voice low but sharp with venom. “Mine.”
His lips trembled, his eyes darting around, searching for any way out, but there was no escape. He won’t escape this hell.
I walked toward him, slowly, like a predator circling its prey.
“Do you remember her face? Her terrified face as you put your disgusting hands on her? How you dragged her down to the ground trying to steal from her?” I asked, each word laced with cold fury.
His face twisted in confusion, then he remembered.
There was no sympathy in my eyes, no mercy in my voice. There was only the certainty that this would be his last night with air in his lungs and blood in his veins.
I let the silence stretch.
Let it thicken. Let it suffocate.
He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The flicker of fear in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. The moment when he saw me coming and knew that he sealed his fate that was what I’d waited for. Long days. Even longer nights.
And now here it was.
That sick bastard would regret ever laying a hand on Poe. On any of them. Every child he touched and murdered left a mark. And now I’d left mine.
I stepped in close, close enough to hear his breath catch, to feel the tremble in his bones. I drew my knives slowly, deliberately. These knives are tools, not weapons. I was about to make art.
And Martin was my fucked-up canvas.
I carved into his skin with hatred, each cut a sentence, each cry a fuel to my madness. Blood fell down his body like crimson shades on a palette. His screams were music to my ears.
When his voice finally broke, when the last threads of his mind began to snap, I leaned in and drew one clean line across his throat. Soft. Almost tender. So fucking sweet.
It was done.
He was done.
Another life ended. Another threat erased.
For them.
For her.
For my Poetry.
Poe
I was halfway through a chapter when my phone buzzed.
I ignored it at first—lost in my writing process—but the name that flashed across my screen stopped me.
Azariel.
No message. Just a link.
My heart stuttered.
I clicked it.
The video opened with darkness. Fuzzy, unfocused. Then it sharpened—and my breath caught in my throat.
What…
It was a room I didn’t recognize, cold and ugly, walls stained and metallic. There was a man chained to a wall, his bloody body slumped, twitching. I could see it even distorted by the feed. I knew him.
The man who had attacked me outside the signing. The one who left me with a bleeding head wound and gasping against concrete while readers watched from inside the bookstore.
And then Azariel stepped into frame.
He was bare-chested, white tattooed skin gleaming with sweat and shadow. The light caught on the silver in his hand—his knives—and he looked calm. Serene, almost but also giddy.
He looked beautiful in that otherworldly, devastating way he always was. Even all covered in someone else’s blood.
He didn’t speak.
But the man begged. Screamed. Pleaded.
Azariel answered with silence and hatred. Every cut, every bruise, every calculated slice was a wordless declaration of hate. A love letter written in violence and madness.
I should have been horrified. I knew that. I should have shut the video off, or at least recoil, but I didn’t.
Instead, I watched. I felt the pounding of my pulse in my throat, my ears, my wrists. Not from fear. Never fear.
From awe.
I felt loved. Protected. Claimed.
His.
And then, slowly, Azariel turned toward the camera.
His face and hair were spattered with blood, red lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked straight through the lens—straight into my soul—and my breath left my body in a rush. My heart pounded fast.
Even in that room, surrounded by agony and ugliness, he was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.
And he was all mine.
The screen went black.
No message. No explanation. Just darkness.
A message of love born and fed in his beautiful madness.
I stared at my monitor, the cursor blinking in silence.
He just murdered a man and I had no issue with it. None.
With a heart full of love for my sweet psycho, I looked at the document on my computer.
Maybe this was the dark yet romantic scene my book had been missing.
And I began to write while I waited for my heart to come back home.