28. Ash
Ash
The dock reeks of salt, diesel, and fear.
Fear always has a smell. Sharp and acrid. It clings to the back of the throat and settles under the tongue like rot. I breathe it in as my boots hit concrete, my heart thudding hard enough to bruise my ribs from the inside.
I’m ready. I need something to hurt.
Kai ghosts ahead of us, almost invisible in the early hours of the morning.
His steps are as silent as the gentle wind; his movements like a predator.
Kaleb flanks left, blade already loose in his hand, shoulders rolling slightly as he warms up for a fight.
Griff brings up the rear with two more Devils, his enormous presence felt by everyone.
We don’t talk. We don’t need it. We move like a well-oiled machine; this dance honed by years of training and fights.
The Wraith’s shipment is late. But I can feel them here, waiting. I’m sure they are on the lookout in case we decided to retaliate. They won’t see us until it’s too late.
A container door screeches open.
Then chaos.
Gunfire cracks open in the quiet, the sound causing an excited shiver to rack through me.
I fucking love this shit. The adrenaline.
The chaos. The fucking smell. All of it.
I move before the sound finishes echoing, my body acting on instinct that has been instilled in me before I was even born.
A man turns, too slowly, and I don’t hesitate.
It’s all muscle memory at this point. Muscle memory and bloodthirst.
His blood hits my knuckles warm, slick, and familiar before his body crumples to the ground, my knife sliding across his throat with the most satisfying sound.
Another lunges with a knife in his hand.
Held with an amateur grip. I break his wrist, the wet pop cracking in the air, then drive his head into the steel side of the container until he stops moving.
There is probably a better way to do this.
A cleaner, quicker, more effective way. But the monster inside me demands pain.
Demands blood and gore and all things depraved.
Blood splatters my forearms, my vest and my face, smattering around my wild grin.
I tell myself it’s the Wraiths I see when my vision tunnels. I tell myself that’s who I’m killing. Not the image burned behind my eyes.
Not her.
My angel on her knees, in blood that wasn’t hers. Wide, terrified, and bright eyes looking up at me like I am the monster that I know I am. My jaw tightens so hard that it aches.
I hit harder. A crate explodes open as a body slams into it, pills scattering across the concrete like spilled teeth. White, blue, stamped with the Wraith’s symbol. I crush them under my boot without looking.
All I can hear is the wild way her breaths seized in and out of her, the way she rasped as I gripped her throat. A scream erupts in the air, and it’s hers when she saw Thomas on the ground, not the Wraith that Kaleb just gutted.
I’m vibrating with the need to prove her right.
That I am that monster. My eyes lock onto another target, and I sheath my knife, needing to feel skin on bone.
A Wraith holds a shotgun up on sturdy arms, lifting it towards the massive target of Griff.
Distracted by his target, he doesn’t see me until my elbow collides with his temple, the gun weak in his grip.
I snatch it and throw it aside, laughing when I see his wide eyes. His face doesn’t sink into my mind as my fist connects with his face, taking us both to the ground. It’s just fucking hers.
Always fucking hers.
I growl, feeling bone crunch under my knuckles as I hit and hit and fucking hit the grunt worker. My chest heaves, face twisted into a snarl as I take out my anger on this worthless asshole, my mind glued onto what happened just hours before.
“Fuck! You!” I grunt, emphasizing each word with a punch. “Get out of my fucking head!”
He was dead at least ten punches ago. When I finally stand, my body still hums with the need to kill. But the dock is quiet again. Too quiet.
“Kai has one tied up in the container,” Griff murmurs, his eyes narrowing on the bloody mess of a face by our boots. He doesn’t say a word.
My chest heaves, hands slick with blood that isn’t mine. My head feels hollow, and something poisonous leeches into my chest.
It didn’t work.
It never fucking works anymore.
The high from the kill. The calm that used to follow.
Blood-slicked hands slide through my hair as I grip the strands, pulling at my scalp.
“Tell Kaleb to strip the skin from his bones until he sings,” I rasp, feeling untethered from the earth beneath me. “I need that fucking location.”
Griff’s dark eyes watch me silently, as my eyes dart around the dock, wishing another fucker would rise so I could beat the fuck out of him, too. But even then, I know it won’t be enough.
“Don’t bother cleaning this up,” I add. “Let Zeke have fun paying to cover this all up.”
The sun is starting to rise, the faintest light bleeding into the dark sky, as I turn and stride towards my bike.
My chest is cracking as images assault my brain, and I bite my lip until the taste of blood coats my tongue. I drop to my haunches when I’m far away enough that my men won’t see me, my head falling into my hands.
“Get out of my fucking head, get out of my fucking head,” I murmur over and over again.
It doesn’t work.
She’s there, deep-rooted like a parasite I can’t get out. One with beautiful hazel eyes and the most angelic face. One with a lithe body that takes me to heaven, and timid words that ruin me. One with more strength than she even knows.
And I’ve scared her. I’ve scared her away. The one person who, for God knows why, didn’t view me as the monster that I know I am.
Maybe it’s for the best.
This never could have lasted, this tiny slice of heaven with my perfect little angel. But my chest aches and the lump in my throat won’t fade. The smell of blood clogs my senses but all I can smell is her vanilla and lavender scent.
“Fuck!” I yell into my hands.
“Boss,” a familiar voice sounds behind me, but I don’t have the strength to pull myself together.
Boots stop a few metres away. Seconds pass. The dock hums around us, waves slapping metal in a slow, mocking rhythm. The world keeps fucking moving, even when mine feels like it’s split clean in half.
“Matt cleaned her up. Made sure she got home safe.”
The words said by my brother, who never speaks unless necessary, sink into my skin and comfort me in a way I didn’t think possible. She’s safe. Even from me.
My fingers curl tighter into my hair, my teeth grinding so hard I’m surprised they aren’t dust.
When he finally speaks again, it’s quieter.
“You wanted her to see.”
I huff out a sharp, broken laugh. “Did I?”
Silence. Minutes pass in silence. I don’t expect another word from Kai, those few more than I have heard in months.
“She didn’t break,” he says. The words are blunt, no inflection, no judgement, just facts.
And then he walks away, boots shifting over concrete.
Then I decide. I need my angel. I need the sense of calmness and light. I need her goodness.
I’m back in my apartment in a blur, watching the water turn red in my shower, scrubbing my skin raw.
The monster inside my chest is banging its violent hands against my ribcage.
It feels stronger and more feral than it has in a long time.
My knuckles are split, my palms torn open from gripping the knife too tightly, and no matter how many times I drag the soap over my body, the stink of copper clings.
My skin burns from the scrubbing, but the filth isn’t on the surface... It’s in me.
There’s blood under my nails, blood in my teeth, blood in my hair. And when I close my eyes, I see her, soaked in a man’s blood. Blood marring her perfect skin. Blood on her expensive clothing. Blood glimmering in the reflection of her glassy eyes.
I know I should feel guilt for the amount of blood I’ve shed in my lifetime. I should feel sick and remorseful. Instead, all I feel is the itch to do it again. An itch to kill anyone who threatens me, my brothers, or my angel.
That’s why I need her. My angel. She’s the only one who reminds me that I’m human, the only thing that drags me back from the edge. Without her, I’m nothing but the monster clawing its way out of my chest.
So I’ll see her. I’ll let her light burn through this filth, even if it’s only for a moment. Then I’ll go back into the dark and finish this war, once and for all.
Zeke’s underground. And sooner than later, I’ll drag him into the daylight.
Maddison will be at work now, my smart little angel. But I’ll be quick. I just need to inhale the scent of her vanilla and honey-scented hair and press my lips against her warm skin. Just for a second to feel her pulse against mine and burn the look of those beautiful eyes into my memory.
Then I’ll do what I need to do.
The building she works at is enormous, over the top, and pretnetious. Nothing but the best for the Dallys, I suppose. A far cry from the club. Instead of the sticky, chipping wooden floors, glistening marble floors glare back at me without so much as a smudge.
Well, until I step foot on it.
The person looking up at me from the reflection in the glossy floor doesn’t look like he belongs here.
Not in the slightest. My eyes are wild, and my hair is wet with damp curls.
My vest is still spattered with blood, blending into the dark leather.
Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth, I force my chin up.
I’m not beneath these assholes.
But men in expensive suits, superiority oozing from their smug faces, look me up and down with disdain, mixed with nervousness. They look at me as if the creature inside of me has torn free from my chest cavity.
I stare right back at them until they flinch and look away.
“Excuse me…You need a visitor’s pass to be here…uh, sir,” a lady from reception calls out as I saunter past.
My skin feels itchy, and the lights are blaring down on me. “Which floor is Maddison Dally on?” I ask, feeling stupid that I don’t know.