Chapter Seventeen #2
Hands grabbed me. Multiple sets. Strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, my waist, as they tried to pull me back, tried to break my hold.
“Let her go, brother!”
“Nano, stop! You’re losing it!”
“He’s gonna fucking kill her! Someone get him off her!”
I didn’t let go. My fingers locked around her throat like a vise, my grip iron-tight and unrelenting, my knuckles white from the strain, my entire body rigid with the need to finish what I had started.
Every muscle in my body coiled tight, trembling with adrenaline and rage, completely focused on the singular purpose of squeezing the life out of her.
She’s not Alex. The thought cut through the haze like a knife. Kill her.
Something primal had taken over, something dark and visceral that lived deep in my gut. It was a rage I didn’t recognize, didn’t understand, and couldn’t contain. My fingers tightened instinctively, and I felt her pulse hammering frantically beneath my palm.
The hands on me pulled harder now, dragging me backward with increasing desperation, trying to break my hold.
I felt someone’s fist connect with my ribs, a sharp, white-hot burst of pain that should have made me let go.
I heard the grunt of effort as they tried to pry my fingers loose, nails digging into my wrists, voices shouting commands I couldn’t process.
And then I heard the click.
Cold. Metallic. Unmistakable. The sound of a gun being cocked.
Then the cold bite of metal against my temple. The world seemed to slow down in that instant. The chaos around me faded to a dull roar, like I was suddenly underwater. Everything became sharp and crystalline—hyperreal. “Let. Her. Go.”
Morpheus’ voice was flat. Emotionless. Stripped of all warmth, all familiarity. The kind of tone that meant he wasn’t asking. Wasn’t negotiating. Wasn’t playing games.
I turned my head slowly, my hand still locked around the whore’s throat, and saw him standing next to me.
His gun was pointed directly at my head.
His arm was steady. No tremor. No hesitation.
The barrel was a black void staring me down, and I could see the slight tension in his jaw, the set of his shoulders that told me this wasn’t a bluff.
His finger was on the trigger. And his eyes were cold, calculating, utterly devoid of mercy, and I knew he would pull the trigger without hesitation.
Without regret. Without a second thought.
I had seen that look before, but never directed at me.
It was the look he reserved for enemies.
For problems that needed to be eliminated.
“Now, Nano.”
His words were quiet. Final.
I looked back at the whore. Her face was purple now, her eyes half-closed, her body barely struggling anymore.
Let go.
My fingers uncurled slowly, reluctantly, like they didn’t want to obey. The second I released her, she collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking, and her hands flew to her throat as she tried to drag air into her lungs.
The brothers holding me didn’t let go. Their grips tightened, keeping me restrained, keeping me from lunging for her again. I could feel their fingers digging into my arms, bruising the skin beneath my shirt. They weren’t taking any chances with me.
And still, Morpheus didn’t lower the gun. He stepped closer, the barrel now pressed against my forehead, his expression carved from stone. His eyes were cold, calculating, devoid of any emotion I could read. The gun in his hand was steady, with no trembling, no hesitation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Each word was deliberate, controlled, like he was barely containing something volatile beneath the surface. He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was some kind of animal he couldn’t quite figure out.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I grabbed her. I didn’t know why I couldn’t let go. I didn’t know why every nerve in my body screamed for violence, for release, for something I couldn’t name.
Morpheus leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear, the cold steel of the gun pressed hard against my forehead.
I could feel the barrel digging into my skin, could smell the gun oil mixed with his sweat.
“Get your shit together,” he said quietly, his voice a low rasp that somehow cut through the surrounding chaos.
“Or I will put you down like a rabid dog. No hesitation. No second chances. Understood?”
I nodded once. Sharp. Mechanical, as my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
“Good.”
He stepped back slowly, deliberately, and lowered his gun but didn’t holster it.
His weapon stayed in his hand, finger resting along the trigger guard, ready.
His gaze swept over me with those dark, unreadable eyes, assessing every twitch, every breath, calculating, deciding whether I was still a threat or if I had finally gotten the message.
The silence between us stretched thin and dangerous, like a wire about to snap.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft. Hesitant. The kind of sound that made my blood run cold because I knew, I just knew, she was there.
I slowly turned my head, almost afraid of what I would see, and there he was: Carver at the top of the basement stairs, his hand wrapped around Alex’s arm as he guided her into the main gathering room and toward the stairs.
She looked wrecked. Completely and utterly destroyed.
Her face streaked with tears, fresh ones mixing with dried tracks that cut through the grime on her cheeks.
Her eyes were red and swollen, puffy to the point where I wasn’t sure how she could even see through the slits they had become.
Her body trembled, and her legs shook so badly I thought she might collapse right there in front of me.
She wasn’t looking at anyone—not me, not the others, not even Carver.
She was just staring at the floor as if it were the only thing in the world that made sense anymore.
Her shoulders were hunched forward as her entire posture screamed defeat, resignation, absolute brokenness, and I hated it. Hated seeing her like that.
Something inside me roared. Something primal and furious, and beyond my control.
I lunged.
I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just moved. My body surged forward, breaking free from the hands holding me, as my vision narrowed until all I could see was her. Everything else faded into nothingness, the crowd, the noise, the surrounding chaos. None of it mattered.
She was the only thing that existed in that moment.
Mine.
The thought was primal. Irrational. Absolute. It pounded through my skull like a war drum, drowning out every shred of logic and reason I ever possessed.
She is mine. I need to touch her. I need to claim her.
Arms wrapped around me before I made it three steps, catching me mid-lunge.
Strong. Unyielding. Unbreakable.
Scythe was on my left, his fingers digging into my bicep.
Wanderer on my right, his arm locked across my chest like a steel band.
They hauled me backward, their grips like iron shackles, their voices shouting in my ears, distant at first, then growing louder as they tried to break through the haze consuming me.
“Nano, stop!”
“Brother, you need to calm the fuck down!”
But I couldn’t. Their words didn’t even register.
Calm wasn’t an option when every cell in my body screamed at me to go to her.
To hold her, to make her mine. I fought against them; my muscles strained and burned.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to break free.
My boots scraped against the ground as they dragged me back, but I kept pushing forward, fighting their hold with everything I had.
Alex’s head snapped up at the commotion, her eyes locking on mine with an intensity that hit me like a physical blow. And for one brief, terrible moment, I saw it.
Her fear. Her confusion. Her acceptance and the realization that I was completely out of control.
Good. My thought was vicious. Possessive. Unhinged. Let her see what she is doing to me. Let her know she isn’t the only one breaking. Let her understand she crawled under my skin and made a home there, rotting me from the inside out.
My chest heaved with ragged breaths, my hands still clenched into fists at my sides, knuckles white and aching. The room felt too small, too hot, as the walls pressed in on all sides.
“Get him the fuck out of here!” Morpheus’ voice roared through the chaos like a whip, sharp and commanding. “Now!”
Scythe and Wanderer didn’t hesitate. They moved with practiced efficiency, flanking me on either side as they dragged me toward the door, my boots scraping against the floor as I fought them every step of the way, my body twisting and straining against their grip.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her face, from the way her lips parted slightly in shock, from the pulse hammering visibly in her throat.
I couldn’t stop seeing the way her body had trembled when I stood over her in the basement, caging her in, breathing her air.
I couldn’t stop remembering the wet spot on her jeans, dark and damning.
The involuntary orgasm that had ripped through her despite everything.
How I spent the night jacking off to images of her beautiful face.
The proof that I was just as broken as she was, just as twisted, just as utterly and completely fucked.