Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
-Xander-
Every instinct in me screams to lunge forward, to rip the knife from Damian’s hand and tear him apart.
My heart races, adrenaline pumping through my veins at the mere thought of his blade hovering perilously close to Thalia’s throat.
But I know I can’t act recklessly, not while her life hangs precariously in the balance.
So instead, I do the thing that feels more unnatural than anything I’ve ever encountered.
I wait, forcing every muscle in my body to remain still, to simmer with contained fury.
“You know what you are, Damian?” I ask, unwilling to show any hint of fear. “You’re nothing but a coward. You couldn’t handle a woman saying no, so you carved your way into her soul with cruelty and fear. That’s not power; that’s weakness.”
His laugh slices through the tension, sharp and mocking, but I notice his grip on the knife twitch ever so slightly. Good. He heard me.
I take a deliberate step closer, my hands raised in a gesture of peace, though every nerve in me is screaming to take him on.
“You think she chose you?” I press on, tone unwavering.
“She chose me. Every night, she crawls into my arms, letting me be the one to comfort her. Every time she has the strength to open her scars and let me bear witness to her pain. She lets me in where you’ll never dare to tread. And it eats you alive, doesn’t it?”
My remark hits the spot. His teeth grind, jaw twitching, but I focus on Thalia, who trembles in his arms. Just like she always did.
“Shut up!” he snarls, jerking the knife even closer to her delicate skin, forcing her to feel the cold metal. “You don’t know what she wants. She doesn’t even know! She’s nothing without someone to tell her what to be!”
-Thalia-
Every breath burns like fire in my lungs. The cold bite of steel against my skin urges me to claw myself free, but I can’t move—his grip is unyielding. Bella continues to bark from the corner, frantic and wildly protective, but it only causes Damian’s arm to tighten around me further.
Xander’s eyes are locked onto mine, burning with an intensity that reveals the violence he’s holding back. I can see it—he wants to rip Damian apart, and God, do I want him to. But the knife is dangerously close. One wrong twitch, and it’s all over.
I concentrate on Xander’s voice, grounding myself in the steadiness of his calm demeanor. I cling to the promise that he’ll get me out of this hell, because if I don’t, the panic will consume me whole.
Damian lives in the past like it’s still the present. As if my trembling now is his victory rather than the echo of what he broke. I don’t tremble because I belong to him; I tremble because I survived him.
The moment Damian yanks me tighter against him, the air flees my lungs, leaving me gasping and terrified. Panic surges within me, a twisting knot of fear and desperation.
But then I hear Xander’s voice breaking through the fog of dread, calm yet blazing with determination.
He’s baiting Damian, drawing the fury onto himself, away from me, and somehow, it works.
For just a split second, a precious heartbeat, Damian’s grip falters, and in that brief moment of hesitation, I twist my body with all the strength I can muster.
For the first time, he isn’t prepared for my resistance.
His balance falters just enough, a stumble, a misstep, that my arm slips from his grasp.
My shoulder slams into the wall, but I don’t stop moving.
I would rather bleed from a thousand cuts than feel his hands on me again.
The knife barely grazes my skin, a sharp sting, but I don’t have time to care about the pain.
I wrench free from his grip and stumble toward the hallway, desperation propelling me forward.
Time fractures into slow-motion.
I can feel my body twist, every muscle screaming in protest. My shoulder slams into the wall, pain spikes white-hot, but pain is better than helplessness. Pain means movement. Pain means I’m not frozen anymore.
I taste copper—blood.
My heartbeat is a war drum in my ears.
His fingers scrape my arm, trying to drag me back into the past.
But I keep moving.
Every inch I put between us feels like reclamation, like small, violent victories.
Bella lunges, teeth bared, and for the first time, Damian hesitates. He’s not the only predator in the room anymore.
I stumble, legs shaking, but I’m upright.
I’m free.
And I don’t whisper this time.
I run.
Bella lunges ahead, a ferocious guardian blocking Damian’s path as I crash against the wall. With trembling hands, I fumble to grab my phone, my heart pounding in my chest like the frantic beating of a war drum. My whole body shakes like I’m vibrating out of my skin.
I press my back against the wall, harder and harder, needing something solid. Needing proof that I still exist.
I feel the cold paint beneath my palms.
I see the crack in the baseboard.
I hear the fight—bodies hitting furniture, snarling breaths.
But it’s not enough.
I need him.
“Xander,” I whisper to myself, a prayer disguised as a name.
“Run, baby!” Xander’s roar shatters the air, a command laced with urgency and power. It cuts through the chaos around me, compelling me to move.
I can’t waste this chance.
I have to escape.
-Xander-
The second she breaks free, I’m on him. Rage takes over, a pure, blinding fire in my veins.
My father taught me how to throw a punch.
He also taught me when not to.
“Use your fists for the people you love,” he’d tell me, “not against them.”
Those words echo through me now as I slam Damian into the floor. My fists aren’t fueled by pride or ego. They’re fueled by love.
Every strike is a promise.
Every hit is a vow.
“You don’t get to hurt her again.”
I slam into him, the knife clattering to the floor as we crash into the coffee table, splintering wood beneath us.
Pain explodes across my jaw as Damian’s elbow connects, sharp and brutal.
I barely register it. All I see is her, knees pulled to her chest, shaking, sobbing, eyes wide with terror.
My body becomes nothing but movement. Strike.
Block. Pin. I don’t think. I just react. Rage is my oxygen.
“Don’t you ever touch her again!” I bellow, driving my fist into his face. Blood gushes from his nose. He laughs through it, sick bastard, but it just fuels me more.
Then I feel it: the cold press of steel against my side.
The gun.
He grins through the blood. “You think you’re winning? You’ve got nothing. One pull of this trigger and she’ll be mine again.” He thinks fear equals control. He thinks power is the ability to harm. He has no idea that real power is choosing not to become the monster who created you.
I grab his wrist, slamming it into the floor once, twice, until the gun skitters free. He snarls and lunges for it, but I’m faster. My fist slams into his temple, and he crumples, blood pooling from a cut above his eye. My chest heaves, sweat and blood dripping into my eyes.
I grab the gun, my finger brushing the trigger.
For one heartbeat, I imagine ending it here. One shot, and she’s safe forever. But then I hear her voice, shaking, broken, but clear.
“Xander, don’t.”
And it’s enough.
I lower the gun, every muscle shaking with restraint.
“Get out,” I snarl at him. “Before I change my mind.”
Damian stumbles toward the car door, bloody and grinning with a vile promise.
“This isn’t over,” he hisses before disappearing.
The worst part isn’t that I almost killed him.
The worst part is that I wanted to.
I stare down at Damian through the window, bleeding and broken but still smug. A voice inside me whispers that I should have pulled the trigger. That men like him don’t stop. That monsters only understand fire.
But then I see her.
Shaking.
Alive.
Watching me.
And I choose her over vengeance.
My knuckles are raw, split open, smeared with his blood.
Every breath burns in my chest like I swallowed fire.
I can still feel the phantom weight of the gun in my hand, the cool bite of the trigger against my finger.
One twitch, and it all could have been over.
But her voice stopped me. Her voice, soft, desperate.
‘Xander, don’t.’ I hear it on repeat, each word wedging itself deeper under my skin.
The house is silent now, except for the sound of Thalia’s ragged sobs down the hall.
I want to run to her, to pull her into my arms, to convince myself she’s safe.
But I can’t; not yet. My body hums with rage, my mind still wired to kill.
If I touch her like this, she’ll feel it.
The violence. The darkness. The edge I almost crossed.
I stagger into the kitchen, bracing myself against the counter, head bowed.
My blood drips onto the tile in quiet splatters.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I almost killed a man tonight.
I wanted to. And the worst part is, I don’t regret it.
The only thing that holds me back is her. Not justice, not morality. Just Thalia.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.
In. Out.
In. Out.
When I finally push myself off the counter and walk toward the hallway, I know one thing for certain: if Damian ever lays a finger on her again, if he even tries, I won’t stop myself from pulling the trigger.
-Thalia-
My body trembles uncontrollably, a residual quake from the storm that just passed through.
My knees throb painfully against the cold, unforgiving floor, and I can feel the searing burn in my throat where the knife grazed my skin.
The silence that envelops me is suffocating, an oppressive weight heavier than any scream could ever convey, louder than the chaos of any fight.