CHAPTER FOURTY-SEVEN
MASON
Fluorescent lights flicker above me as my eyes slowly welcome my new surroundings.
The last thing I remember was sitting outside the house.
Dread fills my lungs as I scan the white walls of the room.
The smell of blood sits heavy, warm, and metallic in the air.
I try to sit up, but pain sparks through my entire body, biting deep into my bones.
I grunt and lie against the tightly tucked bed.
Tears well in my eyes and slide down my cheeks in a slow rivulet.
A steady monitor beeps beside my bed, the sound too loud in the quiet ward.
My heart thuds against my chest as I try to remember what happened last night. The beeping sound from the heart-rate monitor spikes, and I clench the sheets of the bed, eyes flickering toward the steady light above me.
I close my eyes and grip the metal bed frame.
The memories come with full force, pouring over me like a cascading waterfall.
“Someone… anyone? Doctor?” I choke. The words lump in my throat, the lights coming off too bright.
“Saint…” my lungs constrict. My breathing slows, and I try to force my eyes open, but even my sheer will isn’t enough to keep me awake.
“Doctor.” I whisper, glancing at the exit. Just then, the light dims inconsistently, and darkness pulls me in. I’m back at the beginning.
It had been over forty-five minutes since I sat on the porch waiting for Saint.
Bernard stands in his position, eyes scanning the perimeter.
After a while, he strides toward me and pulls his gun from his holster.
“I need to look around the house.” He says, and I nod before he walks around the building.
I get to my feet and walk into the house to take off my shoes and clothes. Saint’s jacket firmly wraps around me. It’s one of the few things keeping my anger from pouring over my skin like molten lava.
Memories from the wedding gnaw at my thoughts. The escalated scenario with Saint at the reception. Is he really down bad for me? Does he look at the broken, worthless figure before him and decide that he’d take a chance on me?
David’s wicked confessions take root next. Every time he comes around me, he scars me. He tugs at the monster in me.
He’d taken my childhood away. He’d stolen my parents from me. Took me into his care and still hated me. Maybe it was the guilt of what he had done that ate away at his soul. That tainted him beyond recognition. That made him a callous monster.
Maybe watching me grow up in the same house trapped him in a constant loop of reliving the heinous crime he’d committed. That’s why he lingers like I’m some fucking debt he’s bent on collecting. Like watching me suffer gives him some twisted sense of peace.
But men like him never know peace.
They live in a nightmare. Since he’s trapped in it, he wants to drag me in with him.
So I’ll do the things he’s done.
If I kill… If I hurt someone, if I destroy something, then maybe, just maybe, the guilt of what he had done would die. And he will have something to hold over me for the rest of my fucking life.
Everything feels so overwhelming that my thoughts venture into places I have tried not to think about.
I get off the couch and trudge into the kitchen. A hollow feeling cements in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
There it sits. A utility lighter. Sharp black extended neck glistening under the glow of the amber light.
Just a flicker of the yellow flame kissing my skin. That’s all I need. Just one bite of the heat on my skin makes me feel better. I need an emotion I can control, not this clusterfuck of thoughts storming through my head.
I move toward the object and pick it up, hands shaking as tears gather in my eyes. They don’t fall. My grip tightens. Hard. Visceral. Hands trembling as I bring the lighter to my wrist, over my veins.
I don’t press the ignition guard. With the weapon this close, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’d tried at Genesis when I couldn’t hold it all in, but Bernard was there to stop me.
I place the lighter into my pocket and turn on my heels, returning to the living room.
That’s when I hear a loud, sharp grunt. When I rush toward the window to look outside, my eyes first spot Bernard. He’s lying still on the field, close to his car.
Something else catches my attention, I see him. He appears from the shadows, a dark hoodie hanging over his face.
He smirks and barrels toward the house. Boots thunder outside.
Fear paralyzes me on the spot. I’m too lost to the dread slipping into my veins that I’m rooted to the spot.
Sharp breaths jolt out of my lungs, and I force myself to move toward the door.
Just as he’s about to kick it in, I slam my shoulder against the sturdy wood.
He doesn’t retaliate. At least that’s what I think.
But the next second, he comes at the door with his full weight, kicking it open. The door almost coming off its hinges moves me across the floor. I crawl to my feet and back up as the door creaks open, a foreboding chill snaking down my spine.
He steps through the entrance, gun in hand. Fear prickles my skin, raw and insistent. I remain on the floor while he towers over me. “Haven’t you done enough?”
My heart sinks. My belly tightens. A shaky breath tears out of my lungs.
I’m powerless again.
He takes a step closer. “What do you think happened to me when you disappeared for a week?” He unzips his hoodie and tosses it onto the floor. Fresh blade marks linger on his calloused skin. Several gashes from Vincent’s blade and lethal anger.
Why did he have to wait until now to do this? Why didn’t he just kill me at the wedding reception?
“You really think I’ll let you go scot-free.” He roars at me. “I get hurt. You get hurt!” He points the gun at me and takes off the safety. The gesture sends a jolt through me.
He smiles sinisterly.
“You dragged me into this. I escaped.” I choke out. “I escaped.” I reiterate, even though I never really escaped him. Physically, I might have fought my way out of that cage. But David Layton had crippled my mind my whole life. He’d taken everything from me.
He laughs.
“Your parents dragged you into this.”
“You killed them!” I roar as anger twists a dagger into my heart.
My eyes flare in raw shock, and I surge up to my feet.
“I’m nothing like him. I’m nothing like him.
” I whisper to myself. “You took my parents away from me.” My voice roughens, becoming unrecognizable, almost monstrous.
“Vincent is gone, and you could have left all this behind, but you came here to hurt me!” I stab my finger into my chest. He stands there staring at me as if I don’t exist, as if my words mean nothing.
“I have turned down every good thing in my life because of you…” I stutter, my expression hardening with jarring anger.
“You…” I bark, hands shaking as anger slithers around my skin.
“You fucking ruined my life…” I point at him with a shaking hand.
My voice comes out small where I expect it to come out furious.
Right there and then. His resolve breaks.
“Shut up!” he rages, voice cracking like thunder.
“Shut up!” He moves toward me in the snap of a finger, and he suddenly halts, turning away from me.
“I gave you a life. You should be grateful. I took you in. I took care of you, and you don’t fucking know how good you’ve had it.
” He lifts the gun and slams it playfully against his temple.
The realization dawns on me. No matter what I say, he’s never going to see the damage he’s done. Even if I played every single horrifying moment of my life like a movie, he wouldn’t believe me because he’s the good guy. The saint. The man who hasn’t wronged anyone his whole life.
He’s too close now. Too distracted.
I barrel toward him and take him down to the floor. A grunt escapes his lips when his back collides against the floor. The gun slides out of his hand, and he slams his fist into my jaw, knocking me over.
The gun’s closer to him now.
If he gets his hands on it, he’ll kill me, and I’m not ready to die.
I pick myself up and bolt toward the stairs. Shots explode behind me as I disappear to the next staircase, which leads to the second floor.
I slide inside the first bedroom, leaving the door ajar. I look down at my stomach and see blood pooling in my shirt. “Shit.” I croak and bury my hands in my belly. Heavy footsteps hammer against the staircase, and quiets seconds later, when the bastard enters the hallway.
He comes into the room, hands held out steady, and I grip the door and slam it against his outstretched hand.
One. He cries out.
Two. Another miserable grunt.
Three. The gun slips from his hand, and I kick it under the bed, backing away just as he kicks the door in. Shoulders held high, his expression mirrors a menacing monstrosity. He bolts toward me, the impact of the collision sending us through the glass wall.
A suffocating gasp shatters out of my lungs when my back collides with the field. He rolls over, breathing hard. The world spins at the edges of my vision, and pain scalds my skin violently.
Everything blurs around me, but he gets on top of me and fastens his bloody fingers around my throat. The weight of his hold crushes my windpipe and restrains air from flooding my lungs.
I’ll die if I don’t fight back.
I’ll die if I don’t find the strength to survive.
And the only part of me I can pull from is every ugly emotion I have ever felt. From the monster I have never acknowledged my whole life.
My hands tap aimlessly against the ground. I’m lucky enough that my hand grazes against a stone. My eyes roll to the back of my head, heartbeat slowing, blood pooling beneath me as he steals my life from me.
My hand closes around the stone, and I lift it and slam it into his head. He falls over and lands on his back. Air rushes into my lungs instantly, and I grunt as I lie on my side watching him try to get on his knees.
If he gets back on both feet, I’m dead.
I use every broken strength left within me to regain my footing. The nerves in my body burns as I stagger toward him. Before he can make sense of what’s happening, my booth collides into his skull, and he topples over.
He collapses on his back, eyes up at the heavens as my boots smash into his face.
At every stomp of the sole of my leather boot, the rage I have chained spills over my skin. Eviscerating. Heavy. Unavoidable.
I slam my boots repeatedly until his face is completely disfigured, and his blood paints the grass and rocks in a disturbing stroke.
He’s still breathing, but it’s too slow. Too fucking weak.
“Wait, wait. There’s something you need to know. Your brother…”
I turn around and pick up the stone, sitting on him, as I smash the large stone into his skull. “Fuck you!” A sharp, mangled cry breaks out of my lips.
“You are. Monster.” His words die in his throat when I smash in again.
Short, uneven breaths drill through my nostrils. Blood scatters around me. Getting on my hands. My trousers. My face. Until his skull pops and his brains spill out.
I drop the stone aside and get on my feet, unable to keep my balance. A mix of my blood and his covers my shirt. As I try to take another step, my body gives out, and I slam my head into the ground.
Ahead of me, an incoming car floods the premises with light.