48 #3
My father’s vile voice resonates in my ear. “Like father, like son.” My violent past pulses within me. No more interventions. No more discouragement. If this doesn't convince him, nothing will. I'm tempted to lose control and pop a bullet in his head, but I refrain . . . for now.
I AM NOT HIM.
“I'm taking her,” I relay. My throat is clogged, making the words come out muffled and broken.
Mortensen rises to his feet, commanding respect from the room.
“My son is worthy. He will lead the next generation to greatness,” he announces, ignoring my earlier words entirely.
Never have I seen the motherfucker so proud.
Rising to my feet, I scoop Clara in my arms bridal style, gentler than I have ever been to a woman in my entire life.
Blood trickles down her milky, translucent pale welted thighs.
Her body has been battered and torn apart.
Deep down I know what I subjected her to, and she will never recover.
When she wakes up, it's going to be carnage.
The alternative is she's a hollow shell of who she once was. Fuck, I hope it’s the former. Her anger is justified. With shaky hands, Vesper silently plucks my jacket from the floor, draping it over her body. I'm gonna get an earful from her once the adrenaline tapers off.
Mortensen plasters on a hellacious smirk but allows me to leave with them.
Not that I would have given him much choice.
I refuse to leave them here to their demise.
The Elites part for me. They know their God.
Zain must sense I'm on the verge of going bat shit, because he steps in front of me as soon as the heavy doors click close.
“You did what needed to be done,” he says coldly.
If that's his attempt at comfort, he's shit.
He thinks he has a clue about the shit flooding my mind.
I'm stronger than he gives me credit for.
Despite his life being rough, I wasn't exactly handed a perfect deck, either.
You learn how to manage your feelings and separate emotions.
If he thinks I'm gonna spill my insides, he clearly doesn't know shit.
Vesper slinks beside Zain and is too shaken up to speak.
I imagine after the initial shock wears off she might try to kill me in my sleep.
We trudge in silence to the car. Zain ushers Vesper to the front seat, covering her nudity with a mound of blankets.
I crawl in the back seat and clutch Clara against my chest.
Her soft skin melts against mine. Her tanglement of blonde hair falls over my forearm onto my lap.
Her body is so weak and helpless. The strange sense of regret slams into me so hard I release a low growl from my throat, not liking the surge of dissonance cycling through me.
No one utters a syllable. Zain slips into the driver's seat.
We exchange glances in the rearview. “We need to crash with you a bit. I can't take her back to Mortensen's estate and I sure as fuck can't take her back to the Void. They defiled her body, Zain. They touched her . . . I don't understand this shit—”
“It's called feelings, Kieran. Fucking. Emotions. I'm still getting used to the fuckin’ way it makes me react. I love Vesper. It's like a bomb goes off inside of you.”
His gaze falls to Vesper in the passenger's seat.
His hand slides across the cool leather to tangle with hers.
Her midnight black hair tangles against the seatbelt.
Her head rests on the cool glass letting little puffs of breath fan against the foggy window.
I sneer at myself. Love. Fucking love? What the hell emotion is that, anyway? It isn't in my vocabulary and sure as shit isn't in my list of feelings. Power. Control. Ownership.
Those I understand. Hell, pain, sorrow, destruction, and even pleasure.
“Nah.” I reply, turning to glare out the window at the passing streetlights, but what I did resonates with me still.
The reflection of myself holding Clara greets me.
Even now, I can't escape this strange mix of emotions swirling within me.
I refuse to believe it's love. I am incapable of it.
My purpose is never to love, but to indulge in the fruits of life and fuck .
. . but recently it also includes bringing down my father and his unstable power trip.
Zain doesn't dignify me with a response, and that's probably a good thing because I'm as stable as dynamite. Zain used to be the ticking time bomb, funny how life plays out, bringing out the worst in us.
We pull up to Zain's house. The sun shines over the horizon's edge.
A crisp orange hue falls over the sky. I’m tired as fuck but I know I have a long time before I can hit the sheets.
Too much to be done and said. He pulls around back so neighbors don't ask questions.
Parked beside the detached garage sits my Bugatti.
A smirk cracks on the corner of my lips.
At least it's mostly intact. My tires are shot, though.
Zain throws the gearshift in park then escorts Vesper inside.
I clasp onto Clara, enjoying the silence.
I'm unable to move . . . for the time being at least.
He doesn't rush me, allowing me time to process the bullshit.
Hell, I'm not sure if Zain or Vesper even trust me anymore.
I don't trust myself. My emotions bubble to the surface.
Who knows when the next time I feel Clara's skin against mine will be.