3. Drystan #2
The cameras are merciless. Every angle shows me the truth in sickening, unrelenting detail, his hand sliding down her body, yanking at the waistband of her cargo pants until the fabric drops low enough for his palm to cup her over her underwear, fingers pressing and rubbing with crude possession.
She makes a small sound, half protest, half moan.
“Easy, Luke.” she whispers.
He does not stop. He laughs against her mouth and keeps touching her. Keeps touching what is fucking mine.
This is not real. She would not choose this. Not after everything.
My vision pulses black at the edges. I grip the steering wheel so hard something cracks in my hand. The sharp pain barely registers through the roar in my skull.
I want to break that fucking door down right now. I want to rip him off her by the throat, carve his heart out while it is still beating, and shove the bloody thing down his throat so he chokes on his own arrogance.
I shove the car door open and step out into the pouring rain.
Cold water soaks through my clothes instantly, plastering fabric to skin, but I feel nothing except the violence clawing under my ribs.
I walk straight into the middle of the empty street, boots splashing through deep puddles, rain hammering against my face and shoulders.
Headlights slice through the downpour. A car swerves wildly, horn blaring as it barely misses me. I do not flinch. I do not move. I simply stand there, soaked and shaking with barely contained fury, staring up at her building.
Do not make me come in there before I am ready.
I force myself to turn around, every muscle in my body screaming to charge inside and end this now. Instead I climb back into the car, drenched, chest heaving, fists bloody where my nails have dug deep into my palms.
She lets him keep going. Lets his fingers push harder against her. Lets him kiss her neck. The neck I have dreamed about every single night.
A single tear mixes with the rain still dripping down my face as I drop back into the driver’s seat.
I rub my finger across my cheek and stare at the wetness. I do not cry. I never cry. Not in prison. Not when they took her from me. Not once in all those rotting years behind bars. But this, watching another man put his hands on her, rips something wide open inside my chest.
“No!” The word tears out of me raw and broken. “No! No! No!”
I slam my fists into the steering wheel again and again. The horn blares once before I rip my hands away.
“Why are you doing this, Briar?” I growl at the screen, my voice cracking. “Why are you letting him touch you? You are mine! You have been mine since the first second I saw you. That sweet hair, those scared blue eyes, that untouched skin, all of it was waiting for me. Not him! Never him!”
I slam the laptop shut. The feeds die.
The silence inside the car is worse. Rain hammers the roof so hard it drowns out everything else. My chest heaves. Blood roars in my ears.
He will die for this. Slowly. Creatively.
And Briar… my beautiful, ruined Briar… she will learn exactly who she belongs to. I will strip every trace of that man’s hands off her skin. I will burn the memory of him out of her body until the only name she can moan is mine.
I am not leaving. Not until that fucker leaves first.
The rain has turned into a steady, icy downpour that turns the streetlights into smeared halos.
The neighborhood lies dead quiet this late—empty sidewalks, no passing cars, just the distant hum of traffic somewhere far away.
Perfect. No witnesses. No interruptions.
Just me, the night, and the man who dared put his hands on what belongs to me.
I open the computer again, the feed comes to life and I wait.
Thankfully it does not take long. The apartment door opens again on the feed.
I watch as “Luke” steps out, still wearing that smug fucking grin.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, I switch cameras.
Briar is already heading toward the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She is going to shower.
I should stay here. I should watch every second of it through the cameras I have earned the right to see. But I cannot. Not right now. The roaring in my head is too loud, drowning out everything else, I need to deal with him first.
He is walking down the sidewalk ahead, head bent over his phone, completely oblivious to the world around him. The rain soaks through his jacket in dark patches, but he does not even look up, thumbs still moving across the screen as he walks.
I start the car and ease forward slowly, tires rolling quiet over the wet pavement.
He glances up at the sleek black vehicle pulling alongside him, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face in the glow of the streetlights.
I stop beside him and roll down the window, letting the rain spray in against my arm.
“Hey, I’m looking for something to eat around here. Anything nearby?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay casual, almost friendly. He eyes the brand-new car, the tinted windows, and visibly relaxes. Just another rich stranger on a nice ride. Harmless.
He starts giving directions, gesturing down the street with one hand while rain drips from his hair. But all I can see is the memory of his hand palming her over her underwear, his mouth on her neck, the way she whispered “Easy, Luke.” and he ignored it.
“Sorry,” I cut in with a tight smile, “Do you mind pinning it on my GPS real quick?”
“Sure, man.”
I open the door and step out into the rain, handing him my phone. The moment his eyes drop to the screen and his thumbs start typing, I move.
My elbow slams into the back of his neck with every ounce of rage I have carried for years.
The impact lands with a sickening thud of bone against flesh that cuts through the sound of the rain.
He drops instantly, knees buckling, body going limp as his phone clatters to the wet pavement and skitters into a puddle.
Adrenaline surges hot through my veins. He is heavier than he looks, dead weight in my arms, but the fury makes me strong.
I catch him before he fully hits the ground, one arm hooked under his shoulders, the other gripping his belt.
Rain pours down on both of us as I yank open the back door of the car.
I shove his limp body inside, folding his legs awkwardly across the seat, his head lolling to the side with his mouth slack and eyes closed.
A thin trail of blood already seeps from his nose, mixing with the water on the leather.
I slam the door shut, the sound too loud in the quiet night, and slide back behind the wheel, breathing fast, chest tight with a dark satisfaction that borders on laughter. This is right. This is necessary.
He touched her. He called her bunny. He put his filthy hands on skin that has only ever been meant for me. I waited for years. I kept her perfect inside my head, and this piece of shit thought he could simply walk into her life and grope her like she belonged to him.
No.
I will make it slow for him.
I glance in the rearview mirror at his unconscious form sprawled across the back seat. My hands are steady on the wheel now, but inside I am fracturing in the most beautiful way.
“You should have stayed away from her, Luke.”
I pull away from the curb and drive into the night, the street behind me staying empty and dark. No one saw. No one will ever know.
Briar is probably still in the shower right now, water running over the body I just watched him violate.