28. Ash #2
I’m assuming the penthouse floor. Since it’s the Dally fucking building and all.
“I’m not permitted to tell you that, sir,” she mutters.
My head cocks around; people walking in and out without an issue.
So, I shrug and leave the desk, ignoring her objections.
I’m trying really hard to be good, for my angel’s sake.
I know she works hard for this job. I’ll try my best not to kill anyone, even though my fingers itch with the need to do so.
I squeeze into the elevator, noticing the shift in the air as the five other people in here literally shift away from me. I’m used to it. I know how I look, with my Devil’s vest, my inked skin, my busted knuckles.
I don’t care. I don’t care.
I just need my angel. I need her so badly, my heart is racing at the thought. Tiredness soaks into my bones. My finger jams the top-level button because I just know that is where she will be. She’s so fucking smart and successful; there isn’t a floor lower that’s worth her time.
The elevator springs open to her floor, and it takes me a second to get my legs to walk out. Everything in here screams wealth and success. Shiny and new.
It forms a lump in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow down.
I feel like I’m messing up the place with my very presence, and it’s making my skin crawl. Another voice stops me as I finally step out of the metal cage, blubbering about needing a guest pass.
“Where’s Maddison?” I interrupt, my blood roaring in my ears. This is taking too long. I need her. Now.
“She’s… she’s in a meeting,” the voice stutters.
I keep walking in search of this meeting. Everything else fades away; the only thing that matters is that I’m in the same vicinity as her.
My heart calms and fists unclench. She’s here; I just feel it.
I round the corner and see about twenty bodies sitting around a gleaming black table, and right at the front is her.
It’s like everything in my view blacks out except for the glowing figure of my angel.
Dressed in the prettiest white dress, her golden hair pulled back into a clip as she listens to the man at the front, speak.
I pause for a second, my stomach squeezing painfully tight, realising the thrumming in my chest has eased. My muscles feel relaxed; my jaw unclenches. A relieved breath whooshes out of my lungs.
I’m okay. Everything is okay.
She might be cranky that I’m disrupting her meeting, being the hard worker she is, but I can’t wait another second.
I step through the door, my boots clunking against the polished floors, heads turning in my direction. But my eyes are only on hers. Her neck flexes as she turns her head to the side, curious about the sound.
My smile creeps onto my face, unable to stop when I’m near her. But it falls clean off when I see her expression.
Sheer panic.
Horror glistening in her wide eyes as her lips part, her face paling with dread.
Everything stops. Moving in slow motion as she shakes her head, a tiny, desperate motion. But it’s too late. The man standing out front turns towards me.
“Can I help you?” Contempt dripping from his words.
My hardened eyes flick to him for a second, and ice freezes my blood. It’s her face I’m looking at. Her father. Mr Dally himself, the fucking horrific asshole that I eventually plan to disembowel. But I turn to the only person I care about.
“Maddy,” I breathe, and I hate how pathetic I sound.
How vulnerable. I hate the way my chest grows heavy with the violent, living thing inside of me. How coldness seeps into my veins.
But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t run to me and wrap me in the hug I was dreaming of. Frozen in her seat, staring at me, with that fucking look. I hate that fucking look. I get it every day of my goddamn life, and now I’m getting it from her.
“Maddison, who is this savage?” the stern man barks.
His voice holds zero curiosity or kindness, just pure ice. Maddy flinches at the sound of his voice, but her eyes are still locked onto mine, wide and scared.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I wait. I wait for her answer to who I am. Her eyes flutter shut before she turns back to her father, every muscle in her body tight. “I…I don’t know.”
I don’t know. Barely a whisper of words, but they echo in my mind. I don’t know, I don’t know.
“Well, he seems to know you,” the man is obviously losing his patience, oblivious to the fact his single question has my world crumbling.
She stands. Facing me, she straightens her dress as she swallows, her hands trembling by her sides. Slowly, her eyes regard me, as if she is trying to muster up some form of recollection, and my skin crawls. This isn’t right.
“He must be mistaken,” she murmurs, her voice thick. “I’ve never seen this man in my life.”
Red seeps into my vision, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth could snap.
Monster.
I try to suck in a deep breath, but my throat feels heavy. My jaw ticks and I feel my eye twitch.
Deranged. Damaged.
The rapid beat of my heart rattles in my ears, all eyes on me. I see clear as day in their wide eyes and agape mouths what they think of me.
Animal. Savage.
They should be fucking scared. Because I am the monster, they all think I am. And I’m done trying to pretend I’m not.
My hand feels steady as I reach inside my vest, gripping around the cold metal of my Glock. Like a magnet, I whip my arm out and point it toward her.
My angel.
No, not my angel. Not my anything. And I click the slide, the sound louder than the man calling for security.
19 Years Ago...
Mum has never been a maternal mother, never has had that thing deep inside of her that my friends’ mums have, that unconditional, protective love. I’m not saying she is a bad mum; she just doesn’t seem to care all that much… about anything.
Tonight’s been okay, with Dad out at the club. Mum heated up some mac and cheese for me while she dined on her glasses of wine. The red one with the snake on the bottle… Her favourite.
It makes her less blank and silent, so I’m happy.
She’s talking to me, even though it’s all nonsense.
Her eyes are glassy, and her smile is lopsided, and I can’t help but giggle when she says my name wrong.
She laughs back, her wine spilling out the side of her glass, causing her to laugh even harder.
But it stops. As soon as we hear the front door fly open, both of our faces drop. It’s late, and without our laughs, everything feels scarily quiet. Just the heavy footsteps of Dad making his way into the kitchen, where we are sitting.
The air feels too thick to breathe in, and I drop my eyes when I see him round the corner, peeking up at him beneath my lashes.
His stony face peers at me with distaste crinkling his eyes before he moves to the fridge, pulling out a beer.
“Hey, Colson, honey,” Mum’s fake chipper voice makes me feel sick in my stomach, the mac and cheese roiling. “How was your night!”
She only gets a grunt back. He’s in a bad mood. He’s always in a bad mood, but lately it’s been worse. I quickly slide off the stool and make my way to my bedroom, falling back on the closed door and sliding down it until I’m curled in a ball against the wood.
This feeling makes me feel strange. I hate being so weak. Hate the fact that I run away and freeze like I do.
It could be minutes, it could be hours, but the inevitable yelling makes me flinch against the door.
I wish I could zone it out, but I need to listen.
Need to be ready for when it gets too ugly.
I’ve had to intervene too many times already, which just turned the violence in my direction; but I can’t let him take my mum away from me. She’s all I have.