My hand reached out and gripped tightly onto the hair on her scalp as I pulled her face into mine. My nostrils were flaring, and my blood was burning. I was conflicted. I wanted to kick her ass, but at the same time, I just wanted to drag her the fuck away from all of this. There was no fear in her eyes—just red-hot anger.
“Never. Ever. Fucking talk to me like that again. You’re going with me, and you will do whatever the fuck I tell you.”
Instead of releasing her, I stared deeply into her eyes, not even noticing the way her face soured. As if out of nowhere, I watched her pull back and spit on me. My chest heaved, and my anger spiraled out of control.
Releasing my grip on her hair, I wrapped one hand around her throat, and the other along her jaw.
“I was kind to you, I understood you, and I cared for you. I still fucking do, but you knew if I found out, it would be his dead body on the ground. You’re lucky it’s not yours.” Did I really mean it?
Clenching her teeth with deep anger as she tried to pull away, she seethed, “I would much rather be dead than to have to fucking go anywhere with you.” She could be mad all she wanted. Her ass was still stuck with me. She had nowhere else to go, and I had already grown too attached to her to allow her to go.
“Then I’ll be sure to make it your own personal hell.” My fingers dug harder into her cheeks, and I knew there would be bruises if I didn’t stop, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything,—her hurting, the fact I had killed her father—nothing mattered.
“It already is,” she ground out. As I stared deeply into her eyes, I watched the pain and anger swirl. I had caused her this heartache— even if I didn’t want to know if this would make or break us.
Instead of responding to her, I released her face with a defaming look. I had taken the beautiful, innocent angel she was and had molded her into the devil’s toy. I had broken her beyond repair. Gripping her arm tight, I pulled her toward the door, only to be stopped. She was digging her feet into the ground, and I knew if I didn’t do something fast, we would be caught. There was no time to sit around and wait for everyone else to get here.
“Fine, then,” I growled. Taking a step toward her, I gripped her by the hips, picked her up, and threw her over my shoulder.
“Put me the fuck down,” was her first response. Though I ignored her foul mouth, I couldn’t ignore the pounding and scratches on my back. I knew she wanted me to react, but if she thought she was going to get a rise out of me, she was wrong. If anything, it made me want to nail her ass against a tree.
“You’re going to get us killed with your fucking screaming, yelling, and nonsense thinking,” I said continuing down the driveway. I could hear her huffs, anger radiating out of her like an overheated furnace.
“Getting us killed? Are you fucking crazy? No, wait. You are! You just killed my dad at point blank range. My dad…” Her voice cut off, and I could tell she was on the verge of tears. Maybe she didn’t want to think her dad was capable of such venomous acts or she didn’t want to face the music—either way, she had to know it would come down to this.
“Yeah. You will get us killed if you keep your fucking yap open. While I know I just killed your father, shut your fucking mouth. Mourn it later. Learn to deal with it. I never said I was a good man, Bree. I told you I was out for vengeance. Love wasn’t going to stop me from seeking it. Be mad, hate me, cuss me out, and never want to see me again, but know you can never run from me.”
Silence settled over us as her chest heaved against my shoulders. For the first time in my life, I had met someone who I didn’t want to hurt, who I had wanted to take the pain from. Even though I wanted all those things, I was bred to kill, to hate, and to make those suffer who had made me suffer. A death for a death made us even. Bree would have to learn the hard way, though my love for her was deep, my need for vengeance was the same.
Bree
My chest heaved as I held in the tears I desperately wanted to release. Zerro had ripped the last living person from my life. He had shot and killed him in cold blood. It didn’t matter if I had loved him—nothing mattered because he had killed my father.
He placed me on the cold leather seat of the SUV and shut the door, not saying a word. I should open the door, I should run though I knew it would be useless. He would just hunt me down and haul me back here. As I sunk further into the seat, my mind sunk further into the abyss. How could he do something so cruel? How could he kill someone and feel no remorse? John was my father—it didn’t matter to me what he had done. None of it did. What mattered was he was dead, and I had no one. Nothing. I was just like him. Just like Alzerro King.