Violet Grenade(76)

I charge toward the two, screaming. I yank on the cop's arm to keep him from taking aim at Cain, but the officer yanks his elbow back and slams it into my nose.

There's a sickening crunch as pain explodes inside my face and along my neck. I fall back, clutching my nose, blood seeping through my fingers. Cain pauses a beat, his eyes widening at the sight of me. And then all the rage I saw in him shatters and falls to the ground, broken. In its place is a mask of calm that rattles me to the core.

Cain's gaze returns to the officer, to the gun in his hand.

With my vision blurring, I think to myself how Cain looks like a doll in this moment: vacant eyes, unfeeling skin, cold, lifeless expression. It's like he's kissed his mind good-bye, and so anything that happens from this second on cannot be blamed on him alone.

Cain wrestles the gun from the officer and flips it over in his hand. He slams the Glock against the officer's head once, twice, three times. He's like a machine, a robot working on commands.

"Cain, stop!" I holler.

The officer tries to shield himself, but it does little to help. Cain tosses the gun and rears back for another blow. His closed fist drives into the officer's ribs, his chest, his gut.

"You locked those girls up," Cain roars, though his face doesn't mirror the frustration. "You held them there like dogs!"

Cain hits him again, and I scramble forward, pleading for him to stop.

Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.

Cain works his left fist now, pummeling the officer on his uninjured side. I reach Cain at the same moment that he says to the officer, "You deserve to die."

The stone giant locks his hands around the man's throat, and I scream Cain's name. When he doesn't respond to the sound of my voice, I form a fist with my own hand, cock my arm back, and drive it across Cain's icy face.

His head snaps back from the impact, and he whips around to see where the blow came from. For a moment, I'm afraid he'll attack me next. I can see in his eyes that no one is home. He's gone. Checked out. Au revoir.

But slowly, Cain returns to me. The muscles in his face relax, and his hands drop to his sides. He glances down at the barely conscious officer, and then back at me. 

"We have to go," I tell him, pulling on his arm. "Someone's going to come."

A weakness strikes my knees as I guide Cain to his feet. He stares down at the officer like he doesn't understand how he got there. And then, as a second thought, he points at the man and says, "You heard a sound outside and came to check it out. Someone in a mask beat you up and took your wallet. That's your story, understand? Because if Madam Karina finds out you aired her dirty laundry, you'll be hurting a lot worse than this." Cain nudges the man's shoe with his. "Say you understand."

The man clutches his side and groans that, yes, he understands.

Cain rips the man's wallet from his pocket and shoves it into his own. Then he picks up the car keys off the ground and places them in my hand. My skin prickles at his touch, and the back of my neck burns. Blood has stopped flowing from my nose, but pain and shock still course through my body.

I open the car and get in the driver's seat, and Cain drops down on the opposite side. It's a long time before either of us speaks, the car moving silently through the night. I glance over at Cain and find him staring at the thin layer of dried blood on his knuckles. He seems surprised and horrified by its presence.

I want to comfort him, but at the same time, what I saw back there is enough to keep me quiet. It's enough to keep Wilson quiet, too.

"My father taught me to turn things off," Cain whispers. "It's like a light goes off in my head, and all I can feel is anger. And then I feel nothing at all."

I try to form a response, but Cain speaks before I can.

"I would never hurt you, Domino." His voice catches, like the thing he's most terrified of is someone being afraid of him.

I lick my lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm scared of you?"

"You should be."

Though it takes me time to recover from the whiplash of his transformation, eventually, I regain my bearings. After all, I've seen the dark sides of enough people to know everyone has one.

"How are you so sure?" I finally ask. "How are you sure you wouldn't hurt me? Because back there …  Cain, you really lost it."

"Because I chose to," he says. "I pulled the switch. When I took those burns for my brother …  The only way I could do it was to turn everything off. Survive." His voice grows small. "I still hurt my brother in the end, though."

"You didn't kill your brother on purpose," I say. "And you pulled your switch back there because that man had a gun, and he's doing a very bad thing by keeping those girls locked up."