Page 97 of Depraved

I leaned back. “I appreciate that, brother. But this time,” I swallowed hard, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, “this time I’m the one who should be man enough to walk away.”

As I tried to turn around, Onyx grabbed my elbow. Instinctively, I glared down at where his fingers curled around my arm, his grip tight. Threatening.

He stepped forward, eyes almost level to mine. “Listen to me, and you better listen good,” he said with a low snarl. “I’ve always walked in your shadow, always stayed one step behind you, letting you do what you thought best even if I disagreed. But not now. Not when it concerns her.” His grip tightened. “You don’t get to walk away, Granite. That girl is your responsibility. You wanted her. Well, now you have her, and you better man up, grow some motherfucking balls, and get over this shitty guilt trip you’re on. Because that girl in there,” he pointed toward the house, “that girl needs you, even if she doesn’t fucking know it yet.” He let go of my arm with a jerk, jaw clenched and eyes determined. “I won’t let you make the same mistake twice by taking the coward’s way out and not doing the right thing.”

Onyx left, walking into the house. If he was any other man, I would have smashed his skull against the goddamn pavement. But he wasn’t just any other man. He was my brother, and no matter how much I wanted to tell him that he’d been spitting bullshit from his mouth the last five minutes, I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t bullshit. Everything he said was the truth, and it knocked me in the chest, radiating right to the black hole where my heart should have been.

Onyx was right…but that didn’t mean I’d listen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ALYX

I stared at the door. Onyx didn’t turn the lock when he left. But unlike the first time they stuck me in a room against my will, I had no desire to open the door and find a way out. What difference would it make whether I was in here or out there? I’d still feel like shit. I’d still be guilt-ridden and rotten. It made no difference where I was. Nothing would change. Besides, if I managed to escape, I’d merely be going from one prison to the next. At home, I’d be confined to the prison my mother created, and she’d hover and smother me like she always did. At least here I was free to wallow in my own despair and sit in a dark pit of my choosing…not hers.

I thought about what Onyx said, that I’d always belong to Granite. Like a possession, a thing that could be kept and locked up. It was ironic, really, because that was exactly what I was. Kept and locked up. But then I thought about my nightmare where I was hanging from a ceiling like a slaughtered pig, just like Neon did. The fear. The horror. The panic. I felt it all as if it was really happening. I was there, I took her place, and it was the most terrifying thing I’d ever experienced. I could practically still feel my back burning from the iron hooks sliced through my skin. And when I closed my eyes, I still saw the grotesque mutilated face of my tormentor. The sound of his voice. It was so vivid, I had to keep reminding myself it was only a nightmare. But then I remembered how I called out for Granite. How I hoped he would save me. The thought of him rescuing me was like a lifeline for me while I hung from those chains. Why would I feel that? Why would I want Granite to save me, or even think he would? He didn’t save Neon. Why would he save me? Still, he was right there in my mind with the part where I had hope for the torture to end. Was I still connected to him in some sordid, twisted way? Was his name still lingering in my heart even after what he did, what he allowed to happen? How was that possible? How could I still feel for him now that I knew what kind of monster he truly was?

My stomach griped. I clutched my arms around my abdomen and hunched over while I sat on the bed. The ache was everywhere as the hunger pangs became stronger. The headache throbbing at my temples and above my eyes was getting worse, and my mouth was dry, like I had swallowed sand.

I glanced at the bottle of water Onyx had left, and the sight alone increased my thirst fourfold. So I reached out, and the sound of the seal breaking as I twisted the cap resonated in the quiet room. I emptied that bottle of water within ten seconds flat. The cold liquid stung my empty stomach but quenched my thirst, and the sandy feeling was gone.

Placing the empty bottle back on the bedside table, I glanced at the bathroom. There was no door or entry hidden with closet doors. It was just an opening in the wall leading to the bathroom.

I eyed the tub, which was right across from the entry. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as the bath I had in my other prison cell where they first kept me. It seemed old, smaller, and a little discolored.

When was the last time I had a bath or a shower? I couldn’t remember. And, frankly, I didn’t care. Since I was rotten on the inside, I might as well be filthy on the outside.

The door opened behind me, and a rush of heat flooded through me—from the back of my neck right down to my heels.

It was him. I knew it. I could feel it.

I closed my eyes. “Go away, Granite.”

The door closed, but I knew he hadn’t left. My skin was still prickling with his presence.

Silence filled every open space in the room, yet it was deafening, laden with unspoken words. The longer the silence remained, the harder I had to work at holding back my tears.

“Please leave.” My voice was soft and held no conviction. In that moment, I was hanging from that ceiling again, hooked to chains and possessed by pain…but relieved because he finally came. He came to save me. He came to take away the pain.

If only…

A tear slipped down my cheek. It was amazing how he could trigger these emotions in me merely by being close. He didn’t have to say a word. He didn’t have to touch me. He simply had to stand there and breathe.

I wiped at my cheek with the back of my hand. “Granite, please leave.” My voice was louder this time, sorrow slowly building my strength.

Nothing. Not a word.

I clutched my stomach tighter, heartache spreading everywhere, filling every crack, threatening to shatter me into a million pieces. I didn’t want to break in front of him. Not again. But I couldn’t stop it. This man managed to engrave himself on my soul, penetrating every part of my being, consuming me to a point where breaking was the only way to get a little relief from constantly trying to fight it. To fight him.

“Please,” I whispered as a tear rolled over my lips and I could taste my own sadness. “It hurts too much to be close to you.”

Pain built its way through every bone in my body until it finally erupted. I shot up.

“Please leave!” My voice slammed against the walls, anger echoing from my words. I turned around, ready to lash at him, only to find he wasn’t there. He was gone. He left, and I stood there staring at the closed door. Alone, hurt, and hating myself for being disappointed that he was no longer there.

My lips quivered, and I finally allowed the sorrow to consume me. It demanded tears. So many tears, I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. I wanted to crack and break in ways that would make it impossible to be put back together. That way I wouldn’t ever have to fight again. I wouldn’t ever have to try to scrape together every ounce of strength in order to survive. I could just give up, and not feel anything ever again. If I didn’t feel, I couldn’t long for something or someone I had lost—that was, if I ever had it in the first place. I’d simply be a void in a world thriving on pain and agony.

Burying my face in my palms, I continued to sob, the heartache throbbing like an open sore.