Page 86 of The Beast

He makes a wailing noise, then presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I thought you were one of them. I thought I was fighting back.”

I stay on the bed, giving him space even though every instinct screams at me to go to him. “But you stopped. You heard me, and you stopped.”

“This time.” He laughs—a horrible, hollow sound. “What about next time? What about the time I don’t wake up fast enough?”

“Gabe. I’m okay.”

“This is why I go to the gym. Why I fight until I can barely stand, until every muscle in my body is screaming. Because if I’m exhausted enough—if I’m broken down enough—I can sleep without dreaming. He gestures at me, at the bed, at the space between us. “Without this.”

I touch my throat, and though I don’t’ mean to, I wince at the tenderness there.

Gabriel sees it, and his face crumples.

“They broke something in me, Izzy.” His voice is raw, scraped hollow. “I came out of that cabin wrong. I’m always on edge now. Always waiting for the next attack. I can’t trust myself. And if I can’t trust myself, how can you?”

“I can. I do.”

“I’m going to hurt you.” The words come out flat. Certain. Like he’s pronouncing a death sentence. “Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, I’m going to lose control, and you’re going to be the one who pays. And then I’ll lose you.” His voice breaks. “Either you’ll run—which you should—or I’ll...”

He can’t finish. Can’t say the words.

Or I’ll kill you.

I should be afraid. Some part of me is—some primitive survival instinct that remembers the pressure of his hand on my windpipe. My body knows it came close to death tonight.

But I look at Gabriel—at this man who survived something unimaginable, who crawled out of hell only to find himself trapped in a different kind of prison—and all I feel is heartbreak.

“Come here,” I say softly.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“I heard you. Come here anyway.”

He doesn’t move. Just stands there against the wall, broken glass glittering around his bare feet, looking at me like I’m speaking a language he doesn’t understand.

“Gabe.” I keep my voice steady. Calm. “You can get through this. Yes, you’re struggling. Yes, you have triggers and nightmares and reactions you can’t always control. But that doesn’t mean you’re doomed to hurt me. It doesn’t mean we can’t figure this out.”

“I almost killed you.” Each word is precise. Brutal. “The woman I love. I had my hands around your throat, and I was going to squeeze until you stopped breathing. That’s not a struggle, Isabella. That’s a ticking time bomb.”

I flinch at the use of my full name. At the distance it creates.

“So what’s your solution?” I ask quietly. “You leave? Go back to the fight clubs, the underground empire, the life you had before? Spend the rest of your days alone because you’re afraid of what you might do?”

“At least you’d be safe.”

“I’d be miserable.” I slide off the bed, ignoring the way he tenses as I hurry to his side. “You’d be miserable, too. We spent five years apart, Gabriel. Five years of grief and rage and loneliness. I’m not doing that again.”

“Even if staying with me could get you killed?”

“Even then. But it won’t.”

I stop about a foot away from him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“Maybe. But I’m more afraid of losing you again.”

His composure finally cracks. A sob bursts out of him—raw and broken and completely unguarded. And then his arms are around me, crushing me against his chest, and he’s shaking so hard I can feel it in my bones.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps into my hair. “I’m so sorry, Izzy.”

“I know.” I hold him just as tightly. “I know.”

We stand there in the wreckage of the bedroom—fallen painting, sheets tangled on the floor—and just hold each other.

It’s not a solution. It’s not healing. But for now, in this moment, we’re choosing each other.

Then his phone buzzes. I hurry to get it so he doesn’t slice up his feet, then take him the phone and some slippers.

“Leo,” he says after he hangs up. “Webb’s in custody. We should get going.”

And just like that, the walls are back.