Page 137 of Bleed with Me

I listened with bated breath as he described that day. They were at school, but exchanged places. Dorian played Zyon, Zyon played Malin, and Malin played Dorian. Everything went smoothly, and they laughed their butts off at teachers who had no idea.

But then school ended, and their bodyguards came to pick them up. Dorian went with Zyon’s guard, sat in the car, and opened his notebook because Zyon, being a nerd, always studied. The other two were in the cars behind them when the explosion occurred.

“I don’t remember much of it.” Dorian frowned, as if trying to recall something that happened thirty-two years ago. “But a picture of the dead guard with a hole in his head and the blood splattered inside the car lives rent-free in my head.”

He grimaced, exhaling loudly.

“The next thing I know, I’m in a cage, and Malin is in another one opposite me, but there was no sight of Zyon.” He shook his head slowly. “I was so fucking scared that he died. If Malin wasn’t there, I would’ve lost my mind.”

Instinctively, I took his hand and squeezed it. My mother often chased me through the apartment and beat me with anything she grabbed, so I knew fear. Still, I had no idea how I would feel if I had siblings.

“We spent a few hours in that dark room,” Dorian continued quietly. “Malin tried to open the cage while I cried and trembled in the corner. I was no use.”

“You were a kid,” I objected.

“Malin was a kid, too,” he mumbled, as if ashamed he didn’t react like his brother. “And he refused to accept the situation, while I just wanted my parents.”

“Dorian,” I sighed, refusing to let go of his hand when he tried to pull it free.

“They took him away, too, you know,” he said, blinking rapidly as tears glistened in his eyes. “I stayed alone, frightened, cold, and desperate for my family. That’s when the voice emerged.”

“The voice?” I repeated, my brows lifting.

Dorian nodded.

“And it never truly disappeared.”

I stared at him, mouth hanging open, trying to understand what he was saying.

“You hear voices?” I asked slowly, searching his face.

“Just one,” he admitted, barely audible. “I call him the demon.”

“Ooh,” I exhaled. “Do you hear it… him now?”

“No.” He shook his head, drifting his gaze to the city spreading before us. “He doesn’t speak much when you’re around.”

“Okay.” I pushed my hair behind my ear, biting my lower lip. “I’m officially flattered.” I winked at him, and he scoffed. “No, really.” I switched to a more serious tone. “It’s nice to know I keep him at bay. How bad is it?”

“Survivable,” Dorian replied bluntly. “But the worst is when he craves blood. There were times when even Malin couldn’t keep up with me.”

“But you’re a doctor,” I said in amazement, forcing my brain to understand. “You save people.”

“That’s exactly the paradox.” His eyes bored into me with frightening intensity. “I’d die for my patients, but if someone touches the people I love.” He shrugged. “Screw the rules. They’d be found in a garbage bag under the bridge.”

I gaped at him in pure shock. The reference to my grandfather’s murder made the statement land more. I knew Dorian wasn’t the saint the public described him as. He participated in his brother’s operations and schemes, but this was unexpected. No research, no stalking, no secret file about him could have told me.

My husband was a monster. But weren’t they all? I grew up with them. I should know.

“That’s true mafia talk,” I tried to ease the tension his words caused, but his severe expression didn’t change.

“I was eight when I started, Nina,” he revealed, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Eight years old when I committed my first murder.”

“H-how,” I stammered.

“They mistook me for Zyon and wanted to torture Malin to get information from me.” He gently brushed a misbehaving strand of my hair back behind my ear. “Zyon was allowed to attend meetings with our father, so he knew things. But I didn’t; therefore, I had to get us out.”

“The demon helped?” I guessed, and he nodded.