Page 40 of The Price Of Possession

My father’s vile voice resonates in my ear. “Like father, like son.” My violent past pulses within me. No more interventions. No more discouragement. If this doesn't convince him, nothing will. I'm tempted to lose control and pop a bullet in his head, but I refrain . . . for now.

I AM NOT HIM.

“I'm taking her,” I relay. My throat is clogged, making the words come out muffled and broken. Mortensen rises to his feet, commanding respect from the room. “My son is worthy. He will lead the next generation to greatness,” he announces, ignoring my earlier words entirely. Never have I seen the motherfucker so proud.

Rising to my feet, I scoop Clara in my arms bridal style, gentler than I have ever been to a woman in my entire life. Blood trickles down her milky, translucent pale welted thighs. Her body has been battered and torn apart. Deep down I know what I subjected her to, and she will never recover. When she wakes up, it's going to be carnage.

The alternative is she's a hollow shell of who she once was. Fuck, I hope it’s the former. Her anger is justified. With shaky hands, Vesper silently plucks my jacket from the floor, draping it over her body. I'm gonna get an earful from her once the adrenaline tapers off.

Mortensen plasters on a hellacious smirk but allows me to leave with them. Not that I would have given him much choice. I refuse to leave them here to their demise. The Elites part for me. They know their God. Zain must sense I'm on the verge of going bat shit, because he steps in front of me as soon as the heavy doors click close.

“You did what needed to be done,” he says coldly. If that's his attempt at comfort, he's shit. He thinks he has a clue about the shit flooding my mind. I'm stronger than he gives me credit for. Despite his life being rough, I wasn't exactly handed a perfect deck, either. You learn how to manage your feelings and separate emotions. If he thinks I'm gonna spill my insides, he clearly doesn't know shit.

Vesper slinks beside Zain and is too shaken up to speak. I imagine after the initial shock wears off she might try to kill me in my sleep. We trudge in silence to the car. Zain ushers Vesper to the front seat, covering her nudity with a mound of blankets. I crawl in the back seat and clutch Clara against my chest. Her soft skin melts against mine. Her tanglement of blonde hair falls over my forearm onto my lap.

Her body is so weak and helpless. The strange sense of regret slams into me so hard I release a low growl from my throat, not liking the surge of dissonance cycling through me. No one utters a syllable. Zain slips into the driver's seat. We exchange glances in the rearview. “We need to crash with you a bit. I can't take her back to Mortensen's estate and I sure as fuck can't take her back to the Void. They defiled her body, Zain. They touched her . . . I don't understand this shit—”

“It's called feelings, Kieran. Fucking. Emotions. I'm still getting used to the fuckin’ way it makes me react. I love Vesper. It's like a bomb goes off inside of you.” His gaze falls to Vesper in the passenger's seat. His hand slides across the cool leather to tangle with hers. Her midnight black hair tangles against the seatbelt. Her head rests on the cool glass letting little puffs of breath fan against the foggy window.

I sneer at myself. Love. Fucking love? What the hell emotion is that, anyway? It isn't in my vocabulary and sure as shit isn't in my list of feelings. Power. Control. Ownership.

Those I understand. Hell, pain, sorrow, destruction, and even pleasure.

“Nah.” I reply, turning to glare out the window at the passing streetlights, but what I did resonates with me still. The reflection of myself holding Clara greets me. Even now, I can't escape this strange mix of emotions swirling within me. I refuse to believe it's love. I am incapable of it. My purpose is never to love, but to indulge in the fruits of life and fuck . . . but recently it also includes bringing down my father and his unstable power trip.

Zain doesn't dignify me with a response, and that's probably a good thing because I'm as stable as dynamite. Zain used to be the ticking time bomb, funny how life plays out, bringing out the worst in us.

We pull up to Zain's house. The sun shines over the horizon's edge. A crisp orange hue falls over the sky. I’m tired as fuck but I know I have a long time before I can hit the sheets. Too much to be done and said. He pulls around back so neighbors don't ask questions. Parked beside the detached garage sits my Bugatti. A smirk cracks on the corner of my lips. At least it's mostly intact. My tires are shot, though.

Zain throws the gearshift in park then escorts Vesper inside. I clasp onto Clara, enjoying the silence. I'm unable to move . . . for the time being at least. He doesn't rush me, allowing me time to process the bullshit. Hell, I'm not sure if Zain or Vesper even trust me anymore. I don't trust myself. My emotions bubble to the surface. Who knows when the next time I feel Clara's skin against mine will be.

Muffled whispers reach my ears. Sunlight dances across my cheek, along my closed eyelids. The muted colors force my eyes tightly closed. Hot breath fans over my neck.

Strong, powerful arms wrap around my middle, cradling me. My insides feel like sludge. Never in my life have I ever felt such immense pain. My eyelids flutter open. Kieran's form rests against the edge of the bed blocking me in. The room around me is familiar. A double paned window. A single dresser plastered to the wallpapered wall. A messy nightstand full of open pill bottles scattered along the cherry finish. The same room Kieran fucked me at for the first time. The same bed he pierced my clit. The whispers outside the closed door grow louder.

“She doesn't want to be near him after what he's done! He killed our sister, a sister I had no clue we even had! None of this was supposed to be like this! He was supposed to save Clara, not break her and now she's been out of it for days because of him! He scares me, Zain, and he's our half-brother. I can't . . . I just can't wrap my head around any of this—” Vesper raises her voice a pitch, hyperventilating.

“—Sometimes things change, and a person's purpose is greater than you can understand. He didn't know about Isolde or you. He never told me. But Clara was always meant to—”

An ear-splintering slap cracks through Zain's harsh words, silencing him. Zain's voice turns raw and visceral. “Slap me again, Songbird and you won't like the consequences. Don't mistake my love for you as a weakness. I'm still a fucked up monster and I have no problem reminding you. We all need to talk, but right now isn't the time. Let him handle her. She's his responsibility. She is his.”

I drag my ass closer to the foot of the bed, pushing myself through the sharp, stabbing pain that has me ready to spill the contents of my stomach. As if I had anything left to expel. Kieran's body stays glued to mine. I inch closer. So much pain. My eyes cross, but I breathe through the ache. All I want to do is escape this nightmare I've been dropped into.

Slowly I untangle myself from Kieran. He doesn't budge. The human part of me drags my eyes back to his sleeping form just to make sure he's breathing. He drowns himself in pills and alcohol just like I do, it's safe to say death is always a possibility. The steady rise and fall of his chest makes the entanglement of blankets follow the patterns of his breath. I slip silently from the bed, fighting the urge to strangle him and kill him myself. Each shuffled movement I silently cry at the pain radiating from between my legs. My lip trembles remembering how heinous he is . . . and I allowed it. Everything that’s transpired is enough to send someone into shock. His words rattle around my brain.

“All I do is feel.”

No part of me believes it. I stagger to the door, bracing myself along the dresser as a gust of breath leaves my lungs. Stars paint my vision. My chipped nails scratch the wood varnish. At least he dressed me in an oversize T-shirt. It pools to my knees. My vision blurs and a pounding behind my ears makes me double over. My hip clips the edge of the dresser, sending me careening forward onto my knees. I lose the contents of my stomach onto the hardwood floors. The sound of my vomiting sends Kieran surging from the bed in seconds. He pulls my hair from my face, wrapping it around his hand. Freedom is ripped from my grasp, or maybe it was an illusion.

“You need to lay down.” His hoarse voice murmurs against my temple.

“Fuck you, Kieran. Fuck . . . you—” I struggle to form words between gags. I push him away weakly, but it does nothing. Tears mist my eyes. Another wave of nausea washes over me. The stale scent of the Void still lingers on my skin. Before I can protest anymore, his arms wrap around me. The warmth of his chest presses against my sore skin. I have no fight left. He's taken every ounce of dignity, strength, and happiness I had left.

He's messed me up for life, or maybe I already was. He gingerly lays me back down on his bed. I clasp the sheets, my sweat soaked skin clinging to the fabric. It's warm and smells like him. Cigars and something masculine, my eyes wander over his form. He looks like shit, but still somehow just as delectable. A pang of guilt fills me. I hate how I react to him, how he has some sense of control of my emotions.

I hate being stuck in this loop. His eyes are red and bloodshot. His hair is mussed and tangled. My gaze falls to his shirtless chest. Not once has he been shirtless in my presence, and now I see why. Scars, welts and burns pepper his tattooed stomach, lacerating deep into his core. It spans farther than I imagined. Shock fills my system, but mountains of rippling muscles keep me mesmerized. He catches my gaze, turns around and slips a shirt over his body, but not before I catch a glimpse of deeper welts and marks carved into his backside. A part of me is curious. I want to ask what happened, but I don't. I shouldn't give a crap. He's the one who entangled me into his fucked up world. He refuses to turn and face me again.

“Go to sleep, Clara. You're staying here until I figure shit out,” he snaps. He rolls his shoulders. His back ripples with each flexed movement.