Page 45 of The Price Of Possession

I grunt, unwilling. Logic would have me play along, but I can't do this heart-to-heart nonsense. I have no damn clue if Clara is on the brink of death and Vesper wants me to open up? She's out of her damn mind. Her eyes laser into me, dragging me under like a weight. “I love you, Kieran. You're strong. You're smart.”

Her words hit different. No one's ever told me that shit before. My body relaxes a fraction. The cuffs clank against the rail as my shoulders sag. My head falls against the pillow. I stare up at the white ceiling like it's got the answers. I'm silently soaking in her words. Not a clue how long I sit there ignoring her. Long enough for her to drop my hand and make her way to the door.

“I'm not good for her. Or you,” I finally offer. That's all she's getting out of me.

Her footsteps halt. I tilt my head forward. I feel like a train wreck. The adrenaline is slowly leaving my system. I knew I was going to feel it later. None of it mattered in the moment. I'd still do it all again.

“You're good. You're stronger than any of us. I know a few of the abhorrent things Mortensen has done. Now to learn he's my father.” She shakes her head, holding back the string of tears that's ready to erupt. “I am still too mentally weak to strike the hammer of justice, but you, you're hardened. I don't know the full extent of why you hate that man, but I believe it's justified. Do not let him rule your life no matter what he has done to you.”

Her words seep into my skin. I never stopped to think what she'd think of me killing him now that we know he's her blood father. I'm so wrapped up in my own vengeance I got tunnel vision. I'm in no place to open up to her. She could never sympathize with my past. I'll never get put back together. I'll always be this broken disaster of a man. No matter how many times I lie to myself, I know the truth. He's shaped me into the person I am. I'm a hellish beast with no remorse who feeds off destruction. Hiding has gotten me nowhere. I've come to terms with it, maybe not fully. I feel no need to remedy myself. She can accept me for who I am or fuck off.

“I'm a reflection of him, Vesper. I am a mangled mess. I'm irreparable,” I mutter. As if I'd even want to be fixed, I'm not sure I'd even like myself, then.

Her eyes fall shut. She takes a measured breath. “She loves you.” Her eyes scan to Clara. The breathing tube is positioned in Clara's throat. A steady drip of medicine cycles through her IV.

Her words slam into me like a speeding car into a brick wall. Clara doesn't love me. Hell, I used her, abused her and fed her to my inner beast, just to watch her fall. She hates me. If she had the chance, she'd light me on fire just to watch me burn. I laugh at the irony.

Vesper purses her lips while pacing the small room. “Grimshaw is in upheaval. The carefully crafted world Mortensen has built is crumbling around him after what transpired at the Void. Word got out. Everyone knows about our connection and his involvement in breeding with impure women.”

Confusion fills me. There is no way anyone would bat an eyelash at his heinous debauchery or the shit done to shape me. It's the Elite way. Murder, rape, and prostitution are the norm, but they draw the line at breeding with the impure. It's never made sense to me.

“What do you mean?” I ask carefully. Not entirely sure I want the answer. If I could wash my hands of Grimshaw and the Void, I would. Instead, I’m the one to seize the opportunity and topple the empire to ash. The satisfaction of watching the light leave Mortensen's eyes as the world he has constructed is obliterated will fulfill me for the rest of my days, however short they may be.

Her eyes carry a hint of hesitation and paranoia. “The Elites are whispering in the halls about an uprising. If the sovereign cannot keep reins on his own son, who is he to give orders . . .” she trails off, shrugging.

I glance back over at Clara. I shrug my shoulders to loosen the tension. “You think there is gonna be an insurgence?” I don't know why I care. I should walk away, letting the world fall to ruin.

She sighs heavily and swipes a tendril of hair from her eyes. “They're proposing that all non-Elites are used in Void without permission or rules, not just the easy targets from unprivileged backgrounds. Without a sovereign, nobody will be there to stop the rabble.

There is talk of rounding up all the impure . . .”

Shit. The board was set from the jump and the moves I planned to take were never an option. Fate clearly had a crueler design in mind, and it's fucked I dragged my girl into the chaos. I'll never wash my hands of this shit. I'm destined to be entwined with this life like barbed wire.

Somehow, I calm my shit down enough to have Vesper uncuff me. My wrists will have permanent ligature marks embedded in my skin after it heals. Additions to the endless scars. Her words float around my subconscious, but I manage to block it out so I can keep my focus strictly on Clara. When she wakes, she's gonna hate me worse than before. A small sacrifice. I can live with that, as long as she's mine.

Blackness.

Some people are destined for a bountiful life, others are sentenced to a hard unfair existence. But when you reach the end, the point of no return, it's hollow. Sadness takes hold; an unremitting siege of one's inner soul. It's like an endless fall into the abyss. So when my eyes snap open and the world around me is no longer muted, it shocks me like an evil sadistic surprise. The universe has a strange way of playing things out. Death had me in his grip, just to let the world unleash endless turmoil upon me. It almost feels like a cruel joke. Gentle fingers rub soothing circles over my knuckles. I muster up the strength to force my weak body forward.

Kieran's hooded mossy eyes lock in on my every movement. His hand falls away from mine. An endless flood of emotions current through me. Pain. Hurt. Distrust. Hatred. Love. Disgust. It makes my head hurt. The rational side of me wants to get as far away from the beast as possible, but the irrational part demands I pull him close.

“Get . . . away . . . from . . . me,” the words fall weakly from my cracked lips. My throat is dry like sawdust. His face is unreadable as always. I fully expect his sarcastic remarks and devilish smirk, but he surprises me with bleakness.

“No.” He falls back in his seat. His hands rest casually on his thighs. I take a moment to memorize his features. His facial hair has grown into a dark, shadowy stubble. His curls are unruly and frizzy. He wears that deadly charismatic charm that threatens to pull me in. Each time I make the same mistake of crawling back to him. No more, Clara.

“You're Satan incarnate. I hope you fall into the pits of hell and burn.” I choke out. My hands grip the oxygen tube and rip it from my nose. Kieran cocks his head, watching me die a little more on the inside. “Oh, Nightshade, I'm going to hell. That's a fact. But not before I allow you the vengeance you deserve; we both deserve.” His shadowy figure reaches out and traces his thumb over my dry lips. His fingers move to wipe the tears from my cheek. I slap his cheek. His head snaps to the side with a lopsided grin.

“Harder,” he coos. I burn him with my fiery gaze. “There she is.

You're a fighter, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

My eyes narrow. He's delusional if he thinks I'll allow his charismatic smirk to reel me back in. I swing my wobbly legs over the bed and crowd his space, surging forward. Stupidly I underestimate how weak my body has become because my knees give out. I collapse into his arms. He catches me effortlessly. His arms surround my skin in a silken cocoon. He kisses the top of my head tenderly, but I know it's a facade.

Another form of mind games no doubt. He is incapable of affection.

A wicked terrorist.

His whiplash is leaving a lasting hole in my insides eating straight through my heart.