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My eyes scan her body once more. I have no idea what I’m even looking for. She’s not okay.
I’m not okay.
I quickly turn around and leave the room, my blood thrumming wildly through my veins, burning me with every second that passes.
My too-tight hoodie I blindly grabbed from my old room grates against my bare back, and I yank it from my body, dropping it into the trash as I step into the kitchen.
I don’t even remember drying off or changing into whatever I could find in my old dresser. All I knew was that I needed to take care of her and that started with getting her cleaned, dried, and warm. After that, I bundled her into Chase’s car, ran back inside and packed everything I could quickly get my hands on—her things, not mine.
I don’t give a shit about any of my things inside that place. It could burn to the ground for all I care, but Eve should have a choice before losing her possessions.
Eve should have a choice.
I open the cabinet next to the sink and grab a glass before flicking on the tap. I watch my hand tremble as I hold the glass under the icy stream of water, and the sight of it brings me right back to holding her shaking body in the shower.
The fingers of my free hand wrap around the edge of the sink so hard, my knuckles pop.
She should have had a choice.
She should have had a choice.
She should have—
The sound of glass shattering snaps me from the incessant mantra circling through my brain and I blink rapidly, finding the cup scattered across the kitchen floor beneath the far brick wall.
Shattered.
Broken.
Irreparable.
My eyes catch on the dots of liquid across the floor, small, perfect circles. But instead of water, all I see is blood.
With a snarl, I reach for another glass and, without pause, launch it across the kitchen, relishing in the sound of it smashing against the harsh bricks.
Blood on the floor.
On her thighs.
On her ass.
I know what he did.
Another glass.
Another.
Another.
She should have had a choice.
I bellow my fury as I empty the cabinet, one glass after another. Each one leaves a bigger mess on the floor. Each one reminds me of the precious woman I love with my entire fucking being, wrapped in a blanket on my bed, unable to speak.
Barely existing.
I reach for another glass but there isn’t one, so I pick up a plate instead.
I don’t care about the mess, or how mad Chase will be. I don’t care about anything except getting rid of this rage battering inside me, demanding I go back to Divinity and kill him.
