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She nods. “I know.”
“How do you know that, pet?”
She’s silent for a long while, her eyes never straying from mine. Her lips part, and I expect an answer, but all she does is inhale a deep breath, then let it out before shutting her mouth.
“Take your fingers and lick your juices off,” I tell her.
Quietly, she complies, and the sight has me groaning. She moves to close her legs, but I shake my head.
“Do you want to go home?” My question has her pretty brown eyes lighting up. She nods, a small smile playing on her full lips. “Do you want to go see your mommy and daddy?”
“Fuck you,” she bites back when I taunt her. “I hate you.”
Rising, I button my suit jacket, take a step, and lean over her. Fisting her strands, I tug her closer, pulling her against me. She attempts to get free, but I’m far too strong.
“I like when you fight. It makes my dick hard,” I smirk. She stills, her gaze burning into me, and all I see is Caia. Leaning in, I run my lips along her wet cheek, my tongue darting out to lick her tears. The salty liquid igniting a primal need deep within me, and I know if I don’t walk out of this room now, I’ll fuck her. I’ll hurt her. I’ve always taken women who remind me of the one woman who made me love. As much as I want to offer love, I can’t.
Cold settles in my veins, reminding me that I’m not him. I’m not the monster I grew up with. I can be better. I can be more than the asshole who fucked up so many lives.
Shoving her away from me onto the mattress, I turn and stalk toward the door. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and breathe through the desire to maim. Sighing, I make my way up to my bedroom. My mind is still on the girl when I find River asleep on the bed. His form is relaxed, and the comfort of his soft breaths calms me somewhat. There are times I wonder how you can stay so loyal to a person when they can never offer you what you need.
Tomorrow, I’ll start my reign of destruction, and soon enough, I’ll free Dante and River from this life. And hopefully, I’ll save myself in the process.
I settle beside him in the silence. I want to reach for him, to feel him in my arms, but I don't. I shove my feelings deep down so nobody can find them. Not even me.
When I first realized how I felt about River, I was scared. There wasn’t anything I could do anyway. No relationship would’ve been enough to apologize for the life he’d been forced into. So, I pushed him away.
There was only one thing I could give him. One way of saying sorry for all the years of pain. Staring up at the ceiling, I recall the moment we freed ourselves from Malcolm’s grip.
The room where my father has been lying in bed for the past few months stinks of death. Over the past six months, I’ve been slipping poison in his food. I’ve spent my life learning how to kill him. I wanted to make sure he suffered with every breath he took, and now as I stare at the withering body of the man who was once formidable, I realize my work is done.
“You were always stronger than your brother,” he croaks when I near him. His hands are wrinkled, the skin pallid. His hair has grayed and has mostly fallen out. The balding old man is no longer scary. He’s scared.
“I was stronger than you.”
“You are certainly more intelligent than I gave you credit for, Drake.” He attempts to laugh, but the wheeze on his chest makes it sound like he’s about to die any second. “This life was something I didn’t want.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Drake, there is always more to what you see on the surface,” he informs me, lifting a shaky hand toward me.
I don’t move, and he lowers his reach. “I don’t need a lecture from you today, Malcolm,” I tell him. “It’s time you left us forever.”
“You can never take back what you do today, son.”
“I don’t ever want to take this back. I never want to forget when I see the light flicker from your eyes. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.” Finally closing the distance between me and the bed, I look at Malcolm Savage. Seeing him alive for the last time is something I’ve waited for since the moment I learned who my father was.
The door behind me creaks open, and their footsteps near me. The two men who will stand beside me as we do this. Dante leans in, his face close to our father's. I’m not sure what he’s about to do, then he lifts his hand, twisting the kitchen knife my father enjoyed using when he tortured someone.
