Page 126 of Kings Fear No One
“If they handle it, you won’t have to risk yourself,” she says, her eyes large and expressive. Imploring. She takes a cautious step toward me. “If you just calm down?—”
“You should want him fucking dead! You should want him to pay for what he did to you! What’s the matter with you? You repeat these stupid fucking flowery words about forgiveness and healing, and you don’t realize how weak and pathetic it sounds!” I rage at her, exploding at once. Heat floods me. My heart pounds in my ears. “Do you realize how pathetic it is that this piece of shit did what he did to you, and you still don’t want him dead?!”
Her first couple tears roll free. “I can’t… I can’t wish that on him. Or anyone. It’s not my place to?—”
“YOU’RE WEAK!” I roar in her face. “You’re fucking weak! And he knows it—and that’s why he did what he did!”
Teysha flinches a second time, this time like I’ve struck her. I might as well have. My words are that cruel. That low, cutting deep.
As soon as they leave me, I see my reflection in her dark, glassy eyes. I see an angry, vicious man raging at her like she’s a stand-in for the person I’m really pissed with. The person I’m really speaking to right now.
Myself.
I was weak. I was pathetic. I was unable to protect myself—and Teysha—and Abraham knew that. He used it to hurt us over and over again. He’s still doing it today.
Right now.
I have to live the rest of my life with the knowledge that I’ve failed. It’s part of who I am. The blood circulating in my veins. The very oxygen I breathe into my lungs. I can never rid myself of the truth. That I’m some shell of a man, too weak to put up a real fight.
The ire inside me surges all over again, so damn unbearable I can’t stand it. I can’t live like this. I let out a roar that thunders around the room. Fists clenched, I spin around, itching to destroy the first thing within reach.
Whatever’s left in my apartment that hasn’t already been destroyed by Abraham and his Saints.
I rush into the bathroom and smash my fist into the mirror. The damage webs out across the glass. My knuckles split open, dripping blood.
Teysha screams in horror.
“Get away from me,” I grunt, my breaths ugly and ragged. “You need to leave. You need to get away from me ’cuz you’re not safe here. GO!”
I return for a second strike at the cracked bathroom mirror. More blood pours down my clenched fist. More shards of glass crack.
“Logan, please stop!” Teysha cries. “You’re hurting yourself. You’re getting glass everywhere.”
“LEAVE!”
“NO!”
I slam into the broken glass a third time, savoring the sharp sting. Shards of all sizes peel away from the mirror’s frame. A satisfying sight.
…until I draw back and discover a large piece sticking out of my hand.
Blood’s everywhere.
My blood.
All over the counter. Splattered in the sink basin. Trickling down the inside of my forearm then dripping to the tiled floor.
I deserve it.
I go to pry the piece of glass from where it’s lodged in my palm. The stabbing pain intensifies, forcing a grunt out of me. I can’t get it out without risking slicing up my hand even more.
“Logan… please… let me see…” Teysha begs, her voice shaky. “Please… this is so much blood… please… Logan…”
She sounds on the verge of her own breakdown. I’ve driven her to it. Her tears and hoarse cries.
I blink, a woozy filter washing over me. Effects from losing so much blood so quickly. Leaning against the bathroom counter, I prick myself with other broken pieces of glass and growl at her to leave. For her to get the hell out and save herself.
Sweat clings to my brow. My hair’s damp and limp.
