Page 43 of Twisted Devotion

“Stop,” I say, my voice low, but firm.

“You’re a fucking monster!” she screams, her hands still clawing at me, desperate to escape.

I take a deep breath, my resolve steeling. With little effort, I lift her off the floor, her wet skin slick against me. Her body is warm from the heat of the water, but the trembling doesn’t stop.

My jaw tightens, fighting the surge of emotions that threaten to overtake me. Every part of me is drawn to her, but I fight to stay focused.

I’m always affected by her.

She’s trembling uncontrollably, her sobs jagged and uneven. When it comes, her voice is barely above a whisper, fractured by the storm of emotions raging inside her.

“You’re a monster,” she says again, quieter this time, her words cracking as though they’re breaking her apart.

I hold her close, my arms steady even as her sobs wrack her small frame. My steps are measured as I carry her to the bedroom. I've been called worse than a monster, but hearing it from her—a word so laced with pain—doesn’t sit right. It twists in my chest, unexpected and unwelcome. I pause, glancing down at her tear-streaked face.

“Let me take care of you,Bambina,”I murmur, my voice soft but firm.

I carry her to the bed and lower her gently, but the moment I release her, she jerks upright, stumbling back until she’s pressed tight against the wall, trembling. Her wide, tear-filled eyes flick between me and the room as though searching for a way out.

“This is the world you’re part of now, Aria,” I say in a low voice, steady but not unkind. I don’t want to frighten her, but I need her to understand. The scratches marring her skin and the redness around her eyes are hard to ignore. “This is the world you’ve always been a part of,Bambina.You just didn’t want to see it.”

Her head shakes violently. “That’s not true,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“It is,” I reply, taking a step closer. My words are deliberate, heavy with truth. “You’ve just been hiding from it.”

She shrinks further against the wall, her back pressed hard enough that I can almost hear her bones protest. Her breathing hitches, shallow and rapid, as her gaze drops lower—to the hunger I’m no longer bothering to conceal. Her cheeks flush, but I know it isn’t just embarrassment or fear—it’s something else she doesn’t want to admit.

I stop a foot away, close enough to watch every flicker of her reaction but far enough to give her the space to decide. I don’t want to misread the signals because once I have her in my arms, I’m going to fuck the daylight out of her. She needs to understand—her body is mine to cherish, to protect, and to punish if she dares to harm it again.

“Does it help,” I say, my voice low and deliberate,” if I tell you he was a bad man?”

Her eyes narrow and she scans my face, her frown deepening with each passing second. “What?”

“He was caught trying to rape a woman in an alley,” I say, my voice even but unyielding. “And when we looked into him, we discovered it wasn’t the first time. He’s hurt a lot of women. Women walking home alone. Women who didn’t deserve what he did to them. The things he did…they were unspeakable.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. I can see the conflict warring in her eyes, the emotions crashing over her like a tidal wave.

“And sometimes,” I continue, letting the weight of the truth settle between us,” he wasn’t alone. He was with his brother.”

She squeaks, a sound so small yet so full of shock and fear that it makes my chest tighten. I tilt my head, studying her reactions carefully, watching every flicker of emotion that crosses her face. “Does that make it better,Bambina?” I ask softly, “Knowing he deserved it?”

She swallows hard, her throat working against the rising tide of panic. The heaving of her chest slows as she forces herself to take a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes lock onto mine, filled with a desperate need for answers. “Are you lying?” she whispers.

I shake my head slowly, deliberately, keeping my gaze fixed on hers. “Why would I lie to you?”

The words hang between us, heavy and unspoken truths pressing down like a weight neither of us can escape. Somewhere deep down, I realize that I care if she hates me. A small, stubborn part of my heart doesn’t want her to see me as a monster.

Her chest rises and falls, her breaths uneven and shallow as she tries to process what I’ve said. She bites her lower lip, pulling it between her teeth, her gaze darting over my face as if searching for something solid to hold onto in the chaos.

I don’t look away.

Finally, she closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging as though the fight has drained out of her completely. The tension in her body begins to ebb, replaced by something else. Defeat? Horror? Grief? I can’t be sure.

She looks down at her hands, trembling in her lap, then lifts her eyes to mine. The anger is gone now, but in its place is a raw vulnerability that cuts me deeper than I expected. The weight of what she’s seen—of what I’ve done—is crashing over her.

“I… I was covered in his blood,” she mutters, her voice small and fragile. Her lips tremble as the words tumble out, almost as if she doesn’t want to say them aloud. “I’m not sure, but I think some brain matter splashed over my…”

Her words falter, her voice breaking. Her trembling starts again, harder this time, until her knees buckle and she collapses. I reach out instinctively, catching her before she hits the floor.

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