Page 77 of His to Destroy

I chase him through the darkened hallways of the safe house.

Broken doors slam against peeling walls as we weave through the decrepit maze.

He glances back once—and our eyes meet.

I see a million things flash through his.

The recognition.

The hatred.

The fear.

He knows he can’t outrun me.

But still he tries.

He barrels out into the back alley, his boots skidding on loose gravel.

I’m right behind him, breathing hard but steady, every step fueled by all of rage and betrayal he’s meted out on me.

He makes it three more strides before I tackle him to the ground.

We hit the asphalt hard, the impact rattling my bones.

But I don’t let go.

I drag him up by the collar and slam him against the brick wall, hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

He coughs, struggling, his hands scrabbling at my jacket, trying to fight back.

I let him.

For a moment.

I want him to think he has a chance.

I want him to hope.

So that when I break him, it’ll be complete.

"You son of a bitch," Stark snarls, spitting blood as he struggles against my grip.

I slam him harder against the wall, rattling his teeth.

"You don't get to talk," I growl.

He swings at me—wild, desperate.

I catch his fist easily and twist, forcing him to his knees with a sickening crack of cartilage.

He howls in pain.

I don't give him time to recover.

I grab a handful of his hair and yank his head back, forcing him to look up at me.

"Do you have any idea what you cost me?" I hiss, my voice low and deadly. "What you took from her?"

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