Page 38 of Beautiful Scars

"I swear," the man sobs, blood bubbling from his lips. "The guy in Newport said—"

"The guy in Newport?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. Only ice. "The guy in Newport was playing you, just like you tried to play me."

His ribs cave under my fist with a sickening crunch, the vibration traveling up my knuckles. His scream echoes through the warehouse, bouncing off metal walls and concrete floors.

"Levi." Zane's voice is low, warning. "That's enough."

But it's not enough. It's never enough. The monster inside me craves more, needs more. Needs to make someone else hurt as much as I do.

"You know what happens to people who waste my time?" I grab the man's face, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are wild with terror. Good. "They disappear."

"Boss." This time it's Colt who speaks up. "We still need him alive if we want to trace things back to his source."

Logic. Always with the fucking logic. I know he's right, but the rational part of my brain is drowning in a sea of red. All I can see is Sunny's broken body, my mother's blood on the wall. All I can think about is Garrett, still out there somewhere, breathing free air while they're both cold in the ground.

I step back, wiping blood from my hands onto my ruined shirt. My father's ring catches the fluorescent light—the same ring I took off his corpse after putting three bullets in his head. The ultimate proof that I've become exactly what I was always afraid I would.

"You're right," I say, not turning around. I can't look at them right now, can't bear to see the concern in their eyes. They're the only family I have, and sometimes I wonder how long it'll be before they realize I'm too far gone to save.

The man tied to the forklift sags in his restraints, relief evident in his posture. Poor bastard thinks he's getting off easy.

"Take him to the basement and call Doc to check him out and make sure he lives through the night," I order, finally turning to face my friends. "We'll continue this conversation tomorrow."

Zane nods, his face unreadable. But I catch the look he exchanges with Colt— the one that is a combination of doubt and concern.

"And Levi?" Colt calls as I head for the door. "Maybe get some sleep? You've been at this for days."

I don't respond. Sleep is just another form of torture for me. A place where I'm forced to remember the way things were. Where Sunny's brown eyes stare at me with disappointment, where my mother's blood-stained fingers point accusingly.

Look what you've become,they whisper.Look what you let happen to us.

The worst part is, they're right. I've exceeded my father's expectation. I'm ruthless, feared, powerful. The empire I built from his ashes is twice what his ever was. But the cost...

I flex my bloody fingers, feeling the sting of split skin. These hands used to hold Sunny so gently, used to wipe away her tears. Now they only know how to hurt, how to break, how to destroy.

Every day, the darkness inside me spreads, swallowing the memory of what light even felt like. I’m starting to forget everything except the only mission that matters—find Garrett, make him suffer, make him pay.

Even if it kills whatever's left of my soul in the process.

I shove through the heavy metal door, the night air cool on my face. The loading dock's familiar rust and oil smell mingles with copper—blood. My blood. His blood. Does it even matter anymore?

My hands shake, as I pull out a cigarette, muscle memory taking over while my mind races. Behind me, I hear Zane's deep voice giving orders, the scrape of boots on concrete as the crew starts cleanup. Another night. Another dead end.

"Get him downstairs," Colt calls out. "And somebody mop up that mess before it stains."

I light the cigarette, inhaling deep enough to burn. The ember glows bright against the darkness, like the reflection in her eyes when we'd lay in the grass and look up at the stars.Fuck. Seven years and I still can't stop the comparisons, can't stop seeing her everywhere.

My phone weighs heavy in my pocket—another addiction I can't kick. I pull it out, fingers leaving smears of red on the screen as I navigate to the one folder I transfer to every single phone I carry. The one I swore I'd delete a thousand times. The one that's killing me slowly, surely, but I can't help but keep coming back to.

One message. One voicemail. Thirty drawn out seconds of exquisite torture locked inside a digital time capsule.

My thumb hovers over the play button. I should stop this. I should let her rest. I should try to forget her voice and the way I used to love hearing it wrap around me.

I press play.

"Hey Handsome..."

My eyes close, chest tightening as her voice fills the night air. Happy. Excited.Alive.

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