Page 22 of Ravaged Soul
Shaking my head, I flush cold when I hurtle back to the bottomless pit of pure rage I found myself lost in. I don’t know whose face I was imagining as I went to town—Luis’s evil mug or my own.
“The world went dark for a while,” I admit in a tiny, fear-laced whisper. “All I could feel was hopelessness. I wanted to scream, Ax, but no words came out. Not one.”
His movements still, fingertips lingering on my hand. “Sometimes I feel like that.”
“You do?”
“Sure. When you feel like you’re drowning, the violence and pain become the only things keeping you afloat.”
My nod feels robotic. “Exactly.”
“When I lost… uh, my parents… I spent a long time bouncing from one fight to another.” Axel focuses intently on his task. “All I knew was anger.”
Looking up at him, I study his side profile, ink-covered neck muscles visibly jolting and tightening. It’s odd to see him so serious.
“The world’s a scary place when you feel completely alone in it. That’s what makes rage so appealing, Em. It gives us power in those powerless moments. But that’s also what makes it dangerous.”
He finishes cleaning my right knuckles in silence then flicks off the running water. I wait for Axel to locate a hand towel to dab my injuries dry then watch as he picks up the antiseptic cream to begin lathering it on.
“I use that anger to my advantage now,” Axel explains with drawn brows. “It fuels me to hurt the motherfuckers who threaten us and our livelihoods. They get my rage instead.”
Twisting my hand, I catch his calloused fingers in mine. Axel stills, his whiskey-bright orbs catching on me.
“You’re a good man, Axel Slaughter.”
“I highly doubt that.” He flourishes a weak smile.
“Not many kids can survive being orphaned and still come out on top.”
Gaze flicking away from me, he looks down at my white-slathered knuckles. Tension ripples over him, and his mouth undulates while he considers his words.
“I guess so,” he finally says.
Easing my hand back, I move to slide past him. I need to collapse into bed for a few hours. My body is sagging more with each passing minute, and a worrying headache is brewing.
“Thank you for cleaning me up.”
“Yeah.” His tenor is thick like molasses. “Anytime.”
“I’m going to lay down for a bit.”
“Sure.”
Before I can leave the en-suite, my name dances from Axel’s parted lips. His usually-light voice is deep and stern, so far from the playful lilt I’ve come to know and adore.
“You’re going to get through this.”
I linger on the threshold. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I have zero intention of letting all that anger tear you up.”
Feet shuffling, I glance backwards to look at him. Axel’s weak smile has faded, leaving a look of certainty behind. But on him, it feels more like a threat than a promise.
“Even if it’s what you want,” he adds.
My injured hands sting, forming fists at my sides.
“What I want is to fight. And this time, I intend to win.”
