Page 1 of Tear Me Down
Chapter one
Damien
‘Wrong Side of Heaven’ – Five Finger Death Punch
I watch as her chest rises and falls, the movements syncing to her breaths as the pure oxygen seeps in through the cannula in her nose, making it easier for her to breathe. The steady beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound that fills the room, etching away pieces of me slowly.
She's okay. Lying in front of me. Breathing. Sleeping, but was up and talking about an hour ago. I remind myself of that over and over again. The pain meds they gave her kicked in fairly quickly, easing the torment in her stomach and lungs enough for her to rest. I can’t help but admire her as I run my fingers through her hair, hoping to soothe her well enough to keep her asleep. She still looks pale compared to her normal warm skin, but she definitely looks better than yesterday—more like herself and less like a corpse. She has visible dark circles under her eyes, and her face looks worn, showing off her obvious exhaustion. I can tell that she’s still in a good amount of pain, but she’s trying her hardest to keep it from me.
The nursing staff finally stopped coming in every hour, and good thing too, because if they woke her up one more time, I was going to snap. When the final result came back saying that most of the poison was out of her system, they stopped taking her vitals so often. Serena said she might be able to stop wearing the oxygen, but I said absolutely not. Not until she stops coughing and her breathing evens out.
This never should have happened. How could I have been so careless? Let my guard down so easily? I need answers, and I need them now. How did they know to come after me? Where we live? My men are also testing Ashia’s apartment just to be sure. If they only drugged the alcohol in the house, that poses another problem. That means they knew we’d be gone, and for how long. They would’ve known that I had brought her home finally, and they must have been watching.
Nothing is adding up, and the demand for justification seeps deep into my marrow. Violent tingling slithers its way through my veins, stoking the fire in my chest. I can hear the whispers for revenge echoing through my mind, taunting me with a sweet lullaby that hides behind a facade of righteousness.
Though, not even retribution’s sweet call could overpower my little wolf’s hypnotizing reach. As badly as I want to storm out of the building and start slashing throats, I haven’t left. I won’t. Not until I'm walking out of here with my woman in my arms and the promise of her health signed, sealed, and forged in blood. Inscribed with my own if necessary.
“D?” I look up and towards the door to see Carter hesitating in the archway, his stance laced with nerves.
“What do you have?” I say blankly, quietly enough not to wake her. I’m not in the mood for small talk or more of his worried glances, and she certainly doesn’t need to be disturbed.
“Nothing was found at the apartment. There were no traces of poison or harmful substances anywhere. The lab came up negative on everything but the alcohol at the house. Every bottle was spiked. So, we don't think it was a direct attack on Ash. They were most likely trying to poison you.” My body tenses at the revelation and the worry in my chest escalates.
“I figured that. What else?” I move on, trying to sound unaffected.
“We checked with the moles. They don’t know who was selected to break into the house, and they didn’t even hear about it until we called. Whoever Dranan hired wasn’t in their normal crew. They said they would keep an ear out, but not to expect an answer from them anytime soon.”
“If he hired an assassin, they would’ve gotten the job done. Poison or no poison. I'm thinking he only hired someone to get past security and contaminate the bottles, because anyone with a contract would’ve made sure I’m dead, not leaving it to chance,” I say definitively.
“We were thinking the same thing.”
“What about Hugo?”
“We have eyes on him. He’s moving into another mansion and calling the businesses he invited to update the address to the party.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the party. Is he accessible?” I seethe.
Carter’s eyes soften, and he looks at me with restrained pity.
“D…”
“Is. He. Accessible?” I cut him off before I have to hear his bullshit. He’s going to try and rationalize everything, tell me to wait it out and plan a counterattack, but I don’t want to hold off. The love of my life was hanging on by a thread, and he expects me to sit around and wait? The thought is insulting.
“No,” he says disappointingly, and I can feel the small tick in my jaw. “He has guards. A lot of them. Plus, updated security in this new house. I don’t think we can get to him.”
“Well, we need to find a way,” I say sharply as Carter takes a few steps inside the room and grips the edge of the railing to Ashia’s hospital bed. His stance is tense, and I don’t miss the way his eyes dart around the room, like he’s almost afraid to speak.
“I know you don’t want to wait, but this party could help us get some information. Put some pieces together, you know?” he says cautiously, knowing he’s treading on thin ice.
“I don’t care about the pieces. I’ll make his death so gruesome that the Dust members will flee in fear, and that’s if I don’t get to them before they bury themselves.” The look on Carter’s face as I speak should be worrisome. He’s never seen me so unhinged, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so overtaken by rage.It’s a calm storm, brewing above in the clouds and waiting to rain hellfire on anyone in my wake.
“D, maybe you should take some time to rest. You’ve barely slept. You look like hell.”
“I'm fine. I want him fucking dead, and I won’t rest until he is,” I spit out, my words laced with violence. Images of her falling off that counter and smacking the floor as nothing but dead weight still plague me, making me jerk my gaze at the smallest thud or thump coming from the halls. All five of my senses are heightened, and they won’t be settling any time soon. Even when I unwillingly doze off, I’m on alert, jolting awake at the smallest movement or change in the sound of her heart monitor. I’m instantly on guard the moment I sense someone else in the room, whether that be a nurse, doctor, or even Carter.
She can’t move without a grunt or groan in pain—describing her turmoil as a burning sensation, like she swallowed boiling oil and it’s trying to settle. Doc said that it was the damaged lining in her stomach reacting to the natural acids, and that unfortunately all they could do was give her medication until it healed fully. Even after she vomited almost nothing but acid and blood, they just pumped her with more meds. I fucking hate it. She’s not screaming or moaning in pain, but the silence might be worse. The way she clenches her jaw and tenses up occasionally as the meds wear off, or the short gasps of pain as she tries to do something as simple as sitting up, is killing me.
It breaks my blackened heart. I just want to take her pain away; that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Yet, all I’ve done is cause her more. Dragged her into this life and practically put a ‘come after me’ sign on her back, put her in harm’s way, and left her unprepared. I’ll never forgive myself for it. She still looks at me like I walk on water, and I don’t fucking deserve it. I want her to yell, scream, cry, and blame me for her pain. She should, but she won’t. Somehow, she doesn’t blame me, and her unwavering faith in me is almost unbearable.
