Page 76 of Blazing Desires
He crawled away from me as fast as his injuries allowed, and I grinned at the scene in front of me. It was fucking glorious watching him scurry toward the door, reduced to the embarrassment of following my orders. We got out onto the grass, the doors to the sunroom left open.
“Continue spilling your secrets, Daddy. I insist!”
He rolled onto his back, panting and sweating from the exertion after so much blood loss. I was about to kick him for taking too long, but he flinched and spoke before I did. Satisfaction rolled through me and warmed me from the inside out.
“They were always together, I knew she was coming here when I was away and bringing that bastard son of hers around. I was sure he’d touched my things, got into stuff he shouldn’t have, but I could never prove it. Didn’t put it past him to put his hands on you, either. I was fucking right! I knew all about your little playdates. As for your mother, my men would describe how they were together and one night, they were caught fucking! In our bed! They tried to pack everything up, they tried to leave with you kids but my men wouldn’t let them. They threatened to hurt you and Mikko, or should I say Blaze? Stupid fucking name. Anyway, they stayed quiet until I got home. I took them out the back gates and into the forest. Made them beg for mercy before I beat Amélie black and blue in front of your mother. And then I killed Amélie and made her watch.”
His eyes lit up like he just couldn’t help the joy and pride of what he did washing over him.
“And then I strangled your mother next to her lover’s body. I wanted to watch as the life left her eyes knowing it was my hands that took it from her. And I told her whilst her life left her body all the things I was going to do to you, starting with ending your fuckboy’s life before it began.”
I felt nothing at his words. I knew I should, but I’d always known he was evil personified. I had known for a while that he did whatever he wanted. He curled in on himself as I put another bullet into his side—not in a place to kill him, not yet, only in a place to make it agonisingly painful.
“But they got him out, didn’t they? I would have loved to see the rage on your face when you found out he was smuggled out of the house by a staff member.” I laughed at the imagery, his face appearing like a caricature in my mind. “That’s enough for today, don’t you think? I’m getting bored and I’m dying for a doughnut! I think I might get a caramel glaze. Well, who am I kidding? I always get a caramel glaze!”
“No! Please! Please don’t kill me!”
He was focused on me then, tears falling from his eyes as he sobbed and pleaded for his life. It was fucking glorious. I couldn’t help toying with him further.
“Hmm, I’m not sure. It would be so much easier to put a bullet in your brain and be done with you.”
“Please, I’ll do anything!”
“No, I don’t think there is anything you can do to change my mind. Bye, Daddy.”
The bullet left the chamber and time slowed as the grenade left my hands.
I was free.
Chapter 32
Delusion is the Solution
Blaze
One month later…
I wake with a jolt, sweat coating my skin. I drag my hands over my face giving up hope that I’ll get back to sleep tonight. It happens less frequently now, but that same nightmare still wakes me now and then. Everything that happened that day, everything I lost.
I roll out of bed and head straight for the shower to rinse the nightmare from my clammy skin. I put it as hot as it will go and let the water scald me as it pounds my skin. Everything went wrong. I had wanted revenge for everything Anthony Elodie took from me, but I ended up losing so much more.
Anger, hot and sharp slices through me and my fist hits the tiles over and over again until the skin splits. The tears of my regret tangle and weave with the water rushing over me. Sobs rack my body as my back slides down the slick tiles. I draw my knees to my chest and let the grief consume me, hoping the water washes me clean of my sins.
Eventually, I shut the shower off, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist on autopilot. I slick my hair back to get it off my face. The dark strands are long and curl at the ends because I’ve not cared enough to get it cut. I haven’t shavedin a month either, and my beard drips with water. I’ve worked out every single day, multiple times most days, as physical pain is the only thing that can compete with how I feel. I’m more shredded than ever.
More miserable than ever.
I go through the motions of wrapping my knuckles, then getting dressed and heading to the kitchen for a strong drink. The same routine every time as I find myself drowning in the depths of my despair. I’ve thought about ending my life, to join her wherever her soul now roams, but each time I put a gun to my head something stops me.
I need to get a fucking grip.
I avoid any reflections. If I face myself now, I’ll be putting my fist through glass. I’d punch myself in the face if I could. I pour a large glass of bourbon and down it, then I pour another. Giving up with measurements, I swig it directly from the bottle. I pretend the tears that are spilling down my cheeks are from the burn. I’m so fucking sick of crying, of feeling the way I do. Of hating myself.
I scrub aggressively at my eyes, removing the tears there, but I hear a sound toward the front of the house that stops my movements. It’s dead silent in these woods when the weather is still, so when I hear the sound again, I put the bottle on the counter and pull a pistol from a compartment under the counter on the island.
My feet make no sound as I head out of the kitchen and into the hall, my despair forgotten. My steps slow as I get closer to the door and the faint thumping coming from the other side of it.
I don’t bother checking the feeds because a part of me hopes it’s someone here to finish me off, to let me leave this earth because it means nothing now that she’s not in it. She was my sun, keeping me warm, and now it’s a cold, barren world without her. I unlock the door and tear it open, my gun half-heartedlyraised. I haven’t even clicked off the safety. It doesn’t matter—my gun clatters to the floor with a loud thud. I can’t move, I can’t breathe.
