Page 64 of Shattered Souls
I charge at him, my vision red. “Shut up!” I roar, swinging wildly. He sidesteps and delivers a punishing blow to my ribs that sends me to one knee.
Pain radiates through my body, but I push it aside and get back up. “You don’t get it,” I spit out, gasping for breath. “I have to find her. I can’t just sit around and wait.”
Dax’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see something in them—a flicker of understanding, maybe even respect. “Then get up,” he says quietly. “And keep fighting.”
I do. I launch myself at him again, driven by a need to prove myself, to show that I’m not broken. The fight becomes a blur of fists and fury, each punch a release of the emotions that have been tearing me apart.
His blows are relentless, each one a reminder of my failures. My failure to recognize the monster that is my father. To see the hurt and pain he was causing Riley all those years ago. To stop him. To save her. To rescue Aurora.
Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
A punch to my jaw snaps my head to the side, but I barely feel the physical pain beyond the emotional one. Riley’s face flashes in my mind, the reservation in her eyes when she looks at me, the uncertainty of whether she can ever forgive me, ever trust me, ever rely on me.
The fight has become less about the catharsis of unleashing my fury and more about the punishment I deserve. With each hit Dax lands, the pain radiates through me, burning away the self-disgust, the self-hatred. I deserve this pain for my failures, for not protecting Aurora, for hurting Riley. Each blow is a penance for my mistakes, a reminder of how I’ve fallen short.
Another hit to my ribs, and I swear something cracks, threatening to take me to my knees. Dax’s fists are like sledgehammers, but I deserve every hit. Every stab of pain. Every punch of air from my lungs and bruise to my bones.
Poor little Grayson with his confusing feelings that are too big for him to control. It’s far easier to hate on me than actually confront how you’re feeling, right, Grayson?
My anger has always been my crutch, my way of avoiding the deeper, more painful emotions buried within. It’s easier to be angry, to lash out, to build walls that keep everyone at a distance. But in doing so, I’ve only pushed Riley away, and that’s the last thing I want.
This anger of mine—it’s been a shield, a way to protect myself from the vulnerability that comes with confronting my true feelings. But that shield has become a prison, keeping me locked in a cycle of rage and isolation. And it’s cost me. It’s costus.
I can’t keep using my anger as a crutch. Not when all it ever does is alienate me. It was because my anger blinded me that I didn’t see the truth of what my dad did to Riley. That I didn’t just fucking listen to her. I might have seen the clues earlier if I hadn’t been so hellbent on revenge, so consumed by my anger. We could have gotten Aurora away from Lydia before it was toolate. My obsession blinded me, made me miss the signs, and now we’re paying the price for my stubbornness.
With every one of Dax’s brutal hits, I feel a piece of that weight lifting until he finally steps back, breathing heavily. A look of respect mingles with the disdain in his eyes. “You’re tougher than I thought, Suit Slicker.”
The metallic taste of blood is sharp on my tongue, and every inhale hurts. It’s taking everything in me to stay on my feet.
Shaking his head and frowning, Royce approaches. “Hope you feel better for that,” he drawls. “Here, drink this.” He shoves a water bottle into my hands, and I down half of it before pouring the rest over my face, letting it run down my neck and mingle with the sweat on my chest.
Dax moves directly into my line of sight, and amidst the pain occupying ninety percent of my body, a faint spark of satisfaction ignites when I see the cut on his lip and eye, along with the red marks over his chest and the sweat coating his skin.
“You’ve got fire, Grayson. Use it. But don’t let it consume you.”
I’m breathing hard, swaying on my feet where I stand. My body aches, but there’s a clarity in my mind that wasn’t there before.
With Royce’s help, I hobble over to a stool at the bar, practically collapsing into it as Xander sets a cold beer in front of me.
“So why haven’t we found any trace of Aurora?” Royce asks, immediately getting back to business. Now that my mind isn’t polluted with anger, I can think straighter and focus better on the task at hand.
“‘Cause we reckon whoever has her isn’t selling her.”
“They bought her to keep for themselves?” I clarify, taking a sip of my beer as I process what that might mean.
“That or they sold her to someone they know. Off the books, no digital trail.”
Dax sighs, knocking back a gulp of his own drink. “I’m sorry, but we’re at a dead end until we find out who the buyer was.”
I sigh as Royce rubs his hand over the scruff covering his chin. “That’s not going to be easy,” he admits. “Lydia’s not just going to give us a name—assuming she even has one.”
Nodding as if he expected as much, Dax offers, “I could have a couple of guys pick her up. Scare her into giving up whatever information she has.”
Honestly, not a bad idea.
