Page 38 of Twisted Heathens
“I… ah. Well…”
He’s tumbling over his words like a scared child. Looking brokenly at me, the devastation on his face so visceral, it makes my mouth water with need. That’s exactly how I want him to look. Like that and worse. Much worse.
Ensuring the knife is securely hidden, I leave the table and get up in his face, leaving scant inches between us. Close enough to bathe in his heady, masculine scent. So achingly familiar, I want to peel my skin off just to get it away from me.
“Say it, Hud. Fucking say it.”
He shakes his head and attempts to grab my hand, failing utterly as I swing it out of reach. Silently pleading with me, he’s begging me to relent. Let him off the hook. Whatever. No way in hell is that going to happen. Not after what he did to me back then.
“Brooke, blackbird. I’m so sor—”
Before he can finish, I strike him firmly across the face.
“How dare you! I’m not your fucking blackbird. Not anymore.”
I follow the blow with another, over and over until he falls to the ground. Scooting away from my savage attack, trying to hold me back without physically hurting me. As if it will make any difference. The damage he inflicted long ago can’t be undone now. I almost want him to hurt me physically, to validate the wounds he created that can never be seen by anyone but me.
“Brooklyn! Stop!”
“Someone grab her!”
“Quick, security is coming!”
All I see is red. Not reality, not the blossoming friendships around me or the care I’ve been shown. Just the pure, unadulterated need to hurt this bastard. To make him feel even a smidgen of what I went through. I may not deserve to live, but neither does he.
Make him pay. Make him hurt.
Cut him, the devil in my mind orders.
The knife slips down into my hand and I go to town. Putting all my strength into the movements, hoping to cause maximum damage. My body is weak compared to him, but I still draw blood from each stab that I manage. It blooms through the thin material of his shirt like a watercolour painting.
Fucking beautiful. That’s how it goddamn feels.
Hands grab my body, hauling me up and away from Hudson. Kade steps between us, ever the peacekeeper. Fuck that. I’ll hurt him to get to his brother if I have to. Phoenix holds me to his body with arms like steel bands, telling me to calm down. It’s futile. Fury thrums through me, stronger than any drug ever injected. Fiery rage that seals my determination.
I slam my head back, hearing him cry out in pain. Slipping his hold, I fling myself at Kade. Snarling and swearing like a rabid animal. This is what it feels like to lose control. So damn satisfying.
In the end, it’s the guards that break us up. Like invisible sentries appearing out of thin air, reminding us all this isn’t the real world. You don’t just get away with stuff and simply walk away to lick your wounds. They’re always watching, poised to intervene if necessary.
I’m sandwiched between the burly men, one yanking my arms back and crunching my fingers together until I release the weapon. Hot tears pour freely as my face is smashed onto the floor. Ah, this is familiar. Just like good old days. The Clearview special, restrain and punish.
“Say goodbye, you psycho. They’ll never let you out after this.”
The officer is shouting, threatening me. I don’t care. Not one bit. In the seconds before I’m dragged away, I see Kade kneeling on the ground by his brother. Phoenix and Eli stand frozen, both watching me helplessly.
Then there’s Hudson. His hand pressed to his abdomen, he doesn’t even look phased by the bleeding injuries I inflicted. His attention is focused on me as I’m taken away, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and pity.
I hate them. I hate them all.
I hope my death kills them.
Fourteen
Hudson
Let You Go by Machine Gun Kelly
I scrunch the paper up in my hand, tossing it across the desk to join the others. Six attempts and I still can’t write a damn word. Kade watches silently from his seat opposite, glancing back down at his laptop screen.