When I was young, I realized that my perception of the world differed from that of others my age.
Violence bubbled in my veins and blinded me to reality. I saw life through red lenses and liked it. No. I fucking loved it.
I took pride in being different, in jumping through hoops many people wouldn’t dare go near. I never felt repressed by my sexuality, my preferences, or my tendencies. In fact, I wore them like a badge and flaunted them for everyone to see.
Being bi is nothing to be ashamed of, as Mom told me a long time ago.
“It makes you different from the majority, but you were always special, son. Always,” Dad said.
I’ve always felt special, too, like I could go deep and deeper, high and higher, and nothing would stop me.
This is the first time I don’t feel special.
The first time I’ve watched my life shatter around me as I stood in the remains, surrounded by bright blood.
It was everywhere—on his neck, his shirt, his hands, the floor, me.
Every-fucking-where.
I’m in the middle of the hospital waiting area, but I can still see it dripping on the floor as I carried Bran in my arms. I can still see his pasty-white skin and hear the haunting sound that left his throat before he closed his eyes.
He’s been in surgery for seven hours. Seven fucking hours and the nurse has come through twice for blood. Twice.
Seven hours and I haven’t moved an inch from my position in front of the OR door. A nurse had to come out here to bandage my hand, because there was no way in fuck I was moving.
Seven hours of hearing Astrid crying. Glyn and Lan flew in from the island as soon as they heard the news and arrived a couple of hours ago.
Glyn has been hugging her mom and crying. Lan and Levi are now standing beside me after they finished pacing the corridor for the millionth time. Levi drove us to the hospital like a madman while I held Bran on my lap in the back seat, keeping pressure on his neck.
The bleeding never stopped. Not even temporarily. The more time passed, the closer I was to losing him.
I’ll never forget how his pulse diminished beneath my fingers, how I was begging and kissing his blue lips and asking, imploring, praying for a God I’ve never believed in to give him back to me.
I’ll do anything if you give him back.
If he asked for my life in return, I’d spill my guts on a platter.
I don’t want a life without him.
I can’t have a life without him.
“What did I say, Dad?” Landon’s eerily calm voice rips through the suffocating silence. He sounds collected, but I’ve never seen him agitated in my life. I’ve never seen the almighty Landon King tremble with rage like when I showed him that video.
I showed it to Astrid and Levi as soon as Bran was wheeled away for emergency surgery. They had to call in some hotshot surgeon who specializes in nerve repair.
My Bran kept that pain to himself for eight fucking years, to protect them—his fucking parents, siblings, and the whole world. I’m no fucking philanthropist. I shoved that video in their faces so they could see the pain that grew so big that he had to stab himself to end it.
I stood there watching him jam that piece of glass in his neck and felt the world tilt on its axis beneath my feet.
His body wasn’t the only thing that hit the ground. My sanity did, too, and it’s still there, floundering in the middle of his blood, choking and unable to come up for air.
Astrid fainted upon seeing that video. Levi looked like he was going to be sick, but he watched it to the very end, like me.
Landon vibrated with rage. His face was red, his fist was clenching and unclenching, and his upper lip lifted in a snarl like it is right now.
“What the fuck did I say, Dad?” he repeats in a clipped tone. “I said that you shouldn’t cater to him. I said that he’s a fucking iceberg who hides more than what he shows. I said that he needed to be fucking pushed, but no. You believed in space. You believed in treating him with kid gloves, peace, love, and fucking understanding. Look where that got us!”
“Lower your fucking voice.” Levi glares at him as Astrid and Glyn sob in unison somewhere in the background.
I don’t look at them. I can’t.
So I focus on Landon’s rage. Landon’s rage speaks to mine.
“I’m not lowering my fucking voice.” He shakes with the way he’s winding his muscles, a vein nearly popping in his neck. “That’s my twin brother. My other half. You don’t get it, Dad. He…he’s my. Other. Half. And I couldn’t be there to stop him from trying to take his own fucking life. I couldn’t be there when it got to be too much. He pushed me away and I thought he hated me. All this time, I failed to realize he hates himself.”
My injured fist tightens until I feel the burn of my wounds and keep my fingers there.
Levi clutches Landon by the shoulders. “If anyone should be blamed, it’s me. I failed him as a father. It’s not your fault, Lan. You wouldn’t have known.”
“Of course I would. I’m his twin brother. What’s the use of being labeled a genius if I couldn’t save the one person who matters?”
“None of you would’ve known.” I speak in a voice that sounds far away even to my ears. “He made it his mission to hide behind a façade and pretend he was okay. If—when—he wakes up, you will not play this blaming game in front of him. It’ll only make him feel guilty and uncomfortable. He’s already had a lifetime of that, so you better get your fucking shit together when you see him.”
Levi lets his hands fall limp at his sides, a pained expression crossing his distraught features.
Landon flashes me with his psychotic glare, then jams a finger against my chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you stop him? You were there. Why couldn’t you fucking stop him, you useless waste of bloody space!”
“Landon!” Levi pulls him away from me. “Nikolai is the reason he’s still breathing. Your brother could’ve done it where no one was looking and it would’ve been too late by the time anyone found him—”
“You’re right, I couldn’t. I didn’t see it coming.” My voice chokes. “But I don’t give a fuck about you or your opinions, Landon. The only one who can be mad at me is him. Not you or anyone else.”
He snarls at me, but his father manages to push him back.
No matter how much I hate the prick, he’s right. If I hadn’t let him snatch that piece of glass, if I hadn’t broken that glass, if I hadn’t hit Play on that fucking video, none of this would’ve happened.
But it did.
And here I am standing at Death’s door, begging him not to take away my Bran.
He believes himself to be all messed up, but he’s the only one who’s managed to keep me rooted in the present, the one who manages to stop my thoughts from racing in different directions with unnatural patterns.
As long as he comes back, I’ll murder his demons one by one until he’s ready to look in the mirror again.
Until he forgives himself for something that was not his fault.
A middle-aged doctor with Southeast Asian features steps outside and removes his cap, his face drawn and his movements sluggish.
My heart nearly drops to the floor. Please tell me that’s only because he’s exhausted—
“Doctor…” Levi’s voice sounds strained. “How’s…my son?”
“We managed to repair the nerves and the veins. He nicked his carotid artery, but, thankfully, the first aid response was fast enough and he got here in time. He was also lucky that no damage was inflicted on his vocal cords.” He smiles a little. “He’s stable now, but we’ll keep an eye on him in the ICU tonight.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you…” Astrid pants through her tears and I realize she and Glyn have come to stand beside us.
He says something about the psychiatric department getting in touch, but I’m not listening.
My heart thunders back to life, rising from the ashes in one sweeping motion. I have to close my eyes as a long whoosh of breath escapes me.
He’s alive.
I asked—begged—him not to leave me and he listened.
He didn’t leave me.
Fucking fuck.
Fuck!
I let the searing emotions blast through me, whirling into the organ that beats for him. Everyone around me breathes for the first time, with shaky exhales while prayers of thanks are murmured, but I know even they realize this is not the end.
It’s the fucking beginning.
And I’m going to take the first step.
Every part of me urges me to stay and see him, hold his hand, and tell him I’ll never leave, not even if he pushes me away.
But before I can do that, I need to slaughter his first demon.
I walk away from the scene without a word and dial the number I called after we got here.
He picks up after two rings. “Is he okay?”
I release a fractured exhale as I nod. “Yeah, Dad. He’s okay for now.”
“Thank fuck.”
I exhale shakily into the phone, trying not to crack the fucking thing with how much I’m tightening my grip on it.
Soon after Bran went into surgery, I called my dad, breaking apart, hyperventilating. He told me to breathe and I asked how the fuck I was supposed to do that when the love of my fucking life was fighting death on a surgeon’s table.
That’s when I told him everything in a word vomit. Everything about Bran and me. Everything about how that fucking pedophile is taking him away from me and that I need her gone. Erased. Fucking eradicated.
Dad said simply, “Then we’ll get it done.”
He jumped on his private plane while I was talking to him and said he’d make arrangements with his godfather to find the vermin.
“Just landed, son. It’ll take me approximately an hour to get to North West London.”
“Give me an address, Dad. I need the fucking address.”
“Listen to me, Nikolai. I know you’re agitated. I can hear it in your voice, and it’s okay to feel like that, but you will not make a reckless fucking mistake that will get you arrested. I told you if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.”
I run a frustrated hand over my face. “I can’t wait anymore. I need her fucking blood.”
“Nikolai. Think of Brandon, okay? Think of how he’ll feel if he wakes up and finds out you’re being arrested for murder.”
“Fuck!” I drive my fist against a wall and ignore the pain that explodes in my knuckles.
“The UK is different from the States,” he continues in a collected tone. “It’s smaller and more contained, so there’s no room for mistakes. Tell me you understand that.”
“Just get here, Dad. Please, hurry.”
“I’ll be there in fifty-three minutes. I’ll forward you the coordinates. Let’s meet there.”
After he hangs up, I check the map he sends me as I stride through the hospital door.
A hand lands on my shoulder and I whip around to find Landon staring at me with harsh eyes. “Whatever you’re doing, I want in.”
Grace lives in this glamorous residential area in St. John’s Wood that’s full of fucking cameras and private security measures. That’s why Dad insisted we wait until his contacts had everything under control.
When we get the okay, Dad, Landon, and I don’t even have to sneak around. We walk into her building and take the elevator to her apartment.
We enter the code and stride right in.
My throat floods with disgust when we get inside her living room, where that video was taken. The sofa and the decor have changed, but it’s still the same revolting place where she stole a piece of my lotus flower.
It’s time she gives it back.
Landon must feel the same, because he snarls at it, his fists clenching.
A commotion reaches us from the bedroom, things being knocked over, curses sounding in the air.
Dad stands in the doorway and nods at us. “Go do your thing. I’ll be here.”
I nod sharply, thankful beyond words for having him as my father. Not many encourage their children’s murderous ideas or their need for vengeance.
My father, Kyle Hunter, the most elite sniper you’ll ever encounter, feeds my tendencies in the healthiest ways possible.
Landon and I move silently to where the sounds are coming from. Grace doesn’t seem to notice us or the deep fucking hole she’s dug for herself.
She’s packing a suitcase, shoving clothes in with their hangers, and curses when they don’t fit. A red satin robe covers her body and her makeup-free face reveals the fucking monster lurking beneath.
Landon is the one who strolls in, both hands in his pockets as he whistles. “Going somewhere, Grace?”
She jerks, knocking the giant suitcase off the bed.
Her beady brown eyes widen as she watches us, her gaze ping-ponging between us. “What…how did you get in…?”
“That’s not important.” Landon grabs her by a fistful of her hair and she shrieks. Good thing she’s rich and can afford a soundproof apartment. “What is important, however, is what you did to my brother. My. Fucking. Brother!”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lan, let me go. You’re hurting me.”
“Good. It’ll hurt a lot worse in a minute, you worthless fucking bitch!”
“Lan…please…” Her voice cracks, tears pooling in her eyes.
“Too early to beg. We still haven’t done anything.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring back the years you took from him.” I speak for the first time. “Sorry doesn’t give him back the blood he fucking lost tonight!”
“I really thought he liked me as well. He kissed me.” Her lips tremble. “He always kissed me.”
“He asked you to stop. Countless times,” I snarl in her face. “You shut him up and took what you wanted.”
“I’m going to need you to say it out loud now, Grace.” Lan tears at the hairs on her scalp. “I’m your god and I want you to confess what you fucking did.”
“Lan, please.”
“Fucking say it,” I roar and pull out a gun from my waistband, then jam it against her forehead.
“I did it! I assaulted him when he was fifteen. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t think he hated it. Please don’t kill me. I’m so sorry!”
She’s full-out sobbing now, shaking, and being a fucking mess of snot and tears. If Landon wasn’t holding her, she’d fall in a heap on the floor.
“Channel that energy and write it down.” He shoves her onto her vanity chair and I grab the notepad and pen from her bedside table and throw them in front of her.
“W-what do you mean?” She stares at us with a lost expression.
“Write down everything you did to him,” I say. “In detail. Confess your fucking sins.”
“Including the grooming.” Landon grabs her hand, shoves the pen between her fingers, and slams them on the paper.
She tries to shake her head, but my gun at the back of it stops her.
“Make it quick. We don’t have all night.”
Grace cries the entire time she writes, her hand trembling and blotches of tears smudging the words.
After she’s done signing it per my order, she releases a choppy breath as if she’s run a marathon. Landon reads her letter and then puts it in front of her again. “Ask him for forgiveness. Ask Mum for forgiveness for breaking her trust. Write about how you know nothing you can say can forgive what you’ve done, but you’ve been tortured for years and have never forgiven yourself for it.”
She jots down the words, sniffling. After she’s finished, Landon reads it again and nods in approval. Then he grabs her by the hair and drags her to her bathroom as she screams.
I follow them to find him shoving her into her gigantic bathtub and turning on the faucet full blast.
She thrashes, sending water everywhere. “What are you doing? Let me go this instant! I already did what you asked!”
“You thought that was a punishment?” I grab her left wrist while Landon takes the right one and we pull her arms apart as if she’s about to be crucified.
Her feet slide in the tub as she tries to get away, but there’s no escaping us.
I bring out my knife first and slash her wrist so deep, blood explodes onto my face. “That’s for every drop of blood he shed over the years, for every time he looked in the mirror and hated his reflection because of you.”
Landon cuts her other wrist. “This is for putting your hands on him and driving him to the fucking edge. You better wait for me in hell, bitch. I’ll fucking murder you all over again.”
Blood splashes on his face and fills the bathtub, turning the water red. Grace tries to thrash, her survival instinct kicking in at full force, and she screams.
She screams so loud, Dad shows up at the doorway, but he doesn’t make a move. No, he just watches his son and his future son-in-law take the life of a woman and smiles.
I smile, too, viciously, as I slam my palm against her mouth, just like she did when Bran begged her to stop.
And then I peer down on her as her muffled screams turn into moans.
I peer down on her until she finally goes silent and her lifeless eyes stare at nothing.
I don’t believe in justice. I believe in fucking vengeance. And this woman signed her death warrant the moment she touched my Bran.
My dad and his people will make this look like a suicide, and the note she wrote is her reason. I could’ve tortured her to death or made her disappear, but no, this isn’t about her. It’s about Bran.
I hope he feels closure if he sees that she regretted her actions and was tortured by them for years to the point that she took her own pathetic life.
One demon down. A dozen more to go.
