What used to be his face was now a black pulp in the dark night. My fists were black and sticky, but my entire body vibrated with adrenaline and satisfaction and everything I craved. It was so fucking good.
“Time to go.” Stitch jerked my arm.
I took one step back, and the mass in front of me fell like a tree, straight and slow, ending with a shuffling thunk on the pavement.
My body was shaking and high. The only thing that would make this moment more perfect would be to find some chick and bang her senseless. Lifting my chin, I looked up to the sky as a large drop hit my face. It was raining again.
“Now, Slayer.” My friend jerked my arm, and I took a few staggered steps into his car. I barely registered the sound of tires squealing and red and blue lights flashing into the parking lot.
Stretching back against the leather seat, I closed my eyes as we drove away.
Satisfaction.
* * *
Derek Alexander stood in that hallway, looked at me with those gunmetal eyes, and ended my life for the second time—this time for good.
The first time I’d seen him, I was a hate-filled shit who didn’t care. I’d killed because I didn’t value life. I had no respect, and I had no control.
Nothing in my life had given me a reason to believe in anything. I didn’t believe in love. I didn’t believe in the touch of a hand that could quiet the rage consuming my insides like the fires of hell.
I’d gone to that penitentiary ready to face my judgment. I was Slayer the death angel with fists of steel. I was the master of high-volume punching, and I wasn’t about to be anybody’s bitch. Let some asshole touch me. I’d see him in hell whenever it was my turn to bust that fiery hole wide open.
I had no soul. I had no heart. I was a shitless shell of human waste.
Doc took the time to change that. He saw in me something worth saving—not that I’d ever demonstrated any inclination toward goodness.
We shared the same cell for six weeks when I arrived in that hellhole in eastern New Jersey. For six weeks he got down on his knees every morning and prayed. He fucking prayed.
He asked God out loud to turn his wasted life into something that would make up for the sins he’d committed. He actually said that. Every goddamned day.
He wasn’t a big guy. He wasn’t intimidating or strong. He was older and skinny. Still, everyone looked up to him. The big guys went to him when they couldn’t take it anymore, and because he had answers, he was protected. He’d found a path to peace in the evil that composed our lives on the inside. He’d found a way to control the rage burning in all of us, and he’d taught it to me. Therapy, mantras, steps to understanding my anger and controlling it...
It was already starting to rain when I got to the pier. I took off running down the shoreline in the direction I’d gone that night so long ago. Only it wasn’t so long ago—it had only been a few months.
When I got there, I dropped to my knees. Then I fell forward on my hands, gripping the wet sand in my fists. Here was where I’d faced my first test on the outside. Here was where I’d passed that test, and here was where I’d found her.
“Why?” I whispered in a broken voice.
I didn’t believe. I was too worthless to believe, but I followed the steps hoping to get some semblance of a life back. Now I was left with less than nothing. It was hard before. Now it was unbearable.
My stomach cramped with the truth. I looked up at the black sky, and the rain covered my face. I wasn’t crying, but everything inside of me was breaking. I was coming apart at the seams, burning up inside.
I wouldn’t recover from this, but I knew I had to face her.
* * *
Patrick Knight was outside her doorstep. I stood dripping wet, looking into his angry glare.
“You here to rip my throat out?” My voice was defeated.
He looked down at his arms crossed over his chest. A band of ink circled one of his muscled forearms. “I’m here for her. Whatever she needs right now is what I’ll do.”
With a nod, I reached for the doorknob and stepped into an apartment once filled with love. I stopped as rainwater dripped from me to the floor. I took off my shirt, then I took off my wet jeans. My dark boxer-briefs were all that was left as I crossed the living room, stopping at her door.
With a guilty hand, I opened it, and my heart broke. Her small body was curled tightly at the head of the bed. A pillow was clutched to her chest, and she was shaking with sobs. I almost couldn’t hold myself back from comforting her, but I did.
I was the reason she was in that position. I had no defense.