Van
Nearly twenty years ago
Red. Scarlet. Crimson. Fiery.
Associated with heat.
The color of blood.
The color of rage.
The ruby hue colored my vision as I rode the elevator into the sky, the damn thing moving too slowly. My teeth clenched and my jaw tightened as I watched the numbers above the door change, one by one. At my sides, my fingers balled into fists and biceps bulged, itching to make contact, to feel destruction as my knuckles pounded into anything, even the walls surrounding me.
A quick glance at my phone told me it had been forty minutes since her call. It was the middle of the night. Hearing the fear in her voice took my breath away. I’d sprung from my bed, hurriedly dressed, and took off to the garage.
If only I’d been closer.
The elevator finally came to a halt.
With each millisecond, I contemplated prying the damn doors open with my bare hands. As soon as the space between them widened enough for my passage, I pushed my way through. At this time of night, more accurately, morning, the hallways of the large tower were blissfully empty. My pace quickened and my strides grew longer as I raced toward her door.
“Fuck, Lena. Tell me you didn’t let him in.” It was the chorus I’d said over and over as I made my way into the city and through Chicago’s streets. Logan Butler. Even his name had me seeing red.
I gripped the doorknob.
The fucker didn’t budge.
Digging deep in the pocket of my pants, I found the ring, the one with a single key. I pushed it toward the keyhole, forcing it in the lock. I could have broken the damn thing, but it didn’t work. The lock was changed. “Fuck him.”
My fists found satisfaction as I banged on the door, yelling her name.
“Lena, let me in.”
My pulse raced as noises came from within the apartment. I waited as the locking mechanism clicked and the doorknob moved. As the door moved inward, I took a step forward only to be stopped by the one man I didn’t want to see. Dressed in only boxer shorts, he was older and weaker than me. “Let me in, you sick fuck.”
“Go away, Thomas.” Logan Butler smirked.
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
“You’re not coming in.”
“Like hell I’m not.” My chest grew as I squared off. “Who’s going to stop me. Not you.”
Lena’s voice came from the dark apartment behind Butler. “Van, go.”
Using my foot and arm, I pushed the door from Logan’s grasp and stomped past him into the shadows. “Lena, where are you?”
Minus the light coming through the windows with the night sky and the city below, the apartment was dark, obscuring every corner.
I called out her name again as Logan’s hand landed on my shoulder.
He spoke, his words were there, hanging in the tense air, saying something about paying for his time. I didn’t listen nor did I give a fuck as I swung, my fist contacting Logan’s cheek. His head snapped back and to the side. Pain shot through my fist, my nerve endings exploding.
It was exactly what I needed.
An outlet.
I didn’t stop, swinging again. The relief in each impact egged me on, fueling my need for destruction. Logan tried to fight back—I’d give him that—but he was no match for me. With him pinned against the wall, I continued my assault, following him toward the floor as his legs gave out.