Bastian has never been a fighter, while I’ve been fighting my whole life. Besides the basic hand-to-combat training we had in the FBI, he’s got nothing compared to the hell I can bring crashing down on him. My bloody hand wraps around Bastian’s throat and I lean down to get in his face. He bucks his hips and shoves at me trying to get free from my hold.
“Wanna know what it feels like to be overpowered by someone?” I growl, “just like you did to my fucking sister?”
Bastian sputters, his brown eyes widening in fear as I press harder against his throat and cut off his air. His arm bangs at my forearm, but it’s locked tight. I chuckle at the weak attempt, suddenly thinking that death by strangulation isn’t nearly enough to settle the blood debt he’s accumulated.
I release his throat and his body goes limp as he gasps for air.
“Get off me,” Bastian croaks and I chuckle again.
“Fuck you, Collins,” I respond with a smirk, reeling back my fist and slamming it into the center of his face.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
My vision goes red, and I only snap back to reality when an arm wraps around mine and I’m yanked away. I growl in frustration and round on Donovan for stopping me.
“He’s dead,” he says, pointing behind me.
My head turns in the direction he’s indicating. I let my slowly gaze trail over the carnage that lies on the ground at my feet. The knuckles on one hand are scabbed, the skin broken open on my sister’s face and not during my fight with him. Blood pools over the ruined coffee table and I settle my stare on Bastian’s chest, which doesn’t rise or fall. I keep going and there it is, the cause of death.
I’ve completely smashed Bastian’s face in. His once angular cheeks are caved in, his jaw twisted and set wrong, his neck clearly snapped.
I fucking did that.
That’s what’s been living inside me this whole time; a monster that’s now been set free. And I can’t say I regret it.
Not after what that fucker did to my sister. My flesh and blood.
23
Malia
IwishIknewhow the me before the incident always dreamed my wedding would be. What kind of dress I wanted to wear, how big or small the venue would be, the cake flavor—all the little things I had no part in, aside from my dress. Am I going to be disappointed in this wedding, this life event that will never be repeated, when I get back my memories?
Tyjae messes with my hair, securing my veil in place. My unruly curls are pinned away from my face and neck aside from a few loose tendrils to frame my face.
Tyjae’s friend, Griffin, stands near me. He stares at me from the corner of his eye and it works at my nerves slightly. We haven’t spoken much, but he’s always been nice to me when he’s been around.
“What is it?” I say through a sigh, turning to Griffin, and his brow quirks.
He’s a good-looking man. Dirty-blonde hair that’s always carelessly tousled, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He’s been forced to wear a tuxedo today and, though it looks like it’s been put together by a petulant child, he wears messy well.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Griffin asks me, his deep English accent stronger than ever.
I purse my lips not willing to talk too much about my doubts with someone who works for my soon-to-be-husband. Griffin might be close with Tyjae, and I might trust her more than anyone else here, but I don’t know how close he is with Elio.
“Of course, I do,” I respond with a shrug.
He gives me a look that might say he’s on to me, but I won’t entertain it. It’s too late now anyway.
When Tyjae is finished with my hair and veil, she and Griffin escort me to the doors that open to the altar. We come to a stop and my breathing picks up. I’m suddenly worried I will need my medicine before the ceremony is over.
Tyjae grabs my hand and squeezes. I turn and give her a tight smile before Griffin opens the door and a violinist begins playing the bridal march. I step forward, grasping my bouquet like it’s the only thing keeping my feet moving. Tyjae falls back, both she and Griffin following me in, then finding their seats. I can feel their heavy stares burning into the back of my head, which is only making this entire ordeal worse.
I stare ahead, trying to keep my eyes on Elio, while I slowly make my way down the aisle. It’s harder than it should be and, though I see that for the red flag it is and warning bells sound in my head, my feet keep moving.