Page 33 of Burning Truths

“It’s going to be fun watching my father take what should be ours while the Stone family falls. It’s already begun.” he breathes out.

His chest heaves from the force of my last blow but his words ring in my ears pushing me harder. Anger. Rage. Kenna. Cole. Madness. It all floods my vision until all I see is red. Using my left leg I hook him behind the knee taking him down to the ringfloor. My hands scream in pain. My arms get heavier with the force of each blow. Both arms swing into his face until I fall forward from exhaustion. Before he can throw me off I use all my force to slam my knee into his ribs pulling a loud scream from his throat.

Sweat covers my body. Blood drips from my eyebrow into my eye. My lungs struggle to pull in air. The crowd goes crazy around me. Rolling off of him I lay on the mat looking up at the bright white ceiling. Easton’s eyes meet mine when he comes to stand over me. He has two of our guys drag the fucker from the mat while he just looks down at me with a questioning gaze. Mine matches him.

Who the fuck is he? And what the hell did he mean?

Chapter Fifteen

KENNA

Pick.

Scrape.

Pick.

My skin crawls from the sound the sharp edge makes against the tile. Hot water and steam cover my skin. The tip of my knuckle drags down the edge cutting my soaked flesh. I ignore the pain, the bright red liquid gliding down my skin, I ignore it all.

Pick.

Scrape.

Pick.

The skin around my nails peels back.

Look what you’re doing to yourself.

Tears mix with the water falling down my face. The combination of water and blood make beautiful swirls down the tile wall. The crack slowly growing bigger.

Stop this madness. You’re getting nowhere.

I can’t. I have to keep trying.

For who? Them? Ha. Have you learned nothing? It’s been two months and no one has come.

Pick.

Scrape.

Pick.

Pulling my fingers away from the wall to examine them my eyes fall to the damage. My nails are chipped away revealing soft pink flesh under the nails. Blood and skin fall from the tips like ash pooling at the bottom of the tub. My chest aches from the pain, but the darkest part of my mind tries to cloud the pain. My forehead falls to the cold shower wall in defeat. My breathing turns ragged, my fingertips no longer hurting, the water hitting my back turning colder.

We are safe here. Stop trying to ruin everything!

Please. Please just shut up!

Shaking my head the motion drags my forehead across the tile rattling my thoughts. The water is colder. My skin pruning. The small triangle piece of tile in my other hand is pinched between my fingers digging into the wet skin. Fisting around the sharp edge a sudden wave of rage fuels me. Lifting my head I take my right hand and slam it into the small hole over and over.

Stabbing. Dragging the edge down the wall. Blood and water.

You’re breaking.

I was always broken!

I want to scream. To slap myself. To take the pointed edge and slice through my own skin. Paint these walls with my blood like I did with Jax. I deserve to suffer for what I’ve done. Nothing makes sense anymore.

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