Page 77 of Promises in the Dark

When she tried to help him up, I shoved her away.

“Don’t,” I growled, my voice a low, guttural snarl. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

She didn’t say shit, just gave me that look—those fucking eyes, full of disappointment, full of hurt. Like I was the one that hurt her, like I was the monster here.

“No,” I spat, my chest heaving with the effort of holding back the urge to pummel him again. “He doesn’t deserve your help.”

But she wouldn’t quit. Her voice softened, that bleeding heart of hers creeping in.

“He’s hurt, he needs—”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a split second, I almost let up. Almost. But then I remembered the pain in her voice, the fear in her eyes every time she talked about him.

“No,” I said, my voice a deadly whisper. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to keep feeling sorry for him.”

With that, I shoved her away, hard. She stumbled back, catching herself against the wall, her eyes wide with shock and hurt.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

Disgust. Disdain. As if my mere existence was an affront to her delicate sensibilities. As ifIwas the problem. As if I was the fucking monster in all this.

I wasn’t the enemy here.

I gritted my teeth, the taste of blood in my mouth from where I’d bitten my lip in the frenzy of it all. How the hell could shestilldefend him? After everything he’d done to her?

“You both deserve each other,” I muttered, the words burning in my throat. They tasted like shit, but I meant them.

I turned my back on her, couldn’t even look at her anymore. I walked away, leaving them there, him crumpled on the floor and her standing in the aftermath of his bullshit. Let her deal with the fallout.

I was done. Done with him, done with her, done with the whole fucked-up situation.

I couldn’t wrap my head around her fucking hero complex. Always playing the savior for the ones who hurt her the most. The bastards who treated her like shit, who left her broken and bleeding. And there she was, with her bleeding heart, trying to stitch them back together like some fucking saint.

I hated Red. Hated her for still feeling sorry for him. Hated her for making me feel this rage, this fucking hurt.

She’d go to wat for anyone, except me. I was just the lowlife scumbag who didn’t deserve an ounce of her pity or compassion.

Very well. I’ll be the villain.

Chapter 22

_______________________

Ihuffed out a breath, sweat dripping down my forehead as I heaved the dumbbells up for another set. Pyro, big as a damn tank, was beside me, grunting with each rep, and tossing around dumbbells like they were marshmallows. His arms were like cannons, veins popping out like he was about to explode.

I hated this place. All concrete walls and low-hanging lights flickering like they were about to give up the ghost any minute now. The military gym, they called it. More like a underground bunker that reeked of sweat, stale piss and too much testosterone.

But orders were orders.

We were here to ‘train’ the medical staff, getting them ready for some future mission that was classified to hell and back. Like any of those nerds knew jack shit about what it was really like out there.

But right now, all I could focus on was the burn in my muscles and the pounding of my heart.

And then I saw her.

Sweet Jesus.

Red walked in, all fiery red hair and curves that could make a priest question his vows. She looked tired, though. Worn out. I could see it in her eyes, even from across the room. But then she spotted me, and there was a flicker of something there. Recognition, maybe.

---