Page 103 of Captive Souls

“Yes, it is,” he scowled. “I left you thinking you were safe without me, but…” He trailed off again, as if he kept losing his train of thought. Very unlike Knox, who calculated and measured every one of his words before he even spoke them.

“I must make them suffer.”

The words were pulled from the very reaches of his insides, sending a cold prickle up my spine.

There had always been the background knowledge that Knox had killed. Not even background knowledge, he’d come right out and said it. Multiple times. I’d never been in the presence of a killer, unless you counted my father, and he hadn’t killed yet. Although he essentially had. He had killed my mother long before her heart stopped beating.

I abhorred violence and violent men because of my childhood and also because violent men were despicable.

Yet I’d fallen in love with Knox knowing that, not even squirming at him openly telling me he killed.

And I was there in front of him, listening to him muse about the ways he might torture those who’d hurt me.Torture. Something I also abhorred, as did most sane people.

Yet my stomach did not turn, my soul did not flinch in front of the cold certainty of what Knox was going to do.

“Making people suffer does not change anything,” I motioned to my hands, to my face, to my body.

To my immense surprise, Knox flinched as I gestured to my bruised torso.

Flinched.

As if looking upon my bodyhurthim.

When he opened his mouth, I gingerly pressed my fingers to his lips. They were so soft despite all the harsh declarations coming out of them.

“I know that it’s not as easy as that for you.” My gaze never left his. The fury and hunger for violence swirled within his irises, a living thing, separate from the facets of Knox I’d come to know. The Knox who put wildflowers in a vase, who painted me in pastels, who cooked me flavorful feasts, who gave me seeds to grow a garden.

Who seeded something inside of me that grew and bloomed where he’d thought he could only make things wither and die.

“I know that’s an impossible thing to ask you, to not to kill those men—” I continued.

“I will do anything you ask,” Knox interrupted me. “But not that. You will not get in the way of my revenge, Petal.”

I licked my chapped lips, throat suddenly dry as I realized I hadn’t had a sip of water in … how long?

Knox noted this and immediately stopped his menacing, threatening dance to direct me to the small fridge in the room—surprising that it had one—where he found a bottle of water he uncapped then passed to me. He did this while keeping one hand on me at all times, as if he were afraid I was going to fall off the face of the earth if he let me go.

I greedily sipped the water, all the while feeling more and more in love with the caretaking side of Knox coexisting right alongside the cold-blooded murderer.

Once I was done, I looked up at Knox, who was cataloging my bruises. He capped the water bottle then lifted up my shirt once more to regard the swelling on my stomach.

His fingers brushed the skin in a barely-there touch.

“We need to watch for internal bleeding,” he said, his voice chilly. “Might’ve cracked some ribs, though there’s nothing tobe done about that except time. And blood.” He glanced up. “No more of yours will be spilled. But don’t ask me to takethiswithout punishment.”

It was as close to a beg as I’d ever get from him.

I stroked his cheek. “Don’t ask me to put your vengeance before my sister’s safety,” I pleaded.

I saw the change in his eyes. Not before the battle, though. This was someone who had previously defined himself by not caring for others, not having a weakness. I was asking for him to show what he perceived as weakness.

It made sense that it would be a battle. I worried he simply wouldn’t be capable of it. Not in the face of the brutality I’d endured. I knew that woke up something primal in him.

After a long pause, he nodded. “I’ll send Joey to get her right away.”

My body sagged.

I leaned up to kiss him on the lips. Gently.

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