Page 78 of Can You Take It?

Noah’s face is twisted in agony, sweat pouring down his forehead. “I was just messing with you, man. Fuck, I didn’t think you’d go psycho on me.”

I pull the knife out with a swift motion and blood splatters across the table. Noah clutches his hand, whimpering. I don’t even flinch.

Colton, still keeping a cautious distance, speaks softly. “Rick, you need to get a grip. We’re all on edge, but this... this is too far.”

I run a hand through my hair, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. The reality of what I just did starts to sink in, and with it, a wave of guilt.

“Fuck,” I mutter, looking at Noah’s bloodied hand. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Noah glares at me. “No shit, Sherlock. You need to get your head straight, or you’re going to get us all killed.”

I take another look at Izel, who is still oblivious to everything. The sight of her laughing only intensifies the ache in my chest. I can’t let my feelings for her destroy everything I’ve worked for. But right now, they’re all I can think about.

Colton gets a first aid kit from my car and starts tending to Noah’s wound. “You need to talk to her, Rick. Figure out what the hell is going on between you two. Because this,” he gestures to the bloody mess on the table, “isn’t sustainable.”

Chapter 22

IZEL

I keep up the conversation with Martin. He shoots me a curious look, his eyes flickering to my sore lip. Yeah, Victor got a little carried away, but bruises and cuts are nothing new. I’ve weathered worse storms.

Martin smirks, seemingly entertained by the drama that surrounds my life. “You love raging Victor, don’t you?”

I shrug, attempting nonchalance. “Keeps things interesting.”

Martin leans back. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

I scoff, taking a sip of my coffee. “As long as it takes.”

I can feel Richard’s gaze burning into me. I resist the urge to meet his eyes, to acknowledge his presence. Even before he spoke, I sensed his presence.

“You’re not telling me something, Izel. What’s going on with you and Mr. FBI over there?”

I glance in Richard’s direction. “Nothing, Martin.”

“You’ve always been a shitty liar. But suit yourself. Just don’t let that asshole mess with your head.”

The irony of Martin lecturing me on assholes isn’t lost on me. He’s got his own share of issues, but right now, I’m not in the mood to dive into his shit.

“Listen, Izzie, you need to remember what you’re doing here. You’re using him to get what you want, nothing more,” Martin continues.

I force a small smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I know what I’m doing, Martin.”

“Do you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You planted yourself in this situation for a reason. Don’t go catching feelings now. That’s not part of the plan.”

I nod, reassuring him, but as I glance over at Richard, something twists inside me. Martin might be a little too late for that.

They say broken angels rise from the ashes. But that is just some poetic bullshit, a way to romanticize pain and suffering. Broken angels aren’t like the ones you see in those cheap paintings. They don’t have halos or wings that glimmer in light. No, their wings are torn, their feathers are stained in blood and soot. They’re the ones who’ve been through hell and back, who’ve seen the worst the world has to offer and somehow managed to survive but at a cost. They’re jaded, weary and their beauty is marred by the scars they carry—scars that tell stories of pain, betrayal, and a kind of loneliness that no one can understand.

I used to think I could be one of those angels when being a disney princess wasn’t in my cards. But life doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t let you be a princess, broken or not. It only allows you to be a broken human. It breaks you in the ways you never expect, takes pieces of you that you never thought you’d lose. And just when you think you’ve put yourself back together, it shatters you all over again, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole.

Richard—he’s a reminder of the pieces I’ve lost, the parts of me that are too damaged to ever be repaired. He makes me feel things, stirs emotions I’d convinced myself I was better off without. And the worst part? A small, broken part of me craves it. Craves him. Even knowing that he could be the one to break me completely.

“By the way, you should thank me,” Martin says, and I shoot him a skeptical look. Thank him? For what?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Martin chuckles, clearly enjoying the mystery. “I’m literally taking death threats for you. The Lunatic was threatening to kill me.”

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