Page 463 of Rage

"I did," he says simply, his voice low and rich with satisfaction.

The admission hangs between us, charged with possibility. I lick my dry lips, heart pounding. "How did it feel?" The question escapes me before I can stop it, a mix of fear and fascination coloring my words.

Jaz's smile widens, revealing a flash of white teeth. His eyes lock onto mine, intense and unblinking. "It was the best feeling," he says, each word dripping with dark pleasure. "Like finally scratching an itch that's been driving you mad for years. Like taking your first breath after being underwater for too long."

I shudder, not entirely from fear. There's something intoxicating about the raw honesty in his voice, the way he doesn't shy away from the darkness within him. It calls to something deep inside me, a part I've kept locked away and hidden.

"Even now?" I press, unable to stop myself. "Do you still feel that way?"

Jaz's expression shifts, becoming more guarded. He studies me for a long moment, as if weighing how much to reveal.Finally, he lets out a slow breath. "I'll be honest with you, Bee," he says, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "I still get that feeling every time I kill someone."

The admission hits me like a physical blow. I gasp, my eyes widening as I process his words. Jaz watches me carefully, his body tense, as if preparing for rejection or recoil.

"Does that scare you?" he asks, his voice gentle despite the weight of his confession.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to really consider the question. The old me, the Bee from before that night on the beach, would have been terrified. She would have recoiled in horror, fleeing from this dangerous man and his dark confessions. But I'm not that girl anymore. The waves washed her away, leaving behind someone harder, someone with jagged edges and a thirst for retribution that threatens to consume me.

"No," I whisper, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "It doesn't scare me."

Jaz's eyebrows lift slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settles back into careful neutrality. "Why not?" he asks, his tone gentle but probing.

I close my eyes, letting the darkness behind my lids become a canvas for my thoughts. The memories of that night surge forward, a tidal wave of pain and rage that threatens to drown me. But instead of fighting it, I let it wash over me, through me, until I'm trembling with the force of it.

"Because," I begin, my voice low and raw, "I think I understand. I think... I think I want to feel it too."

The admission hangs in the air between us, charged with potential. When I open my eyes, Jaz is watching me intently, his dark gaze boring into mine. There's something in his eyes--not judgment or disgust, but a spark of recognition, of kinship.

"It's addictive," he says softly, his words a caress against my skin. "That feeling of power, of control. Of making them pay for what they've done."

I nod, a shiver running down my spine. "I have some memories but not their faces," I confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But I hear their laughter, feel their hands on me. And I imagine... I imagine making them suffer."

Jaz reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing against my cheek. The touch is electric, sending sparks skittering across my skin. "Tell me," he urges, his voice a low growl that resonates deep in my chest.

I lean into his touch, letting my eyes flutter closed again. "I want to hear them beg," I whisper, the words feeling like a prayer and a curse all at once. "I want to see the fear in their eyes when they realize what's coming. I want to make them feel every ounce of pain and terror they inflicted on me."

When I open my eyes, Jaz's face is inches from mine. His pupils are dilated, his breathing shallow. There's an intensity to him that should frighten me, but instead, it fans the flames of my own desire for vengeance.

"I can help you," he says, his voice rough with promise. "I can teach you how to make them suffer, how to extract every drop of pain they deserve."

My heart pounds, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through my veins. Jaz's words paint vivid images in my mind--dark, violent fantasies that should repulse me, but instead ignite something primal within. I lick my dry lips, voice barely above a whisper as I ask, "How?"

Jaz's eyes darken, a predatory gleam flickering in their depths. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear as he murmurs, "First, we find them. Then, we make them regret ever laying a hand on you."

A shiver runs down my spine, equal parts anticipation and apprehension. "But how will we find them?" I ask, frustration edging into my voice. "My memories are still so fragmented."

Jaz pulls back slightly, his expression softening. "It'll come back to you, little Bee. And when it does, I'll be here to help you piece it all together."

His confidence is infectious, and I find myself nodding. "Okay," I breathe, steeling my resolve. "So what's the first step?"

Jaz's eyes soften, a hint of tenderness breaking through his hardened exterior. "The first step, little Bee, is to heal. To get stronger." His hand finds mine, his calloused fingers intertwining with my own. "Your body needs time to mend, and your mind... well, that's a different kind of healing altogether."

I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a warm blanket. The rage still simmers beneath my skin, a constant companion, but there's wisdom in his approach. I can't exact my revenge if I'm broken and weak.

Chapter Three

Days turn into weeks, a blur of healing and revelation. Jaz becomes my constant, my anchor in the storm of recovery. He tends to my wounds with practiced care, continuing to apply his salves that sting and soothe in equal measure. His hands, calloused and strong, are infinitely gentle as they ghost over my bruised skin.

Slowly, painfully, my body knits itself back together. The bruises fade from violent purples to sickly yellows, then vanish altogether. But the marks on my soul remain raw and weeping.

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