Page 58 of Rage

This istorturefor me.

Like a fucking preternatural bird, Zac’s head whips toward me and I suppress a growl at the knowing smirk his grin morphs into.

Eyes fully locked on me, he addresses Sarah. “Are you going to cut his heart out like my cousin does, Dr. Bell? Cause I think I’d like to see that.”

Can his fucking grin get any bigger? It’s eating up his entire damn face andI’mthe one with the Joker scars.

“Doesn’t Natalia need you to help her start making dinner?” I grit out. Sarah doesn’t look up.

I want to erupt from this damn chair and crawl to her. I’ll worship at her damn feet if she lets me fuck her while her hands are elbow deep in the man’s chest cavity.

He’dreallypissed off my raven for her to take her time like this. His noises stopped—I glance at the clock nailed to the wall—an hour ago.

I frown. Has it been that long, hours?

I shrug, uncaring. I need my raven. Surely, he’s dead if he’s not making sounds. Probably bled out. And still, she keeps cutting, unsatisfied with his silent death.

Well, not really silent since he’d wailed like the dying animal Zac claimed him to be.

Sarah pauses, eyes rising to clash with mine from across the room.

“Go to her.”

“The raven. The raven. The raven.”

Yes. My raven.

“D-D-Dayton,” she whimpers, face crumbling.

Shit! I nearly break the cheap ass chair in my rush to get out of it, feet skidding across the floor as I race to pull her into my arms. Body going limp, she sobs into my chest and I rub her back, soaking up her pain and anger and grief on behalf of a stranger.

Sometimes, her face would go all soft and she’d call me sweet. Me, a confessed killer. She knows my sins. Not all, but a large sum.

But I’m not sweet like her, to grieve for another woman’s child, to kill in her name. But maybe it wasn’t just one woman. Maybe it’d been for every woman that’d laid on my Sarah’s hospital bed, body carrying the scars that men like the one on the table had inflicted.

That’s sweet. I’m not that sweet and I wish I could resurrect him to kill him all over again for making my wife cry.

Wife.

She’s not my wife yet, but she will be. It feels right.

Dr. Sarah Bell-Daniels.

“I’ve got you, little raven. I’m right here,” I murmur into her hair, rocking us a little.

Shoes scuff across the floor and I watch Zac’s back as he leaves us, giving us some much needed privacy.

“I’m not a killer,” she mumbles into my shirt, shoulders shaking with the weight of her distress. My eyes land on the man’s sightless eyes, staring up at the ceiling, mouth opened on a permanent scream.

Too focused on the erotic sight of the mother of my child exacting vengeance, I’d never noticed when he’d inevitably passed. Zac wouldn’t have cared as long the skin and flesh remained soft enough to cut pieces off.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, not pointing out the dead man’s condition. I pull away to tip her chin back, heart squeezing painfully at the redness of her nose and the puffiness of her eyes.

“Isn’t that what you tell me when I complain about not being normal? That the way I am is perfect?” I tilt my head at her, fighting a smile at the way her nose crinkles from having her own words thrown back at her.

“You’re a healer, little raven and while I enjoyed watching you try on a skin that clearly doesn’t fit you, there’s nothing wrong with not possessing the darkness to enjoy taking a life. It means you’re not like him.” My chin jerks at the corpse.

“You—” She flushes, eyes sliding down my face to focus on my chin.

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