Page 15 of The Devil's Wrath

He shrugged. “Figured it couldn’t hurt, given the circumstances.”

An awkward silence stretched between us. I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, unsure what to say.

“Listen,” Theo began, his voice softer. “About last night . . . if you need anything or feel unsafe, call me. Anytime.”

I met his gaze, taken aback by the sincerity in his eyes. “I . . . Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I mean it.” He turned to leave but paused at the door. “You know, you don’t have to hide it. The bruise.” He gestured to my cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

With that, he left, the door closing softly behind him. I stood there for a moment, stunned by his statement . Then, gently touching my cheek, I felt the tender skin beneath my concealer. His words echoed in my mind.

I didn’t do anything wrong.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my things for class and my work bag, headed to my car—a black Ford Focus—and drove to campus.

St. Mary’s was a private university reserved for the rich and famous. I was neither rich nor famous, more along the lines of comfortable, but my parents had been St. Mary’s alumni before they’d been tragically killed in a car accident five years before. An accident that had almost claimed my and my brother’s lives. The details were painful, but I remembered attending a charity event with my parents to raise funds for Riverview General. Afterward, I had fallen asleep in the back seat when there’d been a loud screech, and the car had flipped and rolled, the world spinning in a dizzying kaleidoscope of shattered glass and twisted metal. When the vehicle had finally come to a stop, an eerie silence had settled over the wreckage.

I was jolted awake as my body was thrown roughly into the window, held in by my seat belt. Screams filled the air, but I couldn’t tell if they were mine or someone else’s. The pain was excruciating. Every inch of my body felt bruised and broken. I could smell gasoline and hear the hiss of steam escaping from the crumpled hood. Panic gripped me as I realized I was trapped in the crushed car, pinned in place. I called out for my parents and brother, but no one answered. The silence was deafening, broken only by my ragged breathing. A loud whoosh caught my attention, and I saw where the gasoline leaking from the ruptured tank had ignited, the hungry flames licking at the twisted metal. Terror seized me as I realized the car could explode at any moment. I struggled against my seat belt, desperate to break free, but it held fast. The heat was unbearable as the flames crept closer, the acrid smell of scorched plastic filling my nostrils. I coughed and sputtered, my lungs burning with each labored breath. Tears streamed down my face as I realized the hopelessness of my situation. I was going to die here, trapped and alone, watching as the fire burned my parents and brother alive.

A masked figure appeared at the shattered window, a silhouette against the raging inferno. His strong hands reached in, grasping at the jammed seat belt. His voice was calm and reassuring, telling me to hold on and that he would get me out. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut the seatbelt. When the belt came free, those same hands pulled me through the window. I cried out in pain as shards of glass pierced my skin. Once outside, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me against his broad chest, away from theburning wreckage, his face covered with a mask, protecting him from the smoke.

“My br-brother—” I coughed, my throat raw from the smoke. “My brother and parents are still in the car.”

“My brothers will get them,” he promised as he set me gently on the grass a safe distance from the burning wreckage. I could see other masked figures moving around the car, working to free my family from the twisted metal. The heat from the flames was intense, even from this distance, and I shielded my face with my arm. The car was almost completely engulfed now, the fire roaring like a ravenous beast.

Moments later, just as my savior was about to make his way back to the car to help his brothers, a deafening explosion rocked the night, the force of the blast knocking us to the ground. Debris rained down around us, but the man shielded me with his body, protecting me from the falling shards of metal and glass.

When the ringing in my ears subsided and the dust settled, I pushed myself up onto my elbows, coughing and sputtering from the acrid smoke that filled the air. The car was a smoldering wreck, the flames consuming everything in their path. Panic seized me as I realized I couldn’t see my parents or brother anywhere.

“Where are they?” I croaked, my throat raw, my sight blurry from the smoke. “Did they make it out?”

“Your brother is alive, but your parents were dead when we pulled them out,” another man said.

“I’m sorry,” my savior said softly.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as their words sank in. I stumbled to my feet, but my strength was gone. My knees buckled, and I would have hit the ground without his support. A scream tore from my throat, a sound of pure agony and grief. The man held me as I sobbed, my entire body shaking with the force of my sorrow.

“No!” I gasped, stumbling forward. Strong arms caught me around the waist, preventing me from running to the car. It was him, my savior. His eyes were a piercing shade of emerald, but my vision blurred, fading in and out.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his grip loosening just enough to allow me to turn and see the charred remains of my parents lying on the ground next to the fiery inferno. The scent of burnt flesh hung heavily in the air, an odor sofoul, I nearly retched. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sank to my knees, my body wracked with sobs. My world had been shattered in an instant. Nearly everything I loved had been ripped away from me in a fiery blast.

It felt like an eternity before I heard sirens, before I saw the ambulance’s flashing lights. That’s all I remembered before blacking out in his arms.

When I finally came to, I was in a hospital bed, my body battered and bruised, my mind foggy with painkillers. It was a miracle that my brother and I had survived, the doctors said. The medical examiner said our parents died on impact before the car exploded, so they didn’t suffer—like somehow that was a comfort to me. Gage and I were left orphaned and alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and unforgiving.

My brother was different after the accident. He was withdrawn, haunted like me. We used to be so close, but now it felt like a chasm had opened up between us. He threw himself into his studies, work, and anything else to avoid the memories of that night. He would check in on me from time to time, offering to take me to lunch, where he would vaguely talk about his new job. He worked for an affluent family and explained that it was like working for the mafia. He would patch up their men after they were injured in their shady dealings with knife wounds and bullet holes, no questions asked. I worried about him, but he assured me he was well-compensated and the family treated him respectfully. He told me I shouldn’t concern myself with his work but instead focus on my schooling. I didn’t ask too many questions. I was glad he’d found a way to cope, even if it meant distancing himself from me.

As for me? I did the same. St. Mary’s University had offered me a full scholarship, a gesture of goodwill in the wake of my parents’ tragic demise. I accepted, hoping that throwing myself into my studies and my job would help me forget the pain, even if only for a little while.

But the scars remained, both physical and emotional.

I struggled to find my footing in this new reality. The inheritance from our parents’ estate ensured that we would be taken care of financially, but money couldn’t fill the void left by their absence. The nightmares plagued me, the smell of burning flesh and the sound of my screams jolting me awake in a cold sweat. I withdrew from friends, unable to bear their pitying looks and empty condolences. School, which had once been my refuge, now felt like a prison.

That was when I found Connor.

We met in a psychology class during my first semester at St. Mary’s. He sat next to me, his blonde hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes. When he looked up and caught me staring, he flashed me that million-dollar grin that made my heart skip a beat. We started talking after class, and soon, we were inseparable. He was the one person who didn’t look at me with pity or try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, he listened. He held me when my nightmares became too much, whispering soothing words until I drifted back to sleep.

He felt like the one good thing that had happened to me in a long time.

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