Page 65 of Backstroke

Fallon’s eyes lock onto mine, a haunting tableau of fear and steadfast determination. In that instant, the chaos dies down; the world narrows until it’s just us. Her gaze is a silent vow, binding us together with an unbreakable promise—“I’ll protect you at all costs, and you’ll do the same for me.”

I feel her strength, her courage rippling through me, and it’s enough to propel my body into motion. With a surge of primal fury, I fly into the room, arms outstretched, a shield of flesh and bone against the evil threatening to consume her.

The man barely has time to react to my intrusion. In a flurry of rage and purpose, my fist connects with his jaw—bone crunching against bone—sending shockwaves of wild satisfaction echoing within me as he stumbles back, eyes wide with surprise.

“No one touches what’s mine you piece of shit. You don’t deserve the air you breathe. Good thing you won’t be needing it for long, you old fuck,” I seethe, my voice a low growl etched with pure, pulsing rage.

He recovers instantly, snarling like a feral beast, brandishing a knife with eyes narrowing like a predator evaluating its prey with vicious intent. And in that split second, Nix and Gray erupt into the room behind me, wielding bats, their presence bolstering my fragile bravado as they take down Emerson with a swift, practiced efficiency.

The man before me laughs maniacally as he charges me, and I sidestep too slowly—his blade cuts through my shirt, biting into my skin, but not deep enough to make me falter. I’m taller thanhe is, and never have I been more thankful for all the hours in the weight room; he’s just a shadow of his former self, and has nothing on me.

With a growl of defiance, I counter with a swing of my butterfly knife, a weapon befitting the chaos of my emotions. The glint of the blade dances in the dim light as I match his aggressive thrust with agility, dodging and weaving. I feel alive; the adrenaline floods my body, heightening every sense.

I spring towards the older man, my resolve crystalizing as I bring the knife up in a defensive stance.

“You picked the wrong night to mess with my girl, didn’t you?” I snarl, sending waves of contempt and adrenaline through the room.

Every swing of my knife feels strangely poetic—each movement serves as both a defiance of the darkness enveloping us and an affirmation of my love for her. I become the chaos, the tempest she needs, and in that dance of survival, adrenaline and desire intertwine into an irreversible spiral.

“Your girl?” he sneers, his confidence a feeble façade. “She was mine first! And she deserves what she gets for putting me in prison!”For fuck’s sake, this is Fallon’s father?I knew I’d seen those cold green eyes before, in her file. A monster cloaked in arrogance, and now I stand before him, fueled by rage and an overwhelming sense of justice. I wanted to kill him the second she revealed the scar painted across her abdomen; a bitter souvenir from a childhood soaked in his cruelty. And now, the opportunity to avenge her makes my heart race faster than the knife I wield.

He lunges at me wildly, a defenseless beast driven only by a primal instinct to survive. With a twist of my body, I intercept his momentum, redirecting his energy before thrusting my knife toward him—this was for my satisfaction, for his reckoning, and for Fallon’s much-delayed freedom. The blade slices through theair, a fierce arcing trajectory, and as if time stands still, I feel the knife find its mark.

His eyes widen, shock crashing through him as he stumbles back, collapsing against the wall with a low groan, a cornered animal in the grip of its fate.

“Hell is too good of a place for you. I hope there’s a special place just for monsters like you,” I growl, plunging the knife further into his chest without a trace of hesitation.

The fucker goes limp in front of me, and as his life seeps away onto the floor, my thoughts are already racing to her. I cross the room, drawn by an invisible tether, urgency propelling me despite how the blood stains my hands. I crouch beside Fallon, cupping her face with my trembling, bloodied hands and scanning her features for any sign of injury. I can barely breathe as I see blood tainting her delicate features and pooling on the thin mattress beneath her head.

“Fallon,” I demand, a soft plea breaking through the harshness of the reality we’re trapped in, causing her to flinch. Her eyes flutter open, and when she locks onto me, tears begin trailing down from her eyes.

“It’s okay, little fox. I’ve got you.” My voice shakes, but I lean over and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, thankful that I arrived just in time.

Suddenly, Gray and Nix storm back into the room, their presence a grounding force among the chaos. “The police are on their way, and Emerson is tied up and unconscious outside this room,” Gray tells me, relief creeping into his expression. I nod, feeling faint as concern for Fallon steals the edge off the adrenaline rush that just consumed me.

“Help me get these off of her,” I mumble, gesturing to the metal cuffs that bite into her wrists and ankles, leaving angry red marks in their wake. My heart races as I scramble to the floor and find the keys casually discarded, bent and tarnished but stilloperational. I undo her ankles first, tossing the keys to Nix so he can unlock her wrists. Once she’s free, I drop beside her to pull her into my arms.

“You’re safe now, baby,” I murmur into her ear.

“Take care of the police,” I bark over my shoulder. I hear their feet shuffling from the room, leaving me alone with Fallon. Her trembling hands pull me closer, smelling her sweet scent of lavender and honey has me hardening.

Fallon glances behind me, seeing her lifeless father on the dusty concrete floor. I turn us around to see his blood pooling out around him.

“I can’t believe I’m finally free,” she chokes out. Then her smoky eyes land on mine and I can feel the heat coursing through us. Maybe I’m a twisted bastard, but I need her now. I need to erase everyone else’s touch from her skin until she just knows mine.

“Fallon,” I rasp, desperation clawing at my throat. “I’m sorry, baby.” I lean my forehead against hers. She nods, knowing what I’m saying.

“I need you,” I groan.

“Yes,” she whispers, feeling the same sense of urgency. I crash my lips down on hers in the most primal way. This isn’t going to be sweet, but it will be everything we both need right now. My tongue slashes through her mouth, claiming her. She fights for control, but she won’t get it. Not tonight. I pull away only to find the knife I threw to the floor. Once it’s in my hand, I trail the knife down her body, slicing through the fabric of her dress. Her chest heaves with every breath she takes.

“Remy…”

The dress falls away, leaving her in nothing but her lacy lingerie. I growl, tossing the knife aside as I rip the last piece of clothing from her body.

“Shh, little fox. I need this. You need this.” I spin her around and lay her over the blood that seeped closer to us. Her eyes turn wild as she sees the red coating her fingers, then she smiles, dragging them along her beautiful pale skin. The sight has me throwing off my clothes and climbing over her.

“Fuck, you look like my dirty little slut covered in daddy’s blood. Do you like that, Fallon? Do you want me to fuck your tight cunt with his blood surrounding us?” Her cheeks flame in the moonlight that’s shining through the window. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, then she nods innocently, but with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

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