Page 16 of Colton
Fuck what she wants.
You’re no better than your father.
Fuck you. I’m doing this for Mary.
No, you sick fuck, you’re doing it to satisfy your own desire. Otherwise, you’d tell her to leave and never look back. But you want to destroy her. You’re no better than him.
Mother fucker!
I punch the wall, my knuckles splitting apart and pouring with blood. My chest heaves, and I watch the blood trickle through my fingers cascading down my wrists. I lean down and lick it, delighting in the metallic taste. Would hers taste the same? I wonder what hers would taste like mixed with mine? Maybe I should find out and silence that fucking voice once and for all. My knuckles throb with pain, but I let it heal me, enjoyingthe feeling it forces through me. It makes me real and human, something I need to remember sometimes.
Unlike my cowardly father, who refuses to take any pain. He’s a sadist, but so much more than that. He wouldn’t be able to withstand what I have, the punishments he’s given me repeatedly. I’m immune to pain now, which makes meverydifferent from him. I’m superior—stronger than him. This thought makes me grin, and I lap at the rest of the blood before gazing at the wall.
It's so fucking bland, this wall: cream, basic, and fucking screaming for color.
I’ll give it some color.
I drag my bleeding knuckles along the wall, delighting in the scrape against my open wounds. It doesn’t take long to paint the magnificent M, my tribute to her. I’ll finish her name soon, but maybe when she’s with me, our blood creating a fucking kaleidoscope of reds that dazzle anyone who sees them. It will solidify our bond, the two of us together. Even this, marking her initial on my wall, is a sign of my devotion to her, the first step in our life together.
A fantasy unfurls within the dark recesses of my mind. I imagine Mary broken, not by my father’s cruelty, but by my own hand. The thought of her submissive, her spirit destroyed, sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through my veins. I see her, a shadow of the defiant girl she is now, bound to me not by chains but by the invisible threads of her shattered soul. The power I would wield over her, the control—it’s intoxicating. It mirrors the darkness of my father, yet I would savor it for different reasons. In my fantasy, she looks to me for guidance and protection, her wide eyes filled with fear and reverence. She would be mine, completely and irrevocably, her every breath proof to my control over her. And as she kneels before me, a Queen in my empire of darkness, I would revel in the knowledgethat I have tamed the untamable, claiming what my father could not. The thought of it stirs a possessive hunger within me, a desire to see this fantasy made into a reality. But beneath the surface of this daydream, a voice of reason whispers a warning—a reminder that what I crave is not love but ownership and that the line between myself and my father may be thinner than I care to admit.
So?
Let Father try to take her from me. He’ll soon learn I’m not the obedient son he thinks I am. I’m a Blackwood through and through, with all the darkness and determination that comes with the name.
And I’ll protect what’s mine.
Chapter 8
Luella
Even as I lie there in my small bed, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, my mind won't settle. It isn't about me anymore, not just about Sophia. I thought it was enough, taking him down for what he did to her. That should’ve been enough. But I’d seen the folder. I’d seen those faces.
Dozens—no, hundredsof them.
Innocent girls. Staring back at me, their eyes hollow, lost. And it wasn’t just the girls either; there were men, documents, names I don't recognize but know enough about to send a shiver down my spine. This is bigger than I thought. Xavier Blackwood isn't just a monster who preys on broken girls. He is the damn puppet master, pulling strings on a scale I don't even want to think about.
I shift under the sheets, my senses on edge, listening for the usual sounds: the faint ticking of the old clock in the hallway, the rhythmic creaks of the house settling for the night. But tonight, everything feels off.
Everything.
My heart punches against my ribcage as I think about their faces again.
How many more like her? Like Sophia?
The mansion holds more than dust and darkness—and no amount of cleaning can save it. There are secrets rotting behind its grand curtains, buried beneath the polished floors.
And where there are secrets, there are hidden places.
I push the sheets aside, the weight of my decision settling in. My bare feet touch the cold floor, grounding me. There is something else in this place—something Xavier hasn't shown me. Maybe Colton hasn't even seen it. Which is hard to believe, considering that predatory stare of his that drills into me every time he is close enough to breathe in my direction. It has something to do with where Xavier had taken that poor girl, the one existing somewhere in this fucking house.
I need to find it. Whateveritis. I need to help her.
Slipping out quietly, every step I take feels like some kind of promise. A promise to every girl like Sophia. A promise that I won’t let those faces haunt me without doing something about it.
The hallway outside of my room seems untouched, even innocent—but who the hell am I kidding? There is nothing innocent in this house. I have to keep looking, have to keep digging, until I find something. Something big enough to burn this entire estate to the ground.
After all, I swore to leave this place in ashes.
