Page 28 of Unleashed
“Everything is a means to an end with them. People, money, power. Even children.”
“Maybe I choose not to believe that,” I snap, and his eyes soften, just a little, his features turning somber.
“Then I’m afraid you’re a fool.” He turns his back, and my heart twists. “Just promise me one thing,” he starts, his large frame filling the doorway. “Whatever you decide, it has to be what’sbest for you and your baby. Not what’s best for Isaia. Not what you think you owe him.”
My throat burns and my chest aches, my brain spinning with everything I can’t name.
All I know is the flicker of that heartbeat. That tiny, wild drumbeat inside me.
Before tonight, I was just trying to survive my own story. Now I’m a part of someone else’s beginning.
Chapter 9
ISAIA
I’m not myself.
I haven’t been myself since I met her. But now? Without her? I’m something far worse. It’s ironic, really, since I’m keeping my distance because I’m trying to be a better man. Trying to fucking deserve her. Yet every night it’s a struggle. Monster versus man.
I should go get her, drag her ass out of that apartment and bring her here.
You’re giving her space.
Fuck her space.
You’re letting her decide.
There’s no world where she gets to walk away from me.
Be. Better.
Fuck better.
With a snarl, I crush my fist into the fucker’s jaw, and he gurgles, spit and blood mixing as I grab his throat and squeeze, his blood slick against my palm.
Funny how fragile life is. One breath. One heartbeat. And yet, all it takes is a fist and a husband’s rage to crush a throat, to snap a windpipe like it’s nothing. One tight grip and a crack. That’s it. Life snuffed out. And that’s exactly what’ll happen to this motherfucker once I’m done unleashing the monster I fight every second of every day, because if he gets his way, I’ll go for her and kill Paladino—using two bullets this time. I’ll fucking wait until I witness with my own eyes how he takes his last breath.
But since I’m trying—really fucking trying—I’ll continue fighting, but tonight I’m allowed a little reprieve.
“Admit what you did, Ryan,” I seethe, leaning my face real close to his bloodied one. “I want to hear you say it.”
“How the fuck is he supposed to talk when you’ve already cut out his tongue?” Maximo leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me.
My lips curl into a grin as I glance at the rubbery piece of muscle on the concrete floor. It lies there like a mutilated slug—dark, swollen, glistening with spit and blood. The tip is jagged where the blade met resistance, the severed end congealed in red like it’s still trying to form words that’ll never come. The satisfaction still buzzes through my veins, and I close my eyes like I can still hear his screams.
Ryan had passed out, then came to again. And thank God for that, because I’m not close to being done with him.
“God, it fucking reeks.” Maximo moves to stand a little farther away, the stench of Ryan’s piss and blood making him grimace in disgust. “Ever heard of a quick kill, Isaia?”
“Not this one. He doesn’t deserve a quick death.”
“I love a little blood on the books as much as the next guy, but we’ve got a copycat problem waiting. So, chop-chop.”
Fuck. Somehow, while torturing this motherfucker, I managed to forget about our wannabe Micah problem, but that ain’t gonna make me enjoy this any less.
Ryan’s pulse flutters against my fingers like a moth caught in a fist. Panicked and pathetic. He thought flipping sides would be his ticket out. Wrong. It’s his ticket to hell.
“Do you regret crossing me? Regret telling him where she was?”
