Page 29 of Inevitable Destruction

I tentatively reach into the pockets of his sweatpants, watching his face for any signs of consciousness, and when I don’t see any, I pull out everything that’s in them; his phone, wallet, keys, a bottle of pills—how surprising—and a pack of cigarettes. I shove it all in my own pockets and step out of the room post-haste. The door automatically locks behind me as I move to the next room. I walk up to the large window that takes up half of the wall and watch Dominik as he sleeps his high away. The reflective glass on the other side allows me to peer in without him seeing.

For the first time since I laid eyes on him months ago, my anger and guilt having returned tenfold, I’m allowed to look at him without any restrictions.

He’s knocked the fuck out, so he won’t know what’s going on for what I’m sure is a while, and I can take this time to make a plan. Or at least a fucking baseline idea because right now, I’m acting on impulse, and everyone knows impulsivity leads to mistakes—and I can’t have that.

This has to be precise.

My only end goal is for him to pay for what his fucking parents did to my Pops. Guilty by association, as they say.

I don’t give a fuck if he didn’t have a hand in what happened. That has long since passed. He’s guilty because I say he is. He’s the spawn of two very evil fucking people, and that shit is genetic, I’m sure.

Matter of fact, I’m doing humankind a favor. One less junkie in the world.

I take in Dominik’s sleeping form one last time before leaving the room and making my way to my desk. The popping and grinding of my jaw echoes through my head, the only thing keeping me company along with my rapacious thoughts.

* * *

I shift in my chair,trying to ease the ache that has settled in my lower back. The jeans and white T-shirt I changed into are more comfortable than the fucking uniform I wear every day, so I’m glad I at least had those to change into.

I rub my temples as I stare at my computer screen. The clock on the wall says it’s 4:25 A.M. I’ve been here for over an hour, and Dominik is still knocked the fuck out. Whatever he took must’ve been strong as hell because he’s dead to the world.

Well, he will be soon enough.

According to the documents in front of me, Dominik Alexander Reed overdosed when he was eighteen, two years after his parents died.

More like after they murdered my father and then killed themselves.The voice inside of my head snarls, and I bite down, grinding my teeth into metaphorical dust. I swallow the rage, tampering it down for now, and take a deep breath.

After he OD’d, he went to rehab for a year for an Oxycodone addiction, and after that, there’s nothing. But of course, I can fill some of the blanks in myself.

I know he was with that woman, Essa Monroe, whose parents died in that fire in Portland—that I remember. But whatever happened to her, I don’t know.

I tap my pen against my desk over the number I have written down as I stare at my screen. What the hell have you been up to, Dominik Reed? Getting high, for sure. But there’s gotta be something else…

I glance down at his shit piled on my desk, and my eyes keep darting to the orange bottle of pills. They’re Oxys, if the label is anything to go by, though the name and RX number have been torn off, so the only thing that’s left is what the fucking pill is. Nothing useful. Still, I drop the pill bottle into my bottom desk drawer and lock it.

I lean back and stretch my arms over my head, stifling a yawn. This has been the longest yet most informative night I’ve had in a long time. My phone went off about thirty minutes ago with a text from Seth asking why the fuck I shut down the party, but I ignored him, not even bothering to open the thread.

He’s been getting a little too comfortable with our arrangement, and it might be high time I cut things off with him. Besides, I’m about to have my plate full bringing Dominik to his knees.

A sound, almost like a groan, pulls me from my reverie, and I push my chair back and jump to my feet, thankful for the distraction from the salacious direction my thoughts were taking. There’s no way there is anyone else here at this time—not for another hour, at least—so it must be Dominik finally waking up.

Guess it’s time to make my decision and set my plan in motion.

I walk down the hall, my steps heavy with my exhaustion. My body is done for, but my mind is reeling, working a million miles a minute as I compute all the ways I can get revenge for my Pops. The vengeance he fucking deserves—all because he fell in love with the wrong woman…

That’s the exact reason I will never love.

It’s a farce. There’s nothing about it that’s real because love is an illusion of the mind and body. It’s instilled in us that we must love to be happy, but it’s just another form of manipulation. Because once you allow someone to love you and vice versa, you allow them into your brain where they can use what they know about you against you. They take your pain, your fears, your misgivings and fuck you over until you’ve broken down to nothing.

Clenching my jaw even harder, I wrench open the door to the observation room and step up to the large window. In the dim, flickering light of the room, I watch in stupefied shock as Dominik wraps his veiny, ring covered fingers around his… fuck… his beautiful cock and tugs upward once. His eyes are closed, his dark lashes fanning across his overly sharp cheekbones, and his breathing is shallow, causing his shoulders to rise and fall with the slightest movement. I watch, completely shocked and utterly enraptured as he does it again, except this time faster, his grip harder. His abs roll with each shift of his hips, and my mouth dries at the sight. Why the fuck does he have to be so goddamn tempting?

My jaw pops, the sound echoing in my head. My blood surges in my veins, heat igniting every inch of me to the point I boil over. Before I even register what I’m doing, I’m popping the button on my jeans and shoving my own hand down the front to wrap it around my cock—hard. I’m pissed at myself for letting him get to me, making me feel like this. Two minutes ago, I was thinking of ways to ruin him, and now I’m fucking my hand at the measly sight of him doing the same.

I squeeze my base until a pulsing throb settles in my groin, taking my anger out on myself, but unable to stop no matter how badly I want to.I don’t know what the fuck is going on with my body and my mind, but what I do know is that I can’t fucking stop.

Dominik’s movements speed up until the slap of flesh on flesh reverberates through both rooms. He tilts his hips slightly with every pull upwards, almost as if he’s desperate for the tight confine of his fist. When he gets to his swollen pink tip, he curls his fingers over it—spreading his precum around—and twists his hand back down to his base. A rough groan tears from his throat, and my blood boils at the sound, my hand moving faster, chasing the heat blooming at the base of my spine.

This is so fucking wrong. So wrong, but I don’t want to stop.

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