Page 58 of Inevitable Destruction

His destruction has to be at my own hand. It’s just… sometimes I can’t help but to ask myself—only at night when I’m alone with my thoughts and can’t pretend any different—if this is the right thing to do.

I shake my head back and forth, as if I can shake the rampant thoughts away with a mere shake of my head. It fucking has to be.

Besides, it’s not like Dominik is even a good person. He’s a fucking addict. An insect on this earth, wasting everyone’s time, taking up their space, their oxygen.

Yes. The world would be a much better place with one less addict causing undue chaos.

“Rhett!” I hear my name being shouted from a distance, and I jerk upright. A knowing prickle tingles at the nape of my neck, creeping its way down my spine, causing my skin to break out in chills.

“RHETT FUCKING BOYD!” My name is said again, only this time louder—much fucking louder. And closer. And… slurred?

“Who the hell…” Jamie’s voice fades off into the distance as I push my way past her to the hall that leads to the front doors of the building. It’s around lunch, so it’s pretty scarce around here, same as it is for an hour each day.

As I round the corner, I fucking freeze. My limbs lock the moment my eyes land on a tall, pale, crazy-haired beauty. Dominik Reed stops his stumbling, pulling himself to a halt halfway down the long hall. Our eyes lock, and we stare at each other in a buzzing, pulsing silence before I watch his dark green eyes narrow into slits. The very front corners of his brows tug together, creating a slight wrinkle between them both—at least that’s all I can see of them with his curly black hair covering most of his forehead.

Dominik raises his right arm and points his finger in my direction. “You fucking piece of shit,” he slurs, his words almost unrecognizable.

Despite this extremely compromising situation, I can’t help the sadistic smirk that pulls the corner of my lip upwards, along with my brow. This boy is so. Fucking. Stupid.

His legs start to move again, but his feet never really leave the ground, so in all actuality, he’s more or less just shuffling towards me. Though as he grows closer, my amusement slowly morphs into something closely resembling murderous rage.

Dominik starts shouting again, but I don’t register any of his words.

He’s here. Fucking here, at my goddamn job. Where anyone can see. Where Jamie—Fuck. Jamie.

I wrench my eyes away from Dominik, only to find Jamie almost plastered to my side. Her wide eyes dart back and forth between Dominik and me, mouth agape, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

When our eyes lock, I swallow the unease crawling up the back of my throat. Her brows tug together in concern as she tries to communicate with me without words.

I can almost hear her voice saying, what the fuck is going on Everett Levi Boyd?

“Fucking look at me!” Dominik’s deep, raspy voice yanks me out of my telepathic connection with Jamie. He’s only six feet or so away from us now, and it’s now I notice the whites of his eyes are completely red, long past the point of being bloodshot.

I give him what he wants and meet his gaze with my own. I steel my expression, locking down my anger so he doesn’t see an ounce of it. If he wants a reaction out of me, that’s something he’s definitely not going to get.

“Yeah, you fucking see me now, huh? Like what you see, Rhett? You like me fucking needing you? ‘Cause I fucking don’t!” He lurches forward and stumbles into my arms. I reach out on instinct and catch him from falling to the ground. My arms wrap around his torso underneath his armpits.

His gray sweatshirt is visibly stained and damp from the sweat pouring out of him. It beads along his forehead and trails down his temples. I try to push him away from me, but he fists his hands and pounds them into my chest, hammering away, the scent of alcohol exuding from his every pore.

“Fuck you! Fucking fuck you, Rhett. I can’t keep doing this! I need more. I—I NEED MORE!”

I finally manage a grip on Dominik and pull him back far enough to slap him across the face. My palm stings from the contact of skin-on-skin and the feel of his rough, grown-in five o’clock shadow.

He stumbles from the force of my hit before crashing to the carpeted floor and landing on his ass. His arms flail out behind him, but he just barely manages to catch his drunken-self from falling.

A bright red handprint blooms on his pale cheek, from his temple down to his jawline. He brings his own hand to the spot and presses it against it before glaring up at me. I step toward him until my feet bump his, then I crouch until we’re almost on the same level, but I’m still towering over him.

“Don’t ever fucking hit me again, beauty boy,” I murmur, and brush the tip of my index finger along the welt marring his pretty fucking face. I cock my head to the side and stare at the handprint before moving to his eyes. They’re watering, probably from the sting of the slap, but I can see his absolute hatred for me clear as day.

Fuck, he’s a sight to behold when he’s feisty.

I stand to my feet in front of him, keeping my eyes locked on his now that I tower over him. The instant power surge I get having his head tilted back to stare at me has my already half-hard cock growing to full mast with one blink of his eyes.

“Get up,” I bark at him. His jaw locks at my demand, his refusal probably right at the tip of his tongue…

I quirk my brow at him, waiting—impatiently. He knows the fucking rules. And this time, I’m going to make him fucking pay for coming here—for inserting himself somewhere he didn’t fucking belong.

I watch with a satisfied smirk as he takes a deep, shuddering breath and stands to his feet, albeit unsteadily. This time, I don’t offer my help. I watch him struggle to remain upright as the alcohol coursing through his body defies his wishes.

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