Page 304 of Sin With Me

Kill him.

Kill him.

Kill him.

I lift my arm to throw the plate, my muscles burning, my lungs aching, but the plate disappears as a hand lands on my shoulder. Black dots dance on the edges of my vision as I whirl around, my fist arched back, ready to lay a motherfucker out.

Kill him.

I see nothing but black dots and red blood and Eve, my sweet golden girl, crumpling to the shower floor.

I hear nothing but the sound of my rage-filled breaths clawing at my throat, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and Eve’s ragged sobs.

I’m dirty.

A hand wraps around my fist, big, hard, and unyielding. The pressure of it forces me to remain still, to not give way to the punch I desperately want to land. It’s so unexpected; I stagger back a step.

“Roman!”

The word is muffled, like I’m underwater, but it feels wrong coming from those lips. My brows furrow, and I shake my head.

“Roman! Look at me, man!”

I blink rapidly and my muscles immediately go limp as I stare up into Kon’s shocked eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” he snaps, clutching my fist in one hand, the plate in the other.

Though his voice is loud and deep, he’s not angry. I know what angry men look like, and this isn’t it.

Instead, it’s an expression I’ve grown to know over the years since Kon came into my life and dragged me from that wet alley, drunk, depressed and ready to die. Since he shoved me onto his couch, fed me, clothed me, and got my ass sober.

He saved me from homelessness, from alcoholism, from disappearing into the rage that I was raised on.

He saved me from becoming my worst nightmare—him. My father.

And now, as he looks at me with nothing but love, acceptance and understanding, I know this man, my father born of trust, not DNA, is about to save me again.

This time, from myself.

“Roman.” He says my name again. Roman, not Pyro. The distinction is enough to shake me from the darkness trying to drag me down. Not fully, that’ll never happen, but it’s enough to give him a slight nod.

Swallowing thickly, my jaw tenses as I fight to keep my emotions in check. Now that the anger has dissipated, I feel hollow and raw.

Devastated.

Kon sighs, deflating, and drops my hand before setting the plate gently on the counter. He runs his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and I follow the movement, spotting Chase standing just behind him.

And it’s when I meet my best friends terrified, worried blue eyes, that something else inside me shatters, just like the plates.

My knees shake and I barely catch myself on the edge of the counter as the first choked sob spills from deep inside my soul. I tuck my lips in, my chin quivering, and I hate myself all over for being so fucking weak.

Be a man.

I shake off my father’s voice, my back burning from the ghost of his lessons.

“What the fuck?” Chase whispers seconds before I feel his arms wrap around me, pulling me into a hug. I want to shrug him off, tell him to leave me alone. But as my head falls forward, my chin hitting his shoulder as silent tears stream down my cheeks, I can’t say a word.

I just…can’t.

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