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Rico is with Isabella in the bedroom that he has kept her in this past week. I can hear their voices from out in the hall, and it only makes the restlessness inside me worse, so I stalk down the stairs and into the kitchen instead.
Which turns out to be a gigantic fucking mistake because Jace is sitting on the couch in our combined kitchen and living room. Though sitting is probably not the right word. He alternates between playing his first-person shooter game on the TV, checking his phone, standing up to grab the bottle of whiskey on the table before him, drinking from the glass he fills, spinning one of his bats randomly in the air, and raking his fingers through his hair. All within the span of less than a minute.
I can practically feel the restless energy radiating from his body. It’s so intense that it almost makes the air physically vibrate. And it fuels the chaos in my own soul until I want to hurl a knife through the nearest window just so that I can hear the glass shatter.
Ever since I found Alina naked and stranded in that locker room, I’ve felt off-kilter. I should have applauded the girls who pulled that prank on her, but instead, I felt only rage. I can’t block out the image of how vulnerable she looked when I found her. And I can’t seem to forget just how fucking perfect she looked when she was wearing nothing but my shirt. I also can’t get her words out of my head. Can’t block out the frustration and desperation in her eyes when she told me that she doesn’t have any freedom.
I can’t even imagine what that must be like. I have always just done whatever the hell I want, and God help anyone who tries to stop me. But it sounds like Alina has never been able to make her own choices. It must be awful.
Stunned shock pulses through me.
Did I just… empathize with someone?
I scowl as I yank open the fridge. No, I didn’t empathize with her. I can’t. Because I don’t have those kinds of emotions. I was just analyzing her state of mind. Yes, that’s it. I was analyzing it because there was one thing she said that I related to.
She said that people treat her like a glass figurine. I know what that’s like. Though, not in the way she meant it. For me, it’s more like people are afraid that my mind will break. That if they say the wrong thing, the last of my humanity will shatter and I will turn into a raging psycho who slaughters everything and everyone around me. And by they, I mean my parents. My mother in particular.
“Kaden,” Jace says from the couch, pulling me back to reality.
I realize that I’m still standing there with the fridge open, just staring into it. Drawing my eyebrows down in another scowl, I throw the door shut again. Jars and containers clink and rattle inside from the force of it.
“You okay?” Jace asks in a casual voice.
He has twisted around on the couch so that he is facing me. And though the expression on his face is as casual as his tone, I know him well enough to see the concern in his eyes.
I fucking hate it. I am the cold and stable rock that can whether all of their emotional outbursts. Not the other way around.
“I’m heading out,” I declare as I stalk back towards the doorway.
“Do you want me to—”
“No.”
Before he can say anything else, I’m down the hallway and out the front door.
I just want to hurt someone. I need to hurt someone. I need to see the fear in someone’s eyes and know that I hold their life in my hands.
And I know exactly who.
Mikhail Petrov.
If he hadn’t been such an insufferable little bitch, I would never have targeted Alina. And if I hadn’t targeted Alina, I would never have started to understand how she feels. Because I. Don’t. Do. Feelings.
So now, Mikhail Petrov is going to pay for the events that he set in motion.
Striding through the residential area, I storm up to the Petrovs’ front door and pound my fist against it. It’s shoved open only a few seconds later by Anton.
“Mikhail, where have you…” he trails off, his gray eyes going wide as he realizes who I am.
My eyes narrow. So, he was expecting Mikhail. Then that means that Mikhail isn’t here. Oh well. I suppose his little brother will have to do.
I slam my fist into his jaw.
His head snaps to the side, and he staggers backwards from the blow.
Stalking into the hallway after him, I raise my foot and plant it against his stomach before shoving him backwards. He still hadn’t even recovered from my first strike, so the kick sends him sprawling down on the floor. Air escapes his lungs in a huff as his back hits the pale wooden floorboards.
He tries to roll away, but I’m already moving.
