Page 129 of Taint My Soul

If he gets his hands on it, he’ll kill me, and I’m not ready to die.

I pick myself up and bolt toward the stairs. Shots explode behind me as I disappear to the next staircase, which leads to the second floor.

I slide inside the first bedroom, leaving the door ajar. I look down at my stomach and see blood pooling in my shirt. “Shit.” I croak and bury my hands in my belly. Heavy footsteps hammer against the staircase, and quiets seconds later, when the bastard enters the hallway.

He comes into the room, hands held out steady, and I grip the door and slam it against his outstretched hand.

One. He cries out.

Two. Another miserable grunt.

Three. The gun slips from his hand, and I kick it under the bed, backing away just as he kicks the door in. Shoulders held high, his expression mirrors a menacing monstrosity. He bolts toward me, the impact of the collision sending us through the glass wall.

A suffocating gasp shatters out of my lungs when my back collides with the field. He rolls over, breathing hard. The world spins at the edges of my vision, and pain scalds my skin violently.

Everything blurs around me, but he gets on top of me and fastens his bloody fingers around my throat. The weight of his hold crushes my windpipe and restrains air from flooding my lungs.

I’ll die if I don’t fight back.

I’ll die if I don’t find the strength to survive.

And the only part of me I can pull from is every ugly emotion I have ever felt. From the monster I have never acknowledged my whole life.

My hands tap aimlessly against the ground. I’m lucky enough that my hand grazes against a stone. My eyes roll to the back of my head, heartbeat slowing, blood pooling beneath me as he steals my life from me.

My hand closes around the stone, and I lift it and slam it into his head. He falls over and lands on his back. Air rushes into my lungs instantly, and I grunt as I lie on my side watching him try to get on his knees.

If he gets back on both feet, I’m dead.

I use every broken strength left within me to regain my footing. The nerves in my body burns as I stagger toward him. Before he can make sense of what’s happening, my booth collides into his skull, and he topples over.

He collapses on his back, eyes up at the heavens as my boots smash into his face.

At every stomp of the sole of my leather boot, the rage I have chained spills over my skin. Eviscerating. Heavy. Unavoidable.

I slam my boots repeatedly until his face is completely disfigured, and his blood paints the grass and rocks in a disturbing stroke.

He’s still breathing, but it’s too slow. Too fucking weak.

“Wait, wait. There’s something you need to know. Your brother…”

I turn around and pick up the stone, sitting on him, as I smash the large stone into his skull. “Fuck you!” A sharp, mangled cry breaks out of my lips.

“You are. Monster.” His words die in his throat when I smash in again.

Short, uneven breaths drill through my nostrils. Blood scatters around me. Getting on my hands. My trousers. My face. Until his skull pops and his brains spill out.

I drop the stone aside and get on my feet, unable to keep my balance. A mix of my blood and his covers my shirt. As I try to take another step, my body gives out, and I slam my head into the ground.

Ahead of me, an incoming car floods the premises with light.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

SAINT

Mason’s body lies still on the hospital bed. He’d gotten out of surgery a day ago. The monitor by his bed beeps steadily. He hasn’t woken up in two days. Since he slipped out of my arms and embraced death whilst bleeding out in front of the house we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

I don’t want to think about it.