Page 70 of Taint My Soul

Acold rush scatters across my skin as Cyrus’s soldier throws a bucket of liquid ice on me, jolting me from the endless dark depths. Knife-sharp cold rivulets roll over my skin. I shake my head and laugh, looking up at the tall, brown-skinned man towering before me.

Behind me, my hands are bound by chains. My drowsy eyes find Cyrus, and he chuckles, waving his hand to dismiss the soldiers positioned at the four corners of the room. Pain twists sharply across my face, burning and blistering deeply.

“Why did you torture him?” I demand, struggling with the chains holding me still. Wrath ravages my voice. “You are angry with me. Not him! He didn’t kill your son. I did!” Heat rushes violently to my throat. My chest rises hard with every furious breath, nostrils flaring as veins cord in my neck.

“He would have turned forty in two days. He would have had a family. But you took that away from me. My only child!” His voice comes out in a guttural roar. His fists clench, veins straining against his arms. His words rip something in me open.

I never forgot what I did.

I never stopped thinking about that night, even though I pushed all of it away. But seeing Cyrus brought it all back. And I hate myself for what I did. I hate that I didn’t stand up to my father. That I didn’t protect my first kiss. I let him die.

But I’ll never admit that.

“I still have the shell of the bullet.” A pained expression crosses my face as I avoid Cyrus’s ardent gaze. My stomach knots with regret. I wish I could go back to that night. I would have done something to protect him. Anything.

“And that’s supposed to make it all better.” He paces the floor, spittle building up at the corners of his mouth. He cracks his knuckles and barrels toward me, slamming his tight fist against my jaw. He screams, voice shaking with violence at every bite of his skin against my cheeks.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

The hot, thick taste of blood lingers on my tongue. My neck snaps upward, and my eyes meet the warping ceiling. A broken laugh scrapes out of my lungs, blood and saliva leaking from my mouth.

“What I did was unforgivable,” I murmur under my labored breath. “And I don’t deserve your mercy. I deserve your wrath. But please don’t hurt Mason. I beg you.” Every muscle in my body locks tight.

“You think I care about him or your emotions for him. You took my son! I’ll take him from you since he’s clearly so important.”

My pulse heightens, throat tasting of rust as I finally take him in. “Take my father instead.” I maunder, and he pauses in front of me. Shock crosses his features as he steps closer, seconds away from putting his fist through my face. “He gave the order. Your son would have been here if my father hadn’t allowed his blind hatred for people like me to influence his actions.” I admit, giving a tight smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. A part of me accepts the truth about myself as those words leave my lips, even though it makes me uncomfortable.

It makes me accept the part I played in his son’s destruction.

“I thought the King code was to protect family, no matter what.”

It was.

I learned that from my grandfather a long time ago.

Protect family and legacy, no matter the cost.

Cyrus and his son used to be family, but when it came down to choosing them, my father chose his hatred for love over him. Over his right-hand man. Over the man who had stayed by his side until the very moment he became a King.

He didn’t send them away. He didn’t show any mercy. He gave me a gun, and I used it.

I killed him.

Raw regret punches holes into my lungs, and my breathing turns harsh and uneven.

“I never slept for months.” My jaw clenches. “I had nightmares. My cousin made me see a therapist without my father’s consent. I tried not to move on from him. I tried. I tried.”

“But you did. You forgot about him. You lived your fucking life like he never existed. Went to college, succeeded in your father’s business. You’re months away from being the successor to the Black Viper Syndicate. And he gets nothing but a fucking grave.” At the gory declaration of every word, he draws closer to me until he’s closed the gap between us one more time. His fingers fasten around my throat, while he lifts his clenched fist in mid-air. I prepare for the hit, but I don’t break eye contact. I look him in the eyes because I’m no longer running from his death. I have to face the consequences of what I did. What it cost me. What it cost Cyrus.

But he doesn’t strike me. His tight fist hangs in mid-air, trembling violently.

“I hope he forgives me for what I did. I hope you forgive me, too, even though I don’t deserve it.” I whisper. A tear slides down my cheeks, and he unhands me, retreating to the exit.

He signals his soldiers outside the torture room, and they flood inside, circling me like hungry wolves.

“Not them. Not them.” I drawl. “You.”

I wanted to feel his destructiveness against my skin.