Page 66 of Shattered Obsession

“Xander!” I cry into the phone, desperation ringing in my voice, the name falling apart on my tongue as if uttering it might summon him faster.

-Xander-

Her scream pierces through the call, and I nearly lose control of the steering wheel.

“Thalia!”

My heart hammers so violently in my chest that it feels like it might shatter my ribs. Every red light feels like a personal attack.

The world outside my windshield blurs into streaks of rain and headlights, but inside the cab of my truck is a storm far more violent. Rage claws at my ribs, pumping through my veins like wildfire. I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather bites into my palms, but I don’t loosen my hold, not when her voice still echoes through the speakers of my phone.

Her scream replays like a tape stuck in Hell.

I would burn down the entire city if it meant getting to her one second faster.

My father used to tell me that a man isn’t defined by what he feels but by what he does with the feeling. Right now, I feel like murder.

But I can’t lose control. If I walk in there like a bomb, she pays the price.

So, I bury the rage and suffocate it under one truth.

I will get to her.

I will rip her out of the hands of the man who broke her.

And if he forces my hand…

I won’t hesitate.

I push the truck harder, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon.

“Stay with me! I’m almost there!” Though my voice is steady, it’s a facade. Inside, chaos reigns and rage and terror intertwine. All I can hear is her scream, her sobs, and the muffled sound of him looming over her. As I slam into the complex parking lot, my tires screech, leaving rubber on the asphalt. Then, through the phone, I hear it: a cry, choked and desperate.

My heart drops.

I’m too late.

He’s already inside.

The realization hit me like a bullet.

I failed her.

I promised her safety, and now I’m minutes too late.

That realization is poison, burning, corrosive, unforgiving. Every second that passes is another second he is breathing her air, touching her space, filling her world with fear. I slam the heel of my hand against the dashboard, barely feeling the sting.

I should have been faster.

I should have been there before fear had a chance to take her hostage.

I have never hated myself like I do in this moment.

I don’t pray. But with my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, I whisper something that sounds dangerously close to begging.

“Hold on. Just a little longer.”

Because if he hurts her again…