Chapter 182

POV Dante

The control over my own anger was far from being commanded by me.

In my veins flowed much more than blood, carrying a severe dose of a colossal desire to set the world on fire with all the flames of hell.

I didn’t breathe the damn oxygen of my house. I was inhaling Emília’s sobs in my lap, her nails pressing against my arm, and her possibly shattered heart that couldn’t regenerate.

Seeing her in this state fed an endless thirst to exterminate anyone who dared to look at her, touch her, or even share the same air as hers. The urge to eliminate any damn cluster of atoms amplified the wounds that were barely healed inside me.

Who would have done this to her?

Who would have dared to think of hurting her?

I wouldn’t let them go unpunished, even if she had killed the son of a bitch. I would end his corpse. I would find his family and deliver his pieces as birthday presents. I would slowly kill whoever had been the main mastermind. I would crush their hearts with my hand and choose one to offer on a platter to Emília, so she would know there was nothing to fear beneath my roof.

If they thought I was no longer capable of more atrocities, they were wrong. I would commit madness for every tear I had to wipe from Emília Gray.

I made my way to my room, taking her to my bathroom. I didn’t give a damn if she had her own room. She wouldn’t leave my sight in that state.

Words weren’t exchanged, yet I silently asked permission to remove her bloodied clothes. Gray kept crying silently. Her tears reached her lips, and I wanted to kiss them and dry each one. I limited myself to wiping those that ran down her chin. One by one.

Once she undressed, I helped her into the bathtub. I adjusted the temperature so it would be comfortable for her skin.

When I touched her, her bones trembled.

I immediately withdrew my hand, and she looked at me.

"It wasn’t you."

Now, it was my bones that cracked.

"Emília."

A warning. A thunderous promise. Emília realized and changed her posture.

"No!" she exclaimed. "It’s okay. He didn’t touch me the way you’re thinking. Sorry for making you think that…"

My hand touched her chin after a silent permission.

"Apologize to the God they pray to because no soul will be free from the punishment of my hands when I find out who’s involved."

She accepted, so I cleaned her body.

The bathtub got dirty with dirt and blood. I saw her frightened eyes, and my jaw clenched.

I always avenged for myself, but for her, the desire was for extermination. It wouldn’t be a relief for my demons. It would be a sweet taste they seemed to have been looking for for twenty-one years.

"Dante! My God! You crushed the shower gel."

I was startled by the container destroyed by my fingers.

"Sorry," I murmured, trying to fix what had happened.

"Do you want to wash your hair?"

She nodded.

"My products are in the room. I don’t know if…" she asked reluctantly, her sobs between the syllables breaking me.

"I know what they are. I’ll get them."

I quickly went to her room and brought what she needed. When I arrived, Emília was scrubbing her skin hard. I knelt down, preventing her from hurting herself further.

Her crying grew louder.

She silently screamed.

I would give her the time she needed. Until then, I would care for her exposed scars.

I helped her wash her hair. Her hair was a piece of paradise. It was relaxing. Addictive. Since I was a child, for some reason, I would spend hours watching Gray comb her hair, using the products with care and love.

Calmly, I tried to do the same.

It was also therapy for me. It relaxed the most tense area, which was my hands. I used them to kill, but I also liked to use them to touch her and her delicate parts.

"You know the order…" she commented.

"Of what?"

"How to wash curly hair. It’s surprising."

"It’s nothing special."

A slight laugh escaped from her nose.

She had laughed.

"You know how long the products take to work on the hair. I’m sure there’s more to it."

I smiled slightly, continuing.

We spoke through silence. Through touch. Through sighs.

I dried her hair until she was satisfied. I helped her get dressed carefully. There was no malice in my act. I avoided looking at her body so I wouldn’t see the marks. He had punched her and created a wound on her mouth. I saw parts of her neck marked by fingers and a darkened tone in certain areas.

Damn.

She could be my deal, the last person I would kill before leaving this world, but that melancholic and destroyed state of hers was something only I could own. It was my name that made her tears appear.

I grabbed the first aid kit, but she stopped me from taking it.

"I can do this," Gray indicated.

"Rest."

"You can’t ask me to pretend I’m dead."

"I’m not asking. It’s an order."

"You gave me a bath. Let me at least heal my wounds," she countered with a grimace.

It was as if it was a shame for her to be dependent on my actions. And I understood, even though I didn’t like it.

When we were done, I opened my bed and laid her down, helping her cover herself. I sat, watching her features. Watching the image that would be in my mind when I set the world on fire.

Three knocks broke the door.

I allowed them to enter.

"Do you want me to call Dax?"

I analyzed Cole, who had her coat on and ready.

"No," I replied. "I want you to search for the corpse and bring it here. I want Jax to research everything about the man, even what he ate yesterday and how many times he peed that day. I want clear information. I don’t want doubts. I don’t want to hear that they don’t know something. Research everything, even if you have to travel to another continent to get what I need."

Cole didn’t hesitate.

"Okay."

Van Doren didn’t leave room for more conversation, leaving as quickly as he entered. I continued watching Emília, not saying anything. Her eyes closed, her mouth trembling, her fingers sinking into the sheets as if she wished they would tear apart.

"Say something," she begged. "The silence doesn’t please me."

The vein in my neck pulsed.

"Stop crying. It’s bothering me."

Gray smiled.

"Then leave."

"You scream when you cry. I’ll keep listening."

"Of course."

I got up and pulled her against my chest. I didn’t know how far she could hear my heart beating fast and furious for touching her and feeling her bones tremble.

"Don’t hug me."

"I’m not," I tightened her more. "Don’t cry or complain. You know I hate it."

I don’t know how long we stayed in that position, but exhaustion began calling her to lie down. She sank into my bed, still wanting to destroy the sheets.

I sat and offered my hand.

She didn’t refuse, digging her nails into my skin, piercing as if she wanted to drain the blood from my palm.

"I crushed his skull with a stone," she began to say. I stayed unaffected. "Before that, I killed him with the violin bow. I didn’t need to do much more than slit his throat. But I kept killing non-stop. Until my hatred disappeared."

With her words, I understood her revolt. I understood the reason for her shock.

"What were you doing out there?" I asked, pathetically low. I didn’t imagine my voice could have such a tender tone.

"Playing the violin."

My chest reacted fiercely.

"Did they interrupt you?"

"I didn’t get to play."

My trachea burned.

"Tell me more about what you felt."

"I can’t, Dante."

"You can’t or you don’t want to?" I asked calmly. "If you don’t want to, I’ll respect it. If you can’t, we’ll work on it. Talking about the details will help you get over it, I guarantee. There’s nothing better than facing your nightmares by talking about them. It makes them smaller and less intimidating."

Her eyes opened, tired and dull, which triggered my chest to constrict, suffocating the heart within it.

"I’m not sure what I felt. It was irrational. It wasn’t me."

But it was.

That was the worst part.

It was her, but a part of her that was hidden. We all have an animalistic and destructive part in our minds. Some know how to control it and lock it away. Others can break the door down and embody it.

Emília had her trigger, but it had been particular. Nothing dangerous, so I avoided explaining.

"Someone tried to kill you, assuming they would mess with me," I confided.

"Near your house?"

I swallowed hard.

"I want to believe they don’t know where I live and were just following you."

It would be a damn problem if they found out my address. Not only would it harm me, but it would also put Vance, Asher, Cole, and Jaxon in danger.

Damn, and that wasn’t something that could happen.