Chapter 32

At almost the exact same time that Alex’s world slowed down and shots were fired, the phone in their dorm room rang. Darius rushed to it, hoping it was Anna.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Darius,” Anna replied and hope blossomed in his chest.

“It’s me. I’m here,” he replied. The cloud of dark depression that had clung to him ever since she dumped him started melting away and he waited patiently for her to continue talking.

“You have something of mine.” The voice that spoke next was definitely not Anna’s. It was a male voice, smooth and full of confidence.

Darius’s fingers went numb, almost dropping the phone. Pretty soon the sensation spread through his whole body and he stood there like a statue, unable to move. His breathing quickened and his mind was packed with terror.

“I want it back,” Marks commanded.

“You better leave her the fuck alone,” Darius replied, his voice shaky but threatening. “You’ve seen what I can do. Don’t be stupid here. You don’t want to get on my bad side.”

“That doesn’t need to happen. I just want what’s mine. Bring it to me within the hour or your little whore gets a hole through her very pretty head,” Marks instructed. “I think you know where I’ll be.”

Before Darius could say another word, the drug lord hung up.

Anger rose up in a flash fire of heat inside him, an old and strangely comforting presence now. His hand clenched around the phone and it shattered to pieces, the third one he’s crushed since his new powers sprang up. He unclenched his hand and bits of phone showered down to the floor. He ran to the closet and grabbed the duffel with the drug lord’s money in it and ran out of the building. He was in his car seconds later. He started it up and squealed out of the parking lot, his tires sending up plumes of white smoke.

Marks would find money missing from it. Alex paid off his tuition, bought a new car, a new phone, and the engagement ring. He’d used some of it but not nearly as much. He couldn’t worry about that now, though. Besides, he wasn’t going to give Marks a chance to count it. All he had to do was be in the room, then he could take care of the slimy bastard for good and get Anna out. His plan was shaky at best, but there weren’t many options left to him. He had to hope things went his way and he would have an opportunity to make things right.

His head was starting to buzz with anger again, threatening to drive him crazy. Instead of pushing it away, like he’d tried to do in the past, he embraced and reveled in it. He soaked all of it in like a sponge and let it fill him until nothing was left and every other thought in his head was driven away. All except for one primal thing. To kill Quentin Marks. That urge to kill sang in every fiber and nerve in his body.

He got to Exclusive in roughly twenty minutes and parked his car hastily in front of the building. He snatched up the duffel off the passenger seat and headed inside. The place had a new, steel safety door on it to replace the one him and Alex had destroyed. He tested it and found it unlocked so he went inside. As he did, he looked around. The place was essentially deserted but the destruction was pretty much cleaned up now. Whoever Marks had hired to make the repairs obviously worked quickly and efficiently. The hole in the wall from where Alex had thrown someone through it was patched up. The fifty inch plasma had been replaced along with new bottles of liquor and shelving. He didn’t know about the loft upstairs, but as far as the club itself, the place looked ready for business again.

As he continued scanning the room, he found three people in the middle of the dance floor. A couple of lights, high overhead, were turned on, illuminating that portion of the room. Anna was tied to one of the poles jutting out the boxes and Marks was standing behind her, his ridiculously large gun held up to her right temple. The third man was a dangerous looking guy sporting a military haircut. His arms were held behind his back, hands clasped together, and his feet were spread shoulder-width apart. Marks had obviously hired new muscle and from the look of him, he wasn’t just some average street thug. The guy looked like he came straight from a bodyguard-for-hire catalog.

That, however, did little to deter Darius. He strode over to where they were. He saw tears and a look of complete helplessness on Anna’s face. That made the buzzing in his head intensify to such a degree that he had trouble focusing for a moment. He tried really hard to keep his own features impassive, but he was pretty sure they could read his anger anyway.

“Put the bag next to her feet,” Marks instructed, gesturing to the floor of the metal cube in front of him. “Then step back.”

“I came here and brought what you asked for. The money’s in the duffel,” Darius shot back, his voice barely containing his rage. He nodded woodenly at the bag. “Now let her...”

A horrendous bang blasted out of the gun and Darius lurched forward in anguished fear. Anna cried out in pain, muffled by a gag in her mouth he hadn’t noticed before. His gaze shot to her left foot. It was mangled beyond recognition and the blood pouring out of it created a puddle on the dance floor. Anna cried in pain and misery, her eyes locking onto Darius. His heart broke knowing that he was the cause of her agony.

Marks’ gun went back up to the side of her head.

“I don’t think you get it, Darius,” Marks spat, his voice dripping with his own anger. “This isn’t a negotiation. You may have incredible abilities but you do not have any power here. I do. Now do as I say or the next round goes through her head.”

“You fucking bastard! I’m gonna kill you for that,” Darius screamed, frustrated tears in his eyes. Despite his blazing anger, he did what he was told. He put the bag on the box and then stepped back.

Anna watched it all, crying and screaming uselessly. The pain in her foot was secondary because she knew something Darius didn’t. Something terrible. Her mind flashed back to what Marks told her less than an hour ago.

He’ll come for you, he had whispered. And when he does, I’m going to kill you right in front of him. He’s going to see you die and know that it was all because of him.

She looked at Darius now, fighting through the pain, and locked onto his eyes. She gave him a sad, apologetic look and she could see how much it hurt him. In that moment she saw the man she had fallen in love with and not the killer he had become.

Darius saw her, saw the look in her eyes, and realized she knew something he didn’t. Something devastatingly important. His eyes widened when he understood exactly what that was.

She was going to die. Marks meant to kill her right in front of him.

When he realized that, he acted. He raced to the box, hoping to get there in time, but all he saw was a malicious grin on Marks' face. Time slowed but by then it was already too late. No matter how fast he was, he wasn’t fast enough. He watched in sickening and agonizingly slow detail as Marks pulled the trigger.

He screamed in horror, reaching out an arm toward her, but the bullet ripped through Anna’s head before he even got close. All his strength. All his power. All his speed. None of it was enough to save her. She was killed, a sad and apologetic look on her face. He watched her blood explode out of her head and her corpse slump limply in the bonds that held her to the pole.

Something inside him snapped the moment the trigger was pulled. He felt it. It left jagged pieces of itself embedded in his mind. His vision suddenly blurred and he collapsed to his knees in front of her. He grabbed her limp hand and caressed it, his tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t feel. Nothing in his mind or body seemed to work at that moment.

Anna was dead.

She was dead.

That was the only thing he could think about.

It was the only thing his mind would let him think about.

Dimly, like it only registered faintly on his mind, he saw Marks snatch up the duffel bag and run like hell.

The bodyguard drew a gun, but he didn’t aim it at Darius. Instead, he aimed it at the drug lord’s back. He shot three times, but only managed to graze Marks' left shoulder. The bag, which he had been carrying in his left hand, dropped to the ground from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He turned around, saw who was firing at him, and an angry look flashed over his features. He thought about retrieving the bag, but after realizing that he now faced two deadly threats instead of one, common sense reasserted itself. He ran out through some kind of hidden door next to the bar, leaving the money behind.

Darius ignored the fleeing drug lord, focusing instead on Anna. The grief and anguish disabled him and he didn’t even try to wipe away the tears flowing down his face. He grabbed her, effortlessly snapping each rope that held her to the pole, and hugged her to him. Her head hung limply on her neck, exposing her slender throat. He started rocking her back and forth and sobbed wretchedly, the cries almost animalistic.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her, brushing back her hair. It came away wet with blood, but he didn’t care. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”