It started as a fucking itch, somewhere beneath my ribs, gnawing at the edges of who I thought I was.
I unconsciously straightened, swirling the whiskey in my glass and my eyes narrowed as her voice drifted in my ears. My little bird giggled softly at something my mother said. That sound… ah… how do I explain it? No words would do any justice. It was light and unguarded and at the same time it was like a knife to my chest. A sensation clawed its way up my spine. It wasn't jealousy. No, jealousy was green. This was something deeper, something primal. And it pissed me off. Something blue.
What was so damn funny?
I fucking hated that smile. Or maybe I hated that I didn't.
Or maybe it was the five-hour meeting earlier that was fucking with my head. Well, not a "meeting" exactly, unless you count my fathers treating me like a punching bag-metaphorically, of course. If there's one thing Ralph Romano and Alexei Volkov agree on, it's that my shortcomings deserve a dedicated discussion. Killian Schmidt at least had the decency to stay out of it. Though, knowing him, he was probably silently judging me while sipping schnapps.
It was strange-no, downright bizarre-that she still hadn't noticed me. Not even when my mother excused herself. And Krystina, my dear little sister, sat there too, doing her best impersonation of a shy woodland creature.
Introverted didn't even begin to cover it. She was about as socially adept as a new-born deer on ice.
Yet there she was-my little bird-chattering away, all soft laughter and gentle smiles, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. As if she wasn't sitting in my house, at my table, stealing the attention of everyone in the room. Including me.
I took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn distract me from the storm brewing in my chest.
She tilted her head slightly, listening intently to whatever Krystina had timidly mumbled. That tiny tilt, that slight curve of her lips-it shouldn't have made my pulse quicken. But it did. Damn it, it did.
And then, as if the universe wanted to rub salt into my already frayed ego, she blushed.
I downed the rest of my drink, slamming the glass on the table harder than necessary.
I stood there, staring at the mess I'd made-bloodied shards of glass littering the floor, whiskey dripping. My chest heaved with uneven breaths, the air was too thin, too fucking despotic. I didn't flinch, didn't care. Let the blood flow.
My hand looked how I felt.
She glanced at the sky and this time I had perfect view of her. The kind of eyes that belonged in a goddamn fairy tale. Not in my world. Not with me.
"She's an innocent girl," Father's voice startled me a bit but I remained unfazed. I felt him standing next to me. His gaze bored into the side of my face, but I didn't flinch. Didn't even look at him. My attention was locked on her. My little bird.
"So was mother, I heard." I held back my smirk as he sighed. Like I didn't know their history. Aunt Jude told me everything, only because I wanted to know how my parents met.
I know what he meant. I'd destroy her. I didn't deserve her. And what not. But if it was her destroying me.
Judas fucking Romanovski didn't need commentary.
I didn't just want her. I wanted to tear her world apart and rebuild it, piece by piece, until every single fragment revolved around me. I wanted to own her laugh, her smile, her fucking soul. And the irony? I hated myself for it.
But I hated her more for making me feel it.
"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair. I heard the three men behind me saying something before they left.
Her gaze drifted away from the sky and my eyes narrowed when that motherfucking Kyle glanced at me and a smirk touched his lips before he stride towards her. My brows narrowed at idiot, who said something that made her roll her eyes. And she chuckled.
That sound. That goddamn sound. My jaw clenched, teeth grinding as I fought the urge to lash out, to destroy whatever had dared to make her smile.
I leaned over the window and that bastard again said something to make her cheeks flush. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was the storm. Not her.
What the fuck was he even saying? He was doing it on purpose I knew. He knew I was watching, he knew how godamn possessive I was for her and he dared to breathe same air as her.
And yet, as I stared at her, every instinct screamed to haul her away from him and force her onto my lap. To shield her from the darkness she couldn't possibly understand.
I wanted to look away. God, I wanted to look anywhere but at her. But the more I tried, the more my eyes found her, like she was a magnet and I was made of goddamn iron.
I let out a bitter laugh. "Son of a bitch."
She shifted in her seat, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and my breath hitched. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. What the hell was this?
The itch had turned into a burn, like a slow, agonizing fire that spread through my fucking veins. I thought about leaving, about walking out of the room and drowning myself in work or blood or anything that didn't involve her. But my feet wouldn't move.
I was a fucking insane man, for Christ's sake. I'd killed men without blinking, torn apart lives without losing sleep. And yet here I was, undone by the sight of her biting her lip as she tried not to laugh too loudly.
It hurt.
The more I looked at her, the more it fucking hurt.
I pressed my bloodied knuckle on the window and resisted the urge to slam the whiskey bottle on his head but it didn't numb the ache. It wasn't just her laugh, or her smile, or the way she looked so effortlessly... pure. It was the way she made me feel. And that scared the hell out of me.
Feelings were a luxury I couldn't afford. They were weaknesses, vulnerabilities, chains. And yet, as I watched her, something in me cracked.
I wanted to protect her. To keep that laugh, that smile, untouched by the darkness that clung to me like a second skin.
But I also wanted to own her.
And that realization-that fucking epiphany-was my undoing.
And when Anya said something in her ear, she looked up, startled, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. And in that moment, I felt it-raw and undeniable.
My heart thudded loudly. I… forgot to breathe.
I knew what I was feeling and I didn't want to feel it. I wanted to bury it, to crush it under my own insignificance. But it was too late.
I loved her.
And it was going to fucking destroy me.
My world had narrowed to one thing-her.
It wasn't just love. It was obsession, need, a hunger that gnawed at my soul.
It however started as a fucking itch. And now it was a fire that would consume me whole.