CHAPTER 76

CHAPTER 76
Adrian Kael

I stand up immediately, walk to the shelf, and grab the first aid kit. I return to him with firm hands, even though I’m shaking inside, and begin to treat the wounds: I clean every cut carefully to prevent infection.

I apply healing ointments to the open areas, spreading the salve with slow movements. I know the pain is coming now: I take an anti-inflammatory pill. It’s going to sting; his lips are split and sensitive, but there is no alternative.

I put the pill in my mouth, take a gulp of water, tilt his head, and with a kiss that mixes urgency and tenderness, I make him swallow the medicine.

He coughs, his breathing heavy; my hands knead his chest in a light massage until the rhythm steadies again. The relief is small but real.

I return to his face: I put ointment on his cracked lips, soothe the hematoma around his eye with cold compresses, and spread it carefully over his swollen cheek. I kiss his head gently.

"I'll be right back, my love. Rest." I lightly run my thumb over his cheek.

I leave the cell with quick, firm steps. My expression hardens; my calm shatters like broken glass. The fury rising now isn't just anger—it's a collarless animal, hot and blind, ready to devour whoever is in front of me.

Navarro flashes in my mind like a typhoon. Only he had a grudge so deep-rooted and a hate so personal, and it was always easy to see in his eyes that mixture of envy and contempt. Imagining that mouth, which so many times spoke ill of Magnus, ignites something primitive.

I want to tear away every inch of that arrogance.

I want to see every muscle of his ache.

But along with the hate comes fear like a cold blade. Thinking about waking up and not finding him by my side made my stomach turn to ice; the vision of Magnus fallen on the floor still pulses behind my eyelids.

Losing the one who gives meaning to everything is a possibility that suffocates me. Insecurity becomes fuel: that’s why this fury burns so close, because the terror of no longer having him turns every heartbeat into a promise of vengeance.

The decision firms in my chest: there will be no mercy for whoever dared to touch him. My mind already rehearses what will be done: cold confrontations and debts collected down to the last cent of that individual's courage.

I reach the cafeteria; my eyes scan the room until I find him: Navarro, surrounded by the usual group. A slow smile escapes my lips. David moves toward me; I glance at him, say nothing, and head straight for the center of the gang.

"Good evening, boys. Enjoying the night?" My voice cuts the air; the icy tone stares them all down.

Navarro retorts with his usual arrogance, an easy smile on his face.

"We’re doing well, thanks for asking, Adrian."

I give a wide smile, enough to shake his arrogance for a moment.

"I’m glad you’re well," I say dryly. "Because I want to fight you, Navarro. Clean hands, a fair fight. Or do you prefer something dirty, like a knife?"

The bastard’s face closes up. A hoarse sound escapes; he jumps up and advances without hesitation. We stand face-to-face; his breath hits my face hot, heavy, and full of spite.

"Then let's fight. Avenge your dear executioner." The provocation comes out like a slap.

Before I can respond, Navarro strikes first. The punch hits my face dead-on, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

He takes advantage of the opening and lands a knee to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, followed by a dry kick to my ribs that makes me step back.

When he raises his fist again, ready to hit my face, I catch his hand in mid-air—firm, fast—and stare at him with a macabre smile.

"My turn."

I pull him forward and land a brutal knee to his stomach. The sound is muffled, but the impact makes him double over. Without letting go of his fist, I pull hard and deliver a precise headbutt to his forehead. He staggers, taking two steps back, dazed.

I take advantage of the opening and pivot my body, swinging my leg in an upward kick that catches his chin with enough force to make him spit blood and fall flat on his back.

A wider smile spreads across my face, and I tilt my head to the side, taunting him.

"Come on, Navarro... show me you can still stand."

He lets out a grunt and scrambles up, his gaze consumed by hate. He lunges again, throwing a fast punch, but I dodge by inches. I grab his wrist, spin my body, and land a dry elbow strike right to his nose; the snap echoes like breaking wood.

Before he can recover his balance, I use the momentum of the movement and strike him again, this time with the back of my head, crushing his already bleeding nose.

The sound of the impact is pure chaos. Navarro staggers, his face a mask of blood.

I advance without hesitation: a kick to the chest shoves him back, the air escaping his lungs with a harsh wheeze. I spin my body and come down in a flip that strikes his face with full force; he spits blood and staggers again, dazed.

I give him no breathing room: a sequence of kicks to the ribs and to the thigh; every blow unbalances him further until he drops to his knees.

I pounce on him in a swift attack, locking him in a chokehold. I feel my pulse racing under my hands as I wrap them around his neck out of pure pleasure.

The rage over him daring to wound my Magnus consumes me entirely—a burning storm that will only cease when I kill him.

He writhes, clawing at my uniform in desperation, his voice crumbling into useless pleas for mercy that only fuel my pleasure in seeing him suffer.

"You should have stayed quiet in your corner," I whisper into his ear. "Now you’re going to die."

He punches my arm as a last resort, his face contorted. I tighten my grip even more, showing no mercy, and he begins to suffocate.

With a sudden, sharp jerk, I twist his neck to the side until I hear the bone snap, leaving his head at an absurd angle, nearly one hundred and eighty degrees. His eyes remain open, staring at nothing.

Dead.

He is dead.

I pull away from the body and shove it back; it hits the floor like a piece of shit.

Looking at Navarro’s corpse didn't bring me the satisfaction I expected. I look at David; he understands instantly and comes to me. I hold out my hand, and he hands me the weapon without questions.

Running out of patience, I approach Navarro’s group; I aim and fire at their heads, one by one. Some try to run, desperate for their lives; I hit the back of the necks of those trying to escape before they get out of range.

Seized by rage, I empty the rest of the clip into the useless bodies until no ammunition is left.

I let out a long sigh, run my hand through my sweaty hair, and hand the gun back to David without saying a word. I leave the cafeteria, ignoring the whispers echoing behind me, following the corridor back to my cell.

Now that I’ve gotten rid of the vermin, I can take care of my love.

I stop halfway there. An insane smile opens on my lips, and, before I realize it, a laugh escapes—loud, uncontrolled, almost euphoric. I cover my face with my hands, still laughing, the sound mixed with a heavy sigh.

Magnus will depend entirely on me now: to eat, to bathe, to dress... for everything.

I start laughing again, sated, overtaken by a cold and perverse pleasure imagining every detail of his dependency.

Maybe I should thank Navarro for this.

In the end, having Magnus at my mercy is the greatest gift I could ever receive.