Shattered Vengeance (The Alderidges Book 2)

Eighteen: Hurt

ARIEN

What the fuck am I doing? I thought as my mind wandered off to Zahria for the millionth time today.

She is okay. I assured myself.

Seeing the red mark around her throat made me want to hit myself. I didn't want to hurt her let alone kill her.

My apology was genuine and even though she didn't accept it, she looked a little calm at least.

We didn't see each other for the rest of the day, not in person because I stalked her through the cameras all day to make sure she was alright after which I forced myself to get a few hours of sleep.

This morning I denied myself any glimpse of her, not through the cameras, nor in person. I am not going to cave into this weird fucking obsession.

After spending hours in the gym to distract myself, I walked into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

There was already a plate of pancakes waiting for me, covered in a plastic wrap and that hollowness and ache inside me returned along with an intense need to see her.

I ate slowly and concentrated on every bite, savouring the sweet flavour of the pancakes.

It was something new. For the past decade, I only ate when it was absolutely necessary and even then I gobbled it down without paying much attention to the taste.

I enjoyed eating whatever she cooked.

This is getting more fucked up every day.

I need her to disappear from my life but with how close I am to getting my revenge holds me back.

James will take the bait. He has to.

Then I'll have Horace in no time.

Everything will end.

Me included.

I paused eating on that thought, my fingers clenching around the fork.

My death means I will never be able to see Zahria again.

What the fuck? I shoved the last piece of the pancake inside my mouth. Who cares if I don't get to see her or not?

She is nothing to me.

.
.
.

She usually cooks lunch by this time but the kitchen was empty.

I checked her room to find it empty too. I saw her walking into the bathroom earlier but that was almost half an hour back.

What is wrong with her?

Throwing my plan to not see her out of the window, I got up and marched upstairs.

Entering her room, my eyes widened when they landed on the drops of blood splattered across the floor leading into the bathroom.

There was a blood stain on the bedsheets too.

She was hurt.

My little bird was hurt.

I followed the blood drops, slammed open the bathroom door and almost ran inside, ignoring the pain in my knee.

There she was. Sitting inside the shower stall, her back against the wall, legs pulled close, arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees.

Her head whipped up to me as I walked inside. "You can't come inside here! Get out--"

Crouching down, I grabbed her face in between my palms, inspecting it, running my fingers over her cheeks.

Next, I grabbed her hands and did the same, looking for any sign of injury.