Broken Hands

124. It hurts the soul

Grayson felt like he was at the edge of himself—of his emotions, and of his sanity. Everything felt raw. Too raw. Like his skin had been flayed with a jagged blade, stripped away inch by inch, leaving him exposed, bleeding, and waiting to die from the unbearable agony of being skinned alive.

The men who had thrown him into the car had stopped speaking after a brief phone call to some so-called boss, but Grayson hadn't paid attention. He couldn't.

Russell was dead.

That was a reality he still had to process.

His mind refused to accept it. His heart fought against it. But the truth was there, seared into his memory like a branding iron against his flesh. The car had hit him—hit him so hard—and Russell had gone still, too still. His body was left cold on the paved road, his life snuffed out in an instant.

Russell, who had been the only child of his parents. Russell, who was supposed to turn eighteen soon. Russell, who had a future, a bright, shining future ahead of him, college, a promising athletic career.

Gone.

Grayson squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body shaking.

Russell had everything. A good life, a family that cared for him, talent, charm—he had all of it. And above all, Russell had always been good.

If there was one thing Russell had ever done, was try to protect Grayson. He had supported him. Even when Grayson made reckless choices, Russell had been there. Even when this whole fucking mess started, Russell had chosen to come along, knowing full well it was a suicide mission.

And how had Grayson repaid him? By leading him to his death. If he had just left Alberto to die, Russell would still be alive.

Grayson's stomach twisted violently, bile rising to his throat. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms, desperate to feel something—anything—other than the unbearable weight of his grief.

Damien had told him.

Warned him.

Told him that playing the hero would cost him.

Told him that people were cruel.

Grayson had known that. He had always known that. But what he hadn't known—was that everyone had the capacity for cruelty. That everyone could turn against you in the end.

First, it had been his mother. Then Stray. And now... Russell.

His throat burned like it had been scraped raw. He was poison.

A curse.

Everyone who got close to him suffered. Even pets. This made him mad at himself.

What was he supposed to say? To Damien? To Julian? To Russell's mother? To Alex? To Senior Smith?

"I was forbidden from going, but I went anyway. Despite every warning, I went. And now Russell is dead all because of a stupid me."

If he had just kept his reckless, selfish ass home—if he had just listened—Russell would still be alive.

Oh, Damien was going to hate him. And Grayson wouldn't even blame him. Because this wasn't just about breaking rules. This wasn't just about pushing limits and testing boundaries. This was about playing god with someone else's life and losing.

Russell had trusted him. Had followed him. And now, he was gone.

Grayson let out a shuddering breath, his chest heaving, his vision blurring.