Taboo: Bittersweet Revenge (Sequel)

Flames of Paradise

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(Noah's P.O.V)

Slamming down the empty shot glass, that familiar buzz still hasn't kicked in yet. I was awaiting that cheap high that came after my binges, but it never came.

It's because no matter how hard I try, it never gets any easier. You don't kill as many people as I have and still sleep like a baby every night; and you damn sure can't have the capacity to kill if you feel something like love. It simply doesn't happen.

There was a point once when I used to be conflicted. I don't know what's more frightening; the violence getting worse or my ability to simply take it all in stride. I used to be afraid of laying waist to everything in my path. Now it's become second nature to the point where I rarely ever question it myself, whereas now, everyone around me would question my true motivations. I had eyes of disapproval following my every move. 

Not that my mind provided much help. My unhinged thoughts were sure to get me into deep water. At the time, I didn't care. Now, I still don't care. Killing Hector was about so much more than a false lead. It was sending a clear and direct message to anyone that doubted my fearlessness and desire in what I wanted. It was the equivalent of killing 10 birds with one stone. And if that meant roasting that pathetic excuse of a man alive, I would do it all over again.

I was spinning a lot of plates at the moment. Austin scratching at the bit to use my son to his own gain, Karen's inevitable double cross, and Christian's strange and elusive phone calls in the middle of the night that left me only wanting answers.

It was an endless flow of mind-numbing thoughts that I wanted buried under my drunk buzz, but I had no luck tonight. There was a clear divide between me and people who thought they knew me. If I didn't already know by now, I had made many more enemies tonight than ever.

But I didn't care. I don't care how many enemies I make, or how many people I have to kill, I was going to get what I want; Styles dead in the dirt, and Argent burning in hell for an eternity.

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I sat back and leaned my head on the head rest, mentally contemplating my next move as I sit in the pick up truck, parked outside my home. Something had kicked those shifts into high gear in my mind. I knew why and where my anger was stemming from. But for the life of me I couldn't stop it, nor did I want it to.

I recognize the amount of enemies I've made in the past 24 hours was more than ever. I now know that everyone's wants something from me, and their true colors were beginning to peak through that hide of deception.

I was becoming acquainted with this feeling all too well as of late. That brew of physical exhaustion and psychological torment; paired with my already bad temper and very legal blood alcohol levels; none of those excuses were good enough to stop me. Nothing was going to stop me from getting what I've worked 5 years for.

And it's beginning to dawn on me that I truly had no one to trust. The one person I thought was always in my corner was Christian. But he firmly against me in almost everything these days; growing increasingly distant the second those elusive mid-night phone calls scoop his attention.

He's hiding something from me, I can sense it. I just refused to believe its what I think it could be. I refused to let my mind travel that far. Staring through the rear view mirror, I take a peak over at Raeven sleeping soundly in the back. I couldn't go another minute without seeing him. Even when the rest of my world was crashing and burning on each other like a train wreck, my son have me a sense of purpose.