Ruin (Rhodes #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,71
“He shall spend the remaining of his life in the mentally insane ward.”
Grandmother grins. I can make out the harshness in that wrinkled face despite my woozy head. “I knew you were insane. Rot in hell with your father and aunt, you sick bastard.”
Haziness lifts me then drops me again. Hands lock my wrists with a harsh cloth, restraining me against something like a board. The hands’ owners are mere shapes of white and grey, smelling like the underground dungeons and death— a smell I know so well. Their voices are a dizzy wave of air, piercing my ears but never reaching my head.
I’m insane. They say I’m insane.
No air comes into my lungs no matter how many breaths I take. I don’t know how my hands lift and squeeze the frail neck of the clearer voice. Dr Linton. The nightmare. I twist her neck to the side. Her bulging green eyes beg me to stop. I don’t. I’ll take everything from her just like she robbed the remnants of my sanity. She’ll pay.
. . . . .
Present,
A gag followed by a rustle stops me in my tracks. Teary wide blue eyes take the place of Dr Linton’s green ones.
‘That’s it, Aaron,’ Aunt coaxes. ‘Squeeze harder.’
Father chimes in. ‘The beauty of her soul leaving her body will be your latest masterpiece, son.’
With a jerk, I release Mae’s neck. She falls to the ground, hands flying to her throat as she gasps for air. The sound of her deep inhales is so guttural she seems to choke on air.
I freeze, my muscles lock together. A frenzied rush of air traffics through my lungs.
Fucking hell. I almost killed Mae.
The demons were seconds away from winning.
‘I told you not to go against us, Aaron.’ Aunt’s frosty voice taps on my neurons. ‘It’s us and your nature against the cliche version you want to become.’
“Never call me insane again.” I bark at Mae then march out of the room. I don’t want to see the look in her eyes. It’ll haunt me.
As soon as the door clicks behind me, I connect my fist with a wall. Rippling pain courses through my knuckles. Yet, it does nothing to freeze my chaotic brain.
“Fuck!”
No one provoked me enough to trigger those memories. Why does Mae have the power to bring it all back with the mere muttering of ‘insane’? Or is it the sincerity behind the word? Does she really think I’m insane?
I’m losing myself.
This can’t go on. I need someone to punch.
. . . . .
“Is that all you’ve got?” I jab at Tristan, but he jumps back against the ring’s ropes, avoiding it. With a swift movement, he takes a neutral position. Before I could predict his next attack, he lands a low crippling hook into my stomach.
Our harsh breaths are muffled by the other guards’ shouts, training in the adjoining rings. Male musk wafts in the air.
Tristan grins. “Less talking, more working, shall we—”
My quick uppercut connects with his jaw. His sports’ shoes squeak as he loses his footing. He barely catches himself before he falls out of the ring.
I smile, tasting the saltiness of sweat. “Admit it. You’ve become an old man, Tristan.”
“I’m only two years older than you, little brother.” He smirks as we encircle each other, like Knight and King before a heated fight.
Tristan attempts to right cross me, but my firm-placed arms forbid him any points.
“Why are you taking Silver out lately? I thought you didn’t get along.”
My left hook misses at his question. He smiles wider, jumping in place. I’ve lost count of how long we’ve been boxing. His shirt, like mine, is soaked with sweat.
“We’re working on that,” I rant.
His reverse hook almost penetrates my side muscles. I grit my teeth at the pulsating pain. Before I can recover, an uppercut slams into my jaw nearly breaking it and spilling my teeth on the ground.
Fucker.
He distracted me with Mae’s bloody mare. I came here to forget about my attempt to kill her.
I jab my bandaged fist at his head. He pushes me back with his arms and raises his palms.
“That’s enough,” he heaves, throwing his weight on the floor. “We’re both exhausted.”
With a towel on my shoulder, I sit across from him. “You called it quits, it’s my win, old man.”