Page 53 of Cold Bastard
Cold. Metallic. Unmistakable. The sound of a gun being cocked.
Then the cold bite of metal against my temple. The world seemed to slow down in that instant. The chaos around me faded to a dull roar, like I was suddenly underwater. Everything became sharp and crystalline—hyperreal. “Let. Her. Go.”
Morpheus’ voice was flat. Emotionless. Stripped of all warmth, all familiarity. The kind of tone that meant he wasn’t asking. Wasn’t negotiating. Wasn’t playing games.
I turned my head slowly, my hand still locked around the whore’s throat, and saw him standing next to me. His gun was pointed directly at my head. His arm was steady. No tremor. No hesitation. The barrel was a black void staring me down, and I could see the slight tension in his jaw, the set of his shoulders that told me this wasn’t a bluff.
His finger was on the trigger. And his eyes were cold, calculating, utterly devoid of mercy, and I knew he would pull the trigger without hesitation. Without regret. Without a second thought. I had seen that look before, but never directed at me. It was the look he reserved for enemies. For problems that needed to be eliminated.
“Now, Nano.”
His words were quiet. Final.
I looked back at the whore. Her face was purple now, her eyes half-closed, her body barely struggling anymore.
Let go.
My fingers uncurled slowly, reluctantly, like they didn’t want to obey. The second I released her, she collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking, and her hands flew to her throat as she tried to drag air into her lungs.
The brothers holding me didn’t let go. Their grips tightened, keeping me restrained, keeping me from lunging for her again. I could feel their fingers digging into my arms, bruising the skin beneath my shirt. They weren’t taking any chances with me.
And still, Morpheus didn’t lower the gun. He stepped closer, the barrel now pressed against my forehead, his expression carved from stone. His eyes were cold, calculating, devoid of any emotion I could read. The gun in his hand was steady, with no trembling, no hesitation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Each word was deliberate, controlled, like he was barely containing something volatile beneath the surface. He tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was some kind of animal he couldn’t quite figure out.
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. I didn’t know why I grabbed her. I didn’t know why I couldn’t let go. I didn’t know why every nerve in my body screamed for violence, for release, for something I couldn’t name.
Morpheus leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear, the cold steel of the gun pressed hard against my forehead. I could feel the barrel digging into my skin, could smell the gun oil mixed with his sweat. “Get your shit together,” he said quietly, his voice a low rasp that somehow cut through the surrounding chaos. “Or I will put you down like a rabid dog. No hesitation. No second chances. Understood?”
I nodded once. Sharp. Mechanical, as my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
“Good.”
He stepped back slowly, deliberately, and lowered his gun but didn’t holster it. His weapon stayed in his hand, finger resting along the trigger guard, ready. His gaze swept over me with those dark, unreadable eyes, assessing every twitch, every breath, calculating, deciding whether I was still a threat or if I had finally gotten the message. The silence between us stretched thin and dangerous, like a wire about to snap.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft. Hesitant. The kind of sound that made my blood run cold because I knew, I justknew, she was there. I slowly turned my head, almost afraid of what I would see, and there he was: Carver at the top of the basement stairs, his hand wrapped around Alex’s arm as he guided her into the main gathering room and toward the stairs.
She looked wrecked. Completely and utterly destroyed.
Her face streaked with tears, fresh ones mixing with dried tracks that cut through the grime on her cheeks. Her eyes were red and swollen, puffy to the point where I wasn’t sure how she could even see through the slits they had become. Her body trembled, and her legs shook so badly I thought she might collapse right there in front of me. She wasn’t looking at anyone—not me, not the others, not even Carver. She was just staring at the floor as if it were the only thing in the world that made sense anymore. Her shoulders were hunched forward as her entire posture screamed defeat, resignation, absolute brokenness, and I hated it.Hatedseeing her like that.
Something inside meroared. Something primal and furious, and beyond my control.
I lunged.
I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just moved. My body surged forward, breaking free from the hands holding me, as my vision narrowed until all I could see was her. Everything else faded into nothingness, the crowd, the noise, the surrounding chaos. None of it mattered.
She was the only thing that existed in that moment.
Mine.
The thought was primal. Irrational. Absolute. It pounded through my skull like a war drum, drowning out every shred of logic and reason I ever possessed.
She is mine. I need to touch her. I need to claim her.
