Page 25 of Point Proven
“Prince, what?—”
Pain erupted as my head cracked back, breath catching in my throat. Fingers tangled in my curls as I clawed at the hand ripping me into a standing position.
A resounding bark came in reply to Prince—Mercy—its depth containing an irrefutable warning. Nails scratched against tile, her descent down the stairs from the bedroom audible before she slid around the corner to sprint down the hallway toward me. Growling heavily, she lunged, her jaws wrapping around the arm of whoever was attempting to harm me.
“Ah,fuck!” an unfamiliar voice shouted, his cries swallowed by her viciousness.
Heaving oxygen into my lungs, I tried to regain my bearings, but it was pointless as another set of hands grasped my locks. This time, the sharpened tip of a blade met my neck.
Sawing into my skin, pain bloomed, washing over me as I curled my palm around the intruder’s wrist. Holding him at bay, I barely managed to shout his name… alwayshim.
“T-Thorne!”
As if on cue, with the shadows serving as his ally, a knife sank into the center of the perpetrator’s skull, his hold on me slackening as he hit the ground. Simultaneously, a large crack echoed through the kitchen, Mercy shaking her head with enough force to break the first infiltrator’s arm.
His scream permeated the night, half-crawling, half-scooting away from her with his good arm. Pressing his palm into the tile, he grunted with each forceful movement.
Pressing my hand against my throat, I pulled it away, crimson staining it as that agony only intensified. Locking my eyes onto Thorne, I tripped over my heels, nearly colliding with the couch from the fear blooming in my heart.
It wasn’t the damage this man had attempted to do to me, but the fact that it was in ourhome,where we… we were supposed to be safe.
Thorne stepped from the shadows, clad in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. Glower narrowing, he approached the man whom Mercy was still gnawing on, ordering her with one command to back away—vniz.
Was that… Russian?
She obeyed, rushing back to him as she tucked herself against his side. With the gap ceasing, and the man’s back coming to meet the cupboard, his space to flee had become a haunting nothingness. Fear billowed in his irises as Thornetowered over him, and the muscles layering Thorne’s back tensed in response, inhunger.
“Who thefucksent you?”
The man raised his uninjured hand. “W-Wait…”
Thorne lifted his foot, driving his heel into the perpetrator’s knee, a resounding snap mixing with his diminishing patience. “Who thefucksent you?!”
Thrashing in agony, his brown hair clung to his sweat-laden forehead. “God… I-I can’t…”
“That’s fine,” Thorne whispered as he bent down, curling his fingers around the collar of the man’s shirt. “We’ve got allfucking night.”
Ripping him from the ground, Thorne slammed the man’s face into the marble counter. With a harsh tug, he forced him across its surface, only to stop once he reached the sink. Where I figured he’d flip the water on, my stomach dropped when he did the complete opposite, his finger flicking the garbage disposal.
“I’ll ask again. Who the fuck sent you?”
A broken whimper escaped. “Please…” Heaving, the battered man tried to slip from his grip. “He’ll… He’ll hurt them.”
“Guess you don’t want to keep your good hand then.”
Snatching his arm from his side, Thorne forced it toward the awaiting blades. Fingers dipped beneath the black coating, and he paused briefly, driving his knee into the back of the infiltrator’s thigh.
“Last fucking chance, asshole. Who. Sent. You?”
“Stefan!” he screamed, tears mixing in with his wails. “S-Stefan Ðordevic!”
A haunting smile painted Thorne’s features with a maliciousness I knew he harbored but had yet to witness. Humming, he dipped his chin, and his irises darkened to a nearing oak hue.
“Perfect.” With one shove, he forced the man’s hand into the disposal, flesh and blood squelching as its sharpened teeth tore his skin to gory ribbons.
His cries were innumerable, flooding our home with his agony as he tried to rip his appendage from the sink. Snot and saltwater coated his skin, face blanching as the blood loss consumed him.
Tearing into the man’s pocket, Thorne snagged his phone. “Password?”
