Page 117 of Aftershock
Thirty minutes later,I watch Alaric from the peephole, following his movements as he wipes a small puddle of blood off the floor.
Like me, he’s changed out of his dinner clothes and into jeans and a T-shirt. The difference is, mine are relatively new. Alaric, as always when he’s down here, is in a pair of tattered jeans, a worn-out T-shirt, and latex gloves.
“You stubborn motherfucker.” I flinch, since I’ve never heard him this upset. “What did you think would happen when you knocked that chair over?”
Once he says it, my attention shifts from Alaric to the man.
Blood trickles down his forehead, streaking his cheek.
He must’ve rocked the sturdy chair hard enough to tip it over.
Meaning Alaric has a motion detector installed in the storage unit.
That’s my man, not leaving anything to chance.
Once the floor is clean, he gets up and tosses the rag into the metal barrel. The man shivers as Alaric walks back to him, his footsteps heavy and ominous.
“There’s no running away from this.” He tilts slightly, looking every bit the gorgeous menace he is. “You hurt your son, and now you’re going to answer for it.”
My heart cracks right down the middle, and it’s not because of this abuser’s son.
Well, a little bit. But mostly it’s for Alaric. After tonight, the way I see him has shifted. He isn’t just this impenetrable force anymore.
He’s human.
And as such, it must be agony for him to come down here and face another version of his parents. To stand in front of someone who turns every old scar in him raw again.
I hate that he has to do it. I’m so proud of him, too, for channeling his pain into justice.
“Mmm,” the man mumbles from behind the duct tape, forcing my attention back to him. His face is pale, his brown hair matted. “Mmm.”
Who the hell is he?
Pulling out my phone, I aim it at the peephole and snap a photo of the other man. Since I’ve become pretty decent at stalking by this point, there’s a good chance I’ll find an underground facial recognition app at home. Either that, or I’ll send my PI to hunt for one.
“If you think I’m stitching up that ugly gash.” His lips twist in disgust. “The answer is, not tonight.”
“Mmm.”
“I said not. Tonight,” he snaps, grinding his teeth. “Consider this your punishment for interrupting a very important dinner.”
The man, apparently terrified of what he sees on Alaric’s face, rears his head back, his chest rising and falling in short bursts.
I, on the other hand, am tingling from head to toe. Alaric has such a unique, beautiful way of expressing his love for me, even when I’m not in the room.
“It would’ve been your only punishment, too, if I were in a generous mood.” He reaches over to the table he’sdragged closer to him and does the strangetapthing. “Spoiler. I’m not.”
A moment later, he strikes the man’s chest.
Hard.
His captive gasps violently. The duct tape over his mouth gets sucked in and stays there. Stuck.
He can’t breathe.
It becomes more evident when the man’s brown eyes bulge. When his face starts turning purple.
Alaric watches the scene unfold with complete indifference. His attention flickers from the man to the monitors, where the steady green lines falter, the peaks shrinking.
