Broken Wolves

7

Ashton

The world feels like it’s rotting around me. The stench of it—of failure, of f*****g weakness—chokes every breath I take. My knuckles split open as I drive my fist into the wall again and again, the plaster crumbling beneath the force. But it’s not enough. Not even close.

She’s gone, and it’s like someone reached inside my chest, ripped my heart out, and shoved a f*****g black hole in its place.

“What the f**k happened?” I snarl when I see Blaze stumbling out of Luther’s office, his mouth swollen, raw, like it’s been torn apart. He doesn’t answer right away, his gait uneven as he shuffles closer, the corner of his lip glistening with something I don’t want to identify. He looks like s**t—no, worse. He looks like he’s been through the kind of hell even I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

At first, he just stares at my bloody fist, his expression dazed. His jaw twitches like he’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he shrugs—f*****g shrugs—and sinks down beside me on the cracked floor like he can’t keep himself upright anymore.

“Do you have news about her?” I demand, but my eyes keep flicking to his face, to the way his mouth keeps opening and closing like it’s stuck in some silent scream.

Blaze finally mutters, “No.”

That one word crawls under my skin, sets every nerve alight. No? No? After everything, after months of searching and breaking and f*****g bleeding, all he has is no?

I grab his arm, dragging him upright. “What the f**k is wrong with you?” My voice is sharp, cutting through the heavy silence. “Why do you look like that? What the hell happened in there?”

His head tilts, his eyes unfocused. He rubs at his jaw with trembling fingers before managing to rasp, “Luther.”

My grip tightens, my stomach churning as I try to piece it together—the state of him, the way he looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out.

“Luther what?” I snap. “What did he do to you?”

Blaze pulls away, collapsing back onto the ground, his head resting against the wall. His laugh is bitter, broken. “What he always does.”

The words hit like a sucker punch. My jaw clenches as a thousand scenarios flash through my mind, each one darker than the last. Luther was a bastard, sure, but this—this was something else entirely.

“Why the f**k were you even in there?” My voice drops, quieter now but no less sharp.

Blaze shrugs again, but this time it’s more defensive, more like he’s trying to fold in on himself. “He had… information.”

“About her?”

Blaze nods, but the motion is half-hearted, his shoulders slumping further. “It didn’t pan out.”

It didn’t pan out. Didn’t pan out. My fist crashes into the wall again, sending another spray of plaster to the ground. I can’t decide what’s worse—the uselessness of the situation or the fact that Luther had his hands all over Blaze for f*****g nothing.

“You let him—” I can’t even finish the sentence, the words lodging in my throat like broken glass. “For what? Another dead end?”

Blaze’s head turns slowly toward me, his eyes glassy. “It’s not like I had a choice.” His voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

I sit back, my chest heaving as I try to keep the rage from exploding out of me. The walls feel too close, the air too thick.

“Don’t sit there and act like this is normal,” I hiss. “You look like you’ve been through a f*****g meat grinder. And for what? For him to play his sick little games while we get nowhere?”

Blaze doesn’t respond, just pulls a cigarette from his pocket with shaking hands. He lights it, the glow of the embers casting sharp shadows across his bruised, swollen face.

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” he mutters finally, his voice hoarse.

“Doing what?” I snap, glaring at him. “Trying to fix this? Trying to find her?”

Blaze’s gaze doesn’t meet mine, his head tilting back until it thuds against the wall. “Killing yourself over her won’t bring her back.”

The world goes quiet, his words ringing in my ears.

“She’s not dead,” I bite out, my voice shaking with fury. “Don’t you f*****g dare talk like she’s already gone.”

Blaze exhales smoke through his nose, the bitterness of it curling in the air between us. “And if she is?” His voice cracks, betraying the tiniest sliver of vulnerability beneath the exhaustion.

“If she is,” I growl, my fists clenching again, “then there won’t be a goddamn place on this earth where everyone who hurt her can hide.”

Blaze exhales a shaky breath, the smoke curling around his head like a ghost. He stares at the ground, his cigarette trembling between his fingers. For a moment, I think he’ll stay quiet, keep that damned wall between us. But then he speaks.

“It’s worse than we thought,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

I don’t let him off that easy. “Worse how?”

He lifts his eyes to mine, and the brokenness there makes something twist in my gut. “Luther knows,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Knows what?” I press, leaning closer, the tension pulling tight in my chest.

Blaze swallows hard, his jaw clenching. “ About the pack. About his brother taking his crown and being the alpha.”

He drags a hand down his face, wincing as his fingers graze his swollen lip. “ That's why he did this."

I cannot believe this!

" So you let him do that to you?"

Blaze’s eyes flicker to the floor again, avoiding mine, as if the shame of it all is too much to carry. The cigarette between his fingers burns down to the filter, the tip glowing brighter with every heartbeat.

“I didn’t have a f*****g choice, Ashton,” he spits, voice thick with anger and something darker—something I don’t think he’s ready to confront. “Luther’s not someone you get to walk away from. You know what he can do to you—what he can take from you.”

I feel the rage rise again, hot and biting. “So he’s got you by the balls, now? Is that what you’re telling me?” I can’t stop the words from coming out, can’t stop the bite in my tone.

Blaze’s face hardens, but his eyes still carry that storm of helplessness. “You don't know anything. What do you think he's doing to me, Ash?”

Ash. That nickname sent shivers down my spine. Blaze always got my back. Always.

"I..." I don't know. I have an idea, but I don’t know. I force my eyes shut and sigh. "If it gets worse..." I gulp and touch his shoulders so he’ll know—I’m here too. Always. "You’ll let me know," I say, and then walk away because I can’t bear it.

Because that’s what I do. I walk. I distance myself from the destruction that’s already started to seep into my skin.

Amanda’s gone. Gone from me. From us. Her absence is a hole, an abyss. The vacuum it creates has become unbearable, and yet, I don’t allow myself the luxury of grief. Grief is weakness, and I am nothing if not ruthless.