Althea

08

KHAOS

All I see is red.

Fucking red.

My fist crashes into his jaw. Again. And again. And again.

He tries to fight back.

He didn't even land a single hit.

Blood sprayed across the floor. His nose caved in under my knuckles. He spat teeth, choked on them. I didn't stop. Not even when Kai grabbed my arm, shouting something I didn't hear.

I want to destroy something. Everything. I want to put a bullet in Eamon's head and set his corpse on fire.

But I didn't stop him.

I was downstairs. Playing the good son. Wearing the f*****g mask. Pretending I hadn't just watched the woman I love get handed over like property.

Fuck.

"Stop, Khoas! You're gonna kill him,"

"She belongs to me now, brother. You can't save her from me forever," Eamon chuckles, throwing his head back.

"Nevermind, I changed my mind, kill him." Kai snaps.

I should kill him. Right now. Snap his neck. End it.

But Althea whimpered again, and my rage shifted—no longer fire, but cold, razor-edged guilt.

I dropped him.

He wasn't worth it.

She was.

I moved to the bed, my chest heaving as I knelt beside her. "Althea..." My voice cracked. "It's me."

She flinched before her eyes met mine—dull, lifeless green. Nothing like the girl I knew. Nothing like my Althea.

"I'm gonna take you out of here," I said, softer now. "Okay? You're safe. I swear. I've got you."

She didn't speak.

Didn't nod.

But she didn't pull away either.

That was enough.

Kai helped me ease her into my arms. Her skin was freezing, and her breath came in shallow gasps against my throat as I carried her out.

I kicked my bedroom door open and set her gently on my bed. She curled into herself instantly, hands fisted in the sheets like she was still trying to hold herself together.

I stood there for a moment, staring at her.

She was shaking.

And I—I couldn't stop shaking either.

I'd failed her.

I'd watched her walk into hell and let her.

For what?

Power?

The title of Capo?

My fists clenched.

My mouth felt like ash.

I sat beside her, not too close, afraid my presence would make it worse.

"I should've stopped it," I whispered. "At the engagement. At the first look in your eyes. I saw it. I knew."

My voice broke.

"And I still let you go to him."

She didn't look at me.

Didn't say a word.

But a single tear slipped down her cheek.

"Althea, please. . . please talk to me. I'll make it all right, I promise."

"Kill me, Khaos."

Her voice is steady. Empty.

And that terrifies me more than if she'd screamed it.

"Althea—"

"No!" Her cry cracks like thunder in the room. You can't keep pretending, Khaos! You can't fix this!"

"I know what comes next," she whispers, broken now, the fight draining out of her with every word. "I've known since the first time Eamon told me I'm nothing more than his wife. And you—" she hiccups on a sob, "you let it happen. Over and over again."

My heart's beating so loud I can barely think.

I reach for her, but she flinches, so I stop. My hand hovers in the air, useless.

"I'm not trying to pretend," I say quietly, voice strained. "I know I can't undo it. I know what I let them do to you. And I swear to God, Althea, I would rip out my own heart if it meant you'd never have to feel this again."

She closes her eyes.

A tear slips past her lashes, trailing down her cheek and disappearing into the pillow.

"You want to help me?" Her voice is soft now. Too soft. "You want to do anything, Khaos?"

"Yes," I breathe. "Anything."

"Then don't make me survive this," she whispers. "Don't make me wake up tomorrow. Don't make me live in this body, in this skin. I can't. I can't."

The room is too quiet.

The silence, louder than any scream.

I feel it crack through me, splintering my chest open.

"I can't kill you," I say hoarsely. "I can't. I'd rather kill myself."

She opens her eyes again, those sea-glass eyes dull and defeated.

"Then let me go," she whispers. "Please, Khaos. Let me die."

And I don't know what breaks first—my heart, my mind, or the lie I've been telling myself this whole time.

That I could keep her safe.

That loving her from a distance was enough.

That wanting power made me strong.

Because here she is—my Althea—begging me to end her pain.

And all I can do is sit there, useless and f*****g broken.

I go to the en-suite and turn on the tap, letting the water run until it's warm. I find the lavender oil she liked once years ago—she'd snuck it from Maria's vanity when no one was looking, showing it to me proudly like a price.

When I return to the bed, she's still lying there.

Like a porcelain doll someone forgot to care for.

"Come here," I whisper gently.

Nothing.

I kneel beside her, careful not to touch her too quickly. "Althea... I need to clean you up, sweetheart."

Her eyes flick to mine. Not with fear. Not with anger.

Just emptiness.

And somehow, that's worse.

I strip what's left of that beautiful dress off her body, my jaw clenching at every new bruise, every fingerprint carved into her like f*****g proof that I failed her.

Her lip is split, blood crusted at the corner. One cheek is swollen, and there's a welt along her collarbone where he must've struck her.

"I should've killed him sooner," I mutter under my breath. "I should've ended all of this before he could ever touch you."

Still, nothing from her.

There's no fight left in her eyes. No defiance. No spark. The girl who once bit back, who spoke in fire and glared like a lioness—she's gone.

She's gone, and I let it happen.

I lower her into the water.

She doesn't fight.

Doesn't blink.

Doesn't breathe like she used to.

I kneel beside the tub, hands trembling as I reach for a cloth. I dip it in the warm lavender water and drag it gently over her skin. Her blood mixes with the suds. It curls in the water like something sacred has been spilled.

And maybe it has.

Maybe it was her innocence.

Her body jerks when I reach a particularly raw bruise near her ribs. A soft whimper escapes her lips—a sound so small, so broken, I have to close my eyes for a second just to breathe.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

She doesn't look at me.

"I'm so f*****g sorry, Althea."

My voice cracks. I hate how fragile it sounds. I'm supposed to be the monster. The feared one. The man with blood on his hands and no conscience to speak of.

But right now, I'm just a coward who watched the only girl he's ever loved walk into hell and didn't do a goddamn thing to stop it.

And now here she is.

Beaten.

Bleeding.

Quiet.

She used to talk too much when she was nervous. Used to hum under her breath. Used to smile at the stupidest things like flowers in cracks of pavement.

Now she sits in this bath like a corpse waiting to float.

When I'm done washing her, I wrap her up and carry her back to my bed. Her head rests against my chest, but there's no weight to it. She's light. Hollow.

Ruined.

I dress her in one of my shirts and pull the covers up around her. Her face is turned toward the wall. She hasn't said a single word.

And I hate myself for how late I am.

"She was mine," I whisper, to no one.

"She was mine. And I let this happen."

I drag a hand through her damp hair, my chest aching with guilt, with rage, with helpless f*****g pain.

"I swear to you, Althea... I'll get you out of here. I'll burn this whole f*****g family to the ground if I have to."

She doesn't answer.

But I swear again, quieter this time, more like a prayer.

"I will get you out. I'll fix this. I'll fix you. Even if it's the last thing I ever do."