Chapter 6
Nicholas’s POV
The chicken soup smelled so rich, thick in the air like a spell, but it didn’t matter. Only the heat mattered. The way the steam curled, promising pain.
“Look, you made my hand blister,” I said flatly as I held up my hand, all red and raw, bubbling like lava.
Then, I continued, “You said I burned you. But I looked. There are no marks. Nothing.”
Trevor’s eyes snapped wide, tiny pinpricks of panic in the dark. The chair groaned under him as he twisted, trying to pull away.
“Lying’s bad,” I whispered, soft and slow, shaking my head like a teacher scolding a child.
Then, quick as a blink, my wrist flicked.
The soup spilled. Hot. Scalding. Pouring over the back of his hand.
“AAAHHH!!” His scream ripped through the quiet like a broken thing.
I smiled a little. It was a good sound.
“You bastard. I’ll kill you!” His voice cracked and broke, soaked in pain and rage.
My palm met his face hard.
“Shhh,” I said, pressing a finger to my lips. “Don’t wake the neighbors.”
The fingertip brushed his cheek, soft, like a secret.
‘Swearing’s bad. Time for punishment.” I didn’t wait for a response.
The sound of my hand against his skin was almost rhythmic. Each hit echoed in the silence- sharp, crisp, precise.
thought about my brother’s wedding, Trevor’s face, bruised and broken. My anger fueled each blow, harder this time.
‘Ninety–seven. Ninety–eight. Ninety–nine. One hundred.”
Trevor’s face was a mess now. Swollen, bloodied. His mouth was a broken thing, no words left to
scream.
The chicken soup bubbled on, completely unaware.
touched his chin, wiped a smear of blood with a fingertip.
‘You see? Now you’re hurt. People who get hurt need to eat. To get strong again.”
scooped up a ladle of thick, bubbling soup. It hissed when I blew on it, but it was soft like a whisper.
I held it close to his eyes–big, scared eyes.
‘Come on. Eat.”
Trevor shook his head frantically, like a frightened bird. Soup spilled from his trembling lips.
| pinched his cheeks hard.
His mouth opened, wet and shaky. “Mmgh… Please… no… wait…”
Brother’s Tragic End I Went on a Rampage
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The hot soup poured down his throat. His eyes went wide. His body jerked and twisted, like a fish flapping on dry ground. Then he went still, slumping heavily in the chair.
“This time…” I said softly, my fingers lingering on his scorched cheek, a smile barely touching my lips.
“He really passed out.”
Kylie struggled in the chair next to him, her muffled cries smothered by the rag stuffed in he mouth.
Her forehead twisted in pain, veins popping under the pressure.
I took slow steps toward her, my hand barely brushing her cheek, cold and deliberate, like the touch of a shadow.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered, my voice almost a caress. “Your turn will come soon.”
I yanked the rag from her mouth, my fingers icy as they traced along her pale skin.
Kylie gasped for air, sobs breaking through her fragile body, voice shaking with fear.
“Cameron… how did you become like this? You…you wouldn’t even step on ants before…”
The slap came fast, cracking her face with a sharp sound.
Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth, staining her pale skin.
“Cut the act,” I said coldly, grabbing her chin, forcing her eyes to meet mine.
Kylie shook, shivering, her breath ragged and desperate.
“Cameron, I know you hate Trevor. But he’s just my adopted brother. Nothing is going on betweer
us!”
Her voice wavered, breaking on the last words. “He’s not going to make it…”
Kylie’s chest heaved with fear, and her breath caught, as though the reality of her words was finally sinking in.
“If he dies, no one can save you.”
I could see it in her eyes, the fear creeping in, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
I laughed, dark and low. The iron rod in my hand caught the firelight, glowing red–hot like a
warning.
“You keep calling me Cameron,” I said, voice flat as glass.
Her eyes were wide, wet. Like she thought she could still reach me. Like saying the right thing might bring him back.
It made me tilt my head. Curious. Confused.
“Don’t you see?”
I stepped closer, close enough to smell the fear on her skin. My grip on the rod tightened. It felt warm. Familiar.
“I’m not him at all.”
Suddenly, the rod pressed against her chest, searing her skin.
The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh as her scream ripped through the room, full of fear and pain.
Chapter 6
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“My brother always said…you were the brand burned into his heart.”
