Page 8 of Hellebore

I am not leaving. Not until that fucker leaves first.

The rain has turned into a steady, icy downpour that turns the streetlights into smeared halos. The neighborhood lies dead quiet this late—empty sidewalks, no passing cars, just the distant hum of traffic somewhere far away. Perfect. No witnesses. No interruptions. Just me, the night, and the man who dared put his hands on what belongs to me.

I open the computer again, the feed comes to life and I wait.

Thankfully it does not take long. The apartment door opens again on the feed. I watch as “Luke” steps out, still wearing that smug fucking grin. The second the door clicks shut behind him, I switch cameras. Briar is already heading toward the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She is going to shower.

I should stay here. I should watch every second of it through the cameras I have earned the right to see. But I cannot. Not right now. The roaring in my head is too loud, drowning out everything else, I need to deal with him first.

He is walking down the sidewalk ahead, head bent over his phone, completely oblivious to the world around him. The rain soaks through his jacket in dark patches, but he does not even look up, thumbs still moving across the screen as he walks.

I start the car and ease forward slowly, tires rolling quiet over the wet pavement. He glances up at the sleek black vehicle pulling alongside him, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face in the glow of the streetlights. I stop beside him and roll down the window, letting the rain spray in against my arm.

“Hey, I’m looking for something to eat around here. Anything nearby?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay casual, almost friendly. He eyes the brand-new car, the tinted windows, and visibly relaxes. Just another rich stranger on a nice ride. Harmless.

He starts giving directions, gesturing down the street with one hand while rain drips from his hair. But all I can see is the memory of his hand palming her over her underwear, his mouth on her neck, the way she whispered “Easy, Luke.” and he ignored it.

“Sorry,” I cut in with a tight smile, “Do you mind pinning it on my GPS real quick?”

“Sure, man.”

I open the door and step out into the rain, handing him my phone. The moment his eyes drop to the screen and his thumbs start typing, I move.

My elbow slams into the back of his neck with every ounce of rage I have carried for years. The impact lands with a sickening thud of bone against flesh that cuts through the sound of the rain. He drops instantly, knees buckling, body going limp as his phone clatters to the wet pavement and skitters into a puddle.

Adrenaline surges hot through my veins. He is heavier than he looks, dead weight in my arms, but the fury makes me strong. I catch him before he fully hits the ground, one arm hooked under his shoulders, the other gripping his belt. Rain pours down on both of us as I yank open the back door of the car. I shove his limp body inside, folding his legs awkwardly across the seat, his head lolling to the side with his mouth slack and eyes closed. A thin trail of blood already seeps from his nose, mixing with the water on the leather.

I slam the door shut, the sound too loud in the quiet night, and slide back behind the wheel, breathing fast, chest tight with a dark satisfaction that borders on laughter. This is right. This is necessary.

He touched her. He called her bunny. He put his filthy hands on skin that has only ever been meant for me. I waited for years. I kept her perfect inside my head, and this piece of shit thought he could simply walk into her life and grope her like she belonged to him.

No.

I will make it slow for him.

I glance in the rearview mirror at his unconscious form sprawled across the back seat. My hands are steady on the wheel now, but inside I am fracturing in the most beautiful way.

“You should have stayed away from her, Luke.”

I pull away from the curb and drive into the night, the street behind me staying empty and dark. No one saw. No one will ever know.

Briar is probably still in the shower right now, water running over the body I just watched him violate.

Chapter Four

DRYSTAN

The three-hour drive back to Hellebore Mansion is a fever dream of rain and violence.

I keep the headlights off for long stretches, letting the darkness wrap around me. Luke lies unconscious in the back seat, wrists and ankles zip-tied, duct tape over his mouth. Every time I glance in the rearview mirror I feel the same sick satisfaction. He touched her. He put his hands on her. The memory of his fingers sliding under the waistband of her cargo pants plays on repeat in my head until my knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

He didn’t care for her, didn’t even open the door and when she said the flower was toxic he didn’t protect her. Fucker didn’t care about her for a second.

By the time I turn onto the private road that leads to the mansion, the storm has grown vicious. Rain hammers the roof feeling as if drills are inside my skull. I smile into the darkness. Soon the rain will have blood to wash away.

I drag Luke down the narrow stone steps into the basement. His head bounces against every edge. The air grows colder, damper, thick with the musky scent of hellebore. My garden’s gift. My mother’s legacy.

When I was a child, my mother kept the hellebore in a secret corner of our garden. She tended them with quiet reverence, black petals glistening. My father hated them. He called them witch flowers, poisonous, ugly. One day he ripped every single plant from the ground and burned them while she watched. She never cried in front of him, but that night she sat on the edge of my bed and whispered, “They are more than flowers, Drystan. They are weapons when you need them to be… and protection when the world tries to take what you love.”