The cruel mercy

LIAM’S POV

"Hey, pretty boy! Play something for me!"

The voice was taunting and heavy with the stench of alcohol. I tried to ignore it, focusing on my violin strings. My fingers trembled slightly, but I forced them to move. I needed this money. I needed to fix my violin. I couldn't ask him for help. Not after what he did.

"I said play!" Another voice slammed.

A glass bottle smashed against the wall right next to my head.

Jeez! 

My heart skipped a beat and I stopped playing. The bar went silent.

"What's wrong? You scared?" the drunk man sneered, stumbling toward the small stage. He was huge, his face folded into a scowl that made my soul tremble.

"Please, sir, I don't want any trouble," I said, my voice shaking as I couldn't even look him in the eye.

"I'll show you trouble!" he roared and lunged at me.

I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the impact and planning a counter.

But what I heard was a loud thud against the wall and somehow, I was still standing.

I opened my eyes and my breath hitched in my throat. Standing there, in a black leather jacket that looked like it cost more than this entire building, was Cole.

He held the drunk man’s fist in one hand, twisting it effortlessly. His blue eyes were glowing with a deadly aura, and his jaw was clenched hard.

"You touch him," Cole snarled, his voice low and lethal, "and I'll break every bone in your hand."

The drunk man cried in pain, begging for mercy. "Who... who are you?"

"I'm his worst nightmare," Cole spat.

His worst nightmare? Such a silly fellow.

He shoved the man back so hard he flew into a table and shattered it. The whole bar erupted in chaos as they all ran for cover.

"Let's go," Cole ordered, grabbing my arm. His grip was tight, almost painful like a vice that just wouldn't let go.

"Wait, my money," I protested, trying to break free from his grip.

"Forget the money!" he yelled, dragging me off the stage.

He pulled me out into the cold night air and shoved me toward his car. The rain was falling again, soaking us instantly.

"Get in," he commanded and deep down, I wanted to get in, but I hated commands, especially from fags like him.

"No!" I snapped and yanked my arm away. "I didn't ask for your help! Why were you even there?"

He turned to me, his chest heavy with rage. He looked like he was about to tear me to pieces, but I don't give a fuck at this point.

"You think I wanted to be there?" he laughed dryly. "I was tracking you. You think I’d let my stepbrother ruin our family reputation in a stupid bar like that?"

"I was working!" I cried. "Because you broke my fucking violin!"

He didn't say a word. He just stared at me, his eyes searching mine. The rain rolled down his face, softening his annoyingly stern face for just a second.

Suddenly, he reached out and I flinched, my breath stopped, but he didn't hit me. His thumb reached for my face and moved against my lip.

"You're bleeding," he whispered.

My heart raced, but not with fear this time. It was something else. Something dangerous, something I really didn't want to accept.

"Cole..." I breathed.

He leaned in, his eyes focused on my lips. The air between us was heavy with passion we couldn't deny and burning hot despite the cold of the rain. For a moment, the cruel monster was gone. He looked... worried?

But then, his face folded back into that stupid usual scowl. He yanked his hand away as if I had burned him or something.

"Get in the car," he snarled, looking away. "You look pathetic."

I swallowed my pride and got in, I was freezing already.

The drive home was silent. The tension was so thick it was choking me. I stared at him occasionally.  

I just couldn't take it anymore, I had to break the silence.

"Cole," I said softly, turning to him. "Thank you."

But he wasn't enjoying or maybe not in the mood.

"Shut up," he snapped. "I didn't do it for you. I did it so Mom wouldn't cry about her precious stepson getting beaten up."

He parked the car and didn't wait for me. He stormed into the house.

I sat there for a moment, touching my lip where his thumb had been. He hated me. I knew he did.

So why did his touch feel like everything I could ever want?

I grabbed my violin case and walked to the front door, my mind racing with unholy thoughts of desire.

What is wrong with you, Cole Brooks?

And why do I want to find out?