Cruel Intoxication (Underground Kings 4)

I let his words tumble around in my head before I find the strength to sit up. I know what he’s doing. He’s giving me the chance to go out into the woods and kill, the one thing that helps me ease my mind, but the energy it will take… I’m not sure if I’m up for the challenge. Every bone in my body, every muscle and tendon straining for me to get up won’t work.

“I’ll leave you alone, Owen. Just know we’re all here for you, okay? You can talk to me if you want. I know a little about your situation, not everything, and I want you to know one thing—I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I wish I could change it.”

His words mean a lot to me; his sympathy and support mean the world, but no amount of love from anyone can bring Annabeth back. I sit on the edge of the bed and let my head hang, trying to dig deep and find some strength to move.

Jaxon sighs on the other end of the door since I’m not saying anything in return. “Alright, bud. I’ll see you around. Find me if you need anything, I mean it.” He gives the door a tap one last time before he leaves.

Maybe if I get up and out of the house, hunt, it will help get out some of this emotion inside me. Gripping the edge of the mattress, I close my eyes, and push myself up into a standing position. I open the nightstand drawer. A thick red leather photo album sits there, and I want nothing more than to look at it again. Whenever I think about Annabeth, I almost can’t remember what she looks like because it’s been so many years. I stop myself from looking at the picture every night because it isn’t good for me.

I wait every year to look at our journey that was cut short. Everyone said we got married too young and we did, but I knew. I knew when I saw her at sixteen that I wanted to marry her at eighteen, and I did. I only had five short years with her before everything changed, and the anger of her being taken away from me too soon will never fade. I’ll never understand the cruelty of the universe to decide to take a young, pregnant woman’s life away.

I’ll look at the photo album later. Right now, I think getting out of this room and taking my frustration out on something other than my heart is a good idea. I head over to the closest and grab a plain green shirt and a pair of worn jeans. It’s all I ever wear when I go into the woods. It’s reckless, but I don’t care. Getting shot by another hunter isn’t something I’m worried or care about. Part of me hopes d

eath finds me because I’ll finally get to prove that I’m not afraid of it.

Grabbing my boots, I sit down on the bench at the end of the bed and lace them up on each foot. I grab my green khaki jacket laying beside me that I wore yesterday and slip it on. Before I head out of the bedroom, I squat and grab my gun case from under my bed and heave it over my shoulder. I have a few blinds and tree stands up right now, and I plan on staying gone for a few days, getting filthy in sweat and dirt. Hell, maybe I’ll stay gone longer and live off the land.

All I know is that I need a break from reality.

Being as quiet as I can, I slip out of my bedroom door and ease it shut behind me, so the click of the lock is silent. Laughter echoes down the hall as everyone dives in to the conversation around the dining room table. This is my family now. It’s a bit makeshift, a bit uncommon. It’s something I definitely thought I’d never have again after Annabeth’s death. If anything, this group of innocent convicts saved me.

“Where’s Owen?” my heart melts when I hear Quinn’s voice. She’s too sweet. Just when I think no one cares what would happen to me, someone speaks up. “I feel like I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

“You talked to him yesterday,” Heaven points out.

She manages to make me smirk, which is usually impossible on this day, when she huffs. “I know, but I talk to him every morning. He’s always is kind and has a smoothie waiting for me since my morning sickness has been so bad. It isn’t like him to not be around.” I can almost imagine her crossing her arms in a pout and tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“He’s going through something personal. Just leave him be, baby,” Jaxon says, probably giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Aw, I hope he’s okay.”

Before I change my mind and go eat brunch with my friends, I turn away and march down the hall, letting their concern stay in the distance. The hallways are long, almost never ending. The floors are black marble, and the walls are painted a light beige. Expensive paintings hang on the wall, and the chandeliers above me glitter.

When I get to the end of the hall, I make sure no one is behind me and press my hand against the spot on the wall so the scanner can run my prints. I wait and rock back and forth on my heels. I’m afraid someone is going to catch me, but it isn’t too often someone comes to this end of the house; everything interesting is on the other side.

We always say the only way in and out of the house is through the door in the kitchen and opening the garage, but there is another way—a secret way.

This elevator doesn’t go to the basement. It doesn’t go to another floor.

The ding is loud, and it has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I turn my head over my shoulder and let out a breath of relief when no one is behind me. The silver doors slide open, and I step inside the square lift. I can already smell the dirt, the moisture in the air, and my skin itches for the outdoors.

Jaxon was right. This is exactly what I need.

The door slides shut, and the lights start to flicker when the elevator descends. There are no buttons to press on the inside because there’s only one destination. The light above me goes out and the elevator comes to an abrupt, shaky halt. When the doors part, darkness meets me like an unfriendly acquaintance.

The cold air wraps around me and beacons me forward. I step out of the elevator, and my boots hit solid ground, dirt to be exact, and the musky scent of earth invades my nostrils. I take out my flashlight and turn to the right to find a lamp hanging on the tunnel wall along with the shelf next to it that has extra lighter fluid and matches.

I take a few bottles and stuff a few packs of matches in my pocket before lighting the lamp. Once I get a good glow, I blow out the match and stomp on it, digging it directly into the ground. Jaxon made sure that no matter what, we would have a way out if something happened at the Cliff House.

So we built these tunnels. There are two. One leads to town, and the other leads to the woods. It’s a bit of a journey, but I enjoy it. I like the solitude the woods bring, and the journey to them is peaceful too. I shove my gun case up my shoulder and start to walk, taking a right when the tunnels fork. Keeping my arm stretched out, the lamp in my hand lights the way, and I’m constantly in awe with how these tunnels turned out. They are big enough for me to spread my arms and still have a few feet on either side. I’m over six-foot-three, and there is easily enough space above me. The area isn’t cramped.

I could live down here and be happy. I’m a minimalist kind of guy. I don’t need much. If I have shelter and a gun, I can survive, and I know I can make a cabin out of some damn sticks and call it a day, but Jaxon wouldn’t ever have me living down here or in the woods.

Shame. Nature is so much better than being stuck inside four walls.

The blackness of the tunnel goes on and on, an abyss, a void, something that seems all too familiar the more I look at it. I shouldn’t feel at home here, but I do. I think about all those years ago, the beautiful home I used to live in and the plush job I got because my dad knew a guy, and I realize how easy my life was up until the point of the murder. I had everything handed to me on a silver platter. I never had to bust my ass to get to where I need to be. I guess I still don’t. I’m wealthy, wealthier than I’ve ever been because of the jobs we do.

Prison wasn’t even as hard as losing Annabeth. By far the only struggle I’ve had in my life is dealing with the loss of her. Does that mean I’m not capable of coping because I lack experience? I don’t think so. Seeing my wife with a knife sticking out of her stomach, killing her and my child seems to make up for the lack of experience in my opinion, but I find it odd that I’ve yet to be able to move on from it.