[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 146: Weight of guilt

CASSIAN

The last bullet struck his lower spine. It was a surgical strike, designed to finish what the ankle shot started. Alex’s body went rigid for a heartbeat, then collapsed into a heap of dead weight.

He didn’t scream this time; he just slumped, the light in his eyes flickering with the realization that he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even twitch.

I reached the edge of the couch and stood over him. He looked up at me, his breathing shallow and wet. "Please... please don’t... "

I said nothing. I didn’t need to. I just stared down at him with a cold, murderous detachment that was deeper than any rage.

I wanted him to see the face of the man who would end him. I wanted it to be the last thing he saw before the darkness of his own choices swallowed him whole.

The doors behind me burst open again. My security team flooded the room, their weapons sweeping the space before settling on the carnage.

They saw Alex bleeding out on the floor, surrounded by the brass shell casings of the gun I held. They saw me, standing like a specter of vengeance, and they saw Noah, a broken ghost on the white cushions.

"Sir..." my lead operative, Miller, spoke tentatively. He gestured to the heap that used to be Alex Hendrix. "What do you want us to do with him?"

I looked at Alex. I could call the police. I could let the system take him. But I knew how that story ended.

Hendrix money would buy the best lawyers. He would hide the evidence. He’d get a reduced sentence in a white-collar facility, or he’d buy his way out on a technicality.

That wasn’t justice. That was a transaction.

"Bundle him up," I said, my voice flat and emotionless, sounding like it came from miles away. "Keep him somewhere secure. Somewhere deep. I’ll deal with him later."

I didn’t need a judge. I was the judge. Alex wouldn’t face a jury; he would face me, on my terms.

The moment Miller’s team moved to secure Alex, I turned. I dropped my gun... it clattered onto the marble, a discarded tool... and fell to my knees beside the couch.

"Noah," I whispered. My hands were shaking, a fine, violent tremor I couldn’t control.

Noah was still lost. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but they were glazed with a chemical fog. He wasn’t tracking my movement. He wasn’t even aware a shooting had begun and stopped.

His breathing was shallow, his chest hitching in a way that made my own heart ache. His shirt was a mess, the buttons torn away, exposing his pale skin to the cold air of the penthouse.

He looked so small. So vulnerable.

I reached out, my fingers hovering over him before I finally touched his shoulder. My touch was as light as a feather, terrified I might break what was left of him.

With agonizing slowness, I pulled the edges of his shirt together.

My fingers fumbled with the few remaining buttons, fastening them with a desperate, shaky urgency.

I wasn’t worried about the fashion; I was worried about his dignity. I wanted to cover him, to shield him from the eyes of my men, from the world, from the memory of what had almost happened.

The rage was gone now, replaced by a crushing weight of guilt that threatened to suffocate me. I had done this. I had pushed him into the arms of a monster because I thought I was being "noble" by staying away.

I slid my arms under him... one beneath his shoulders, the other under his knees. I lifted him in a bridal carry, pulling his limp body against my chest.

His head lolled against my shoulder, his breathing warm and erratic against my neck. He was dead weight, completely surrendered to the drugs.

My side was still bleeding from the knife wound, and my shoulder burned where the bullet had grazed me, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t care if I bled out right there as long as I got him out of this place.

I carried him through the apartment, past the bodies in the hallway, past the shell casings and the shattered glass. I didn’t look back at Alex.

I didn’t look at the carnage. I just walked, my arms tightened around Noah, cradling him like the most precious thing in a world that had tried to destroy him.

The elevator ride down was a descent into a different kind of hell. I looked down at Noah’s face, his features soft and beautiful even in this state, and the guilt intensified. I should have found him sooner. I should have known Alex was a predator. This is my fault.

When the doors opened on the ground floor, I avoided the main gala entrance. I couldn’t let the elite see him like this.

I couldn’t let them whisper about the "vulnerable boy" in Cassian Wolfe’s arms. I exited through a side service door, the night air hitting us with a shock of cold.

My car was waiting, the engine idling. My driver’s eyes widened as he saw me emerge, covered in blood and carrying a drugged man. "Sir, should I call... "

"Just drive," I snapped, kicking the back door open. I slid into the seat, never letting go of Noah. I kept him in my arms, pulling him into my lap so I could hold him close, his head tucked under my chin.

The drive to the hotel was a blur of streetlights and silence. I didn’t speak. I just held him.

My hand moved to his hair, stroking the soft strands over and over in a repetitive, mindless motion. "You’re safe now," I murmured into his ear, my voice cracking. "I’ve got you."

He didn’t answer. He just breathed, a slow, chemical rhythm against my chest.

When we reached my suite, I bypassed the staff, ignoring the stares as I carried him straight to the master bedroom. I kicked the door shut behind us, cutting off the world.

I laid him down gently on top of the silk covers, my hands lingering on his shoulders. I removed his shoes and loosened his collar, my eyes searching his skin for any signs of physical assault.

Relief... sharp and painful... washed over me when I found no marks. I had gotten there in time. I had interrupted Alex before the point of no return. I couldn’t finish the thought of what would have happened if I’d been five minutes later.

I got a damp cloth from the bathroom and wiped the sweat and the smell of Alex’s cologne from Noah’s face.

He was feverish, his body reacting to whatever poison had been forced down his throat. I pulled a heavy blanket over him and sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes never leaving him.

An hour passed. Two. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and the thrum of the city below.

Then, Noah’s eyes fluttered. They didn’t just open; they struggled to focus, darting around the room until they landed on me.

Recognition dawned, slow and painful. "C-Cassian?" His voice was a slurred, barely audible ghost of a sound.

"I’m here," I said, leaning closer, my heart leaping in my chest. "You’re safe. You’re back in the suite."

Suddenly, his hands reached out. They were weak, but they moved with a desperate, frantic energy, grabbing the lapels of my blood-stained shirt. He fisted his hands in the fabric, pulling me toward him with a strength born of pure terror.

"Don’t... don’t leave... " he choked out, his voice shaking and rising into a sob. "Please don’t leave me alone."

"I won’t. I’m not going anywhere, Noah. I promise."

But he wasn’t listening. He was caught in a drug-induced panic, the trauma of the night replaying in the dark corners of his mind.

He began to cry... heavy, racking sobs that shook his entire frame. "Please... please save me... "

"I’ve got you, Noah. You’re already saved. It’s over."

He wouldn’t let go. His grip on my shirt was so tight his knuckles were white.

He was begging, his face crumpled in agony, and I realized he didn’t feel safe just having me in the room. He needed to be held.

I didn’t hesitate. I climbed onto the bed, sitting against the headboard, and pulled him into my lap.

I cradled him against my chest, his back pressed to my heart, my arms wrapped around him like a fortress.

He curled into me, tucking his head under my chin, his hands still fisted in my shirt as if it were a lifeline.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... " he sobbed into my chest.

"Shh. You have nothing to be sorry for," I murmured, my hand stroking his hair in that same repetitive, soothing motion. "It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault."

I could smell the alcohol on his breath... the heavy, sweet scent of whatever Alex had used to wash the pills down.

My rage spiked for a second, a cold flare in my gut, but I pushed it down. Right now, Noah needed the protector, not the killer.

"Shh. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you." I repeated it like a mantra, my voice soft and nurturing... a tone I hadn’t used in years, a tone I hadn’t known I still possessed.

I sat there in the quiet of the room, rubbing his back in slow, steady circles, feeling the way his sobs gradually turned into hiccups, and then into deep, shuddering breaths.

He was still clinging to me, his body shaking with the aftershocks of the drug, but he was finally, finally beginning to calm.

The weight of my guilt was crushing. I had caused this. I had pushed him away, and he had almost paid the ultimate price for my arrogance. I looked down at the top of his head, my chin resting on his hair.

I held him tighter, my arms a shield against a world that had tried to break him. We stayed like that for a long time... two damaged men in a quiet room, breathing together in the dark.