My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas Chapter 82: Better pray you are dead ( Killian’s POV )

"C’mon, pick up! Pick up! Pick up!"

I kept pacing. Back and forth, across the cold marble floor, the sharp sound of my steps echoing louder with each turn. The sa path, over and over again.

I felt like the hard marble already shaped the trace of my shoes in it as the pacing got more frantic.

My hand was clenched so tight around the phone, my knuckles were starting to ache. I didn’t even rember starting to shake, but there it was—my fingers twitching just enough to make the screen blur when I lifted it again.

Still no response.

"Is he actually dead?", I mumbled to myself.

I stopped, just for a second, standing in the middle of the polished floor, heart pounding way too hard for how still I was.

Then I started pacing again.

No. Impossible.

The grenade was thrown at Emiliano’s house. In any other location, Luther and Damian would be dead, but there?

He surely pulled a Bruno Mars and caught the grenade for them. Right?

Right.

Right?

"Don’t even think about it."

Lucrezia’s voice echoed through my apartnt.

"Think about what?"

"About going there."

"Well, I can’t just wait here."

"You better wait. You swear that you will obey . So do as I say. Stay ho and wait!"

I didn’t even realize I was grinding my teeth until the pressure started pulsing up into my temples. Every few steps, I caught myself doing it again—clenching hard, grinding down like I could bite the frustration out of the air.

The longer the silence stretched, the worse it got. My molars ached, and my tongue sat flat behind clenched teeth, too tense to speak even if I wanted to. It was either that or yell. And I wasn’t going to yell. Not yet.

So I just kept grinding, pacing, and waiting for soone to answer.

I knew Lucrezia was right.

The mont I would even got close to that area, the incident would be placed on . My fault.

I could imagine the news:

"Mister Killian Akna, arrested for the outburst of jealousy that ended up with the killing of four people, one of them being the subject of his obsession. The police report states that the suspect threw a grenade to take revenge on his love interest, who chose another in his place."

That’s a bad look.

For .

For Lucrezia.

For the company.

And most importantly, for my future with Luther.

So I called again.

The sa rotation Luther, Damian, Emiliano, Tom.

Luther, Damian, Emiliano, Tom.

Luther, Damian, Emiliano, Tom.

"Hello?"

An answer.

"Hey. Tom? What happened? Is Luther ok?"

"I- I don’t know."

"What do you an you don’t know?"

"I just had the ti to grab Damian and flee. I don’t know what happened to Emiliano and Luther."

"What?..."

"I am sure they are fine. You know how much the evil gno is obsessed with Luther. Even if the apocalypse was coming, only the cockroaches and Emiliano protecting Lu would survive."

"Where are you now?"

"My phone might be tapped."

"You know where I live?"

"Yeah."

"Co over."

"Wish I could. My ankle is done for. Think I’ll be left cosplaying Doctor House for the rest of my days. Can’t drive."

"Damian can’t drive either?"

A mont of silence.

"Damian left about an hour ago."

"He left?"

"He left."

"Why would he leave?"

"It’s complicated."

"And what’s your plan now?"

"I called an ambulance as soon as I could find my phone."

"Got it. Call when you get there. I’ll co talk."

"Sure."

As soon as I closed the call, the doorbell rang—sharp, sudden, loud enough to cut through the tension like a slap.

I froze.

The sound echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the marble and glass. One long ring. No hesitation. No second press.

I didn’t move right away. Just stood there, staring at the door, heart picking up speed.

"Hurry up. All that noise is making my filler vibrate.", complained Lucrezia.

I opened the door.

f.(r)eew ebnov\ll

I opened the door fast, expecting—I don’t know what. Definitely not him.

Damian stood there on the threshold, barely upright, his body trembling in short, uneven shivers. His pink robe was gone, replaced with so oversized coat that wasn’t his, and his usually perfect curls were a tangled ss—dirty blonde, streaked darker with gri and dried blood. A gash cut through his temple, crusted and ugly, flaking down the side of his face.

His eyes—those pale, icy blue eyes that were normally full of smug amusent or bored indifference—looked glassy now. Unsteady. They blinked up at , red-rimd and wet like he’d been crying or trying not to. Maybe both.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, breathing hard, lips parted, like whatever had kept him standing this far might finally give out.

For a second, I couldn’t move.

"I’m cold", he said in such a heartbreaking way, my own heart sank.

Not Lucrezia’s though.

"It’s sumr ti.", scoffed Lucrezia.

Damian scrunched his brows displeased.

Damian pushed past without a word, limping as he crossed the threshold like he owned the place. His posture was still upright—head high, shoulders back—but his steps were uneven, one leg clearly dragging behind the other. Every movent scread exhaustion, but his face wore that sa arrogant tilt I’d seen a hundred tis before. Like bleeding down one side of his face didn’t make him any less superior.

He left faint smudges of dried blood with every step, trailing into the apartnt like he was marking territory. His coat hung off one shoulder, barely clinging on, but he didn’t fix it. Didn’t look back.

I was too stunned to speak or move.

"You look awful, darling. Too many margaritas this early in the day?", Lucrezia mocked him.

Damian smiled, passing her, making sure that he flicked his dirty hair as he did, dirt and dried blood being thrown on the new red Lucrezia’s Armani dress.

"I am fine. Thanks for asking by the way.", Damian scoffed.

He limped straight to the glass cabinet, pulled it open with a sharp flick of his wrist, and scanned the bottles like he was selecting dessert. His fingers hovered briefly before landing on the most expensive one—forty-year-old vodka, unopened, sealed in wax.

He cracked it open without hesitation.

I watched, still silent, as he poured a splash into his palm and, without flinching, tilted his head to the side and slapped it against the dried blood on his temple. He hissed softly through his teeth, but didn’t stop. He rubbed it in like antiseptic, letting the alcohol run down his face, wiping it with the edge of his already ruined sleeve.

Then he raised the bottle and took a long, deep pull. No grimace. No pause.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned against the counter, still bleeding, still swaying slightly, but now with a drink in hand.

Lucrezia rolled her eyes as she dusted herself off.

"Disgusting. I’ll take my leave before barfing my brunch. Bulimia is so last season. Like alcoholism by the way.", she said, leaving the room.

"What happened?", I finally asked.

"Good question. Sadly, I was passed out when it happened."

Damian took another slow sip, eyes half-lidded, the bottle hanging lazily from his hand as if it weighed nothing. He let the silence stretch, enjoying it, soaking in the attention like it was part of the ritual.

Then, without a word, he lifted his chin.

The collar of the oversized coat slipped down slightly, and with his free hand, he pulled it open just enough to reveal the bruises.

Dark purple marks—clear, defined, in the shape of fingers—wrapped around the pale skin of his throat. Deep enough to show pressure, spaced perfectly to tell a story. Soone had tried to strangle him. Hard.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

His watery blue eyes t mine over the rim of the bottle, steady and unreadable now. Almost daring to ask. Almost enjoying the shock written all over my face.

He took another drink. Slower this ti. Like he had all the ti in the world.

"Emiliano?"

I didn’t need to ask that. I already knew. And yet the question left my mouth before I could realise.

"Who else?"

"Why?"

"There is a bounty on Luther’s head now. Fifty billion dollars."

I swallowed audibly.

"By who?"

"Who knows? Emiliano thought I would sell Luther out. I think he would have killed if Luther wouldn’t have kissed him."

"Luther kissed Emiliano?"

My words ca out harshly. Accusatory.

He started laughing, but it’s not light or carefree—it’s the kind of laugh that shakes his whole body, loud and almost desperate. Beneath it all, tears still fall, but the laughter takes over, sharp and jagged, like it’s trying to cover up the ache in his chest.

"You had almost no reaction to my head wound, to the marks on my neck— You didn’t even bother to ask if I’m ok. But the second Luther is ntioned, you’re ready to burn everything and everyone to the ground. Jesus, Killian, I don’t know which of us is more pathetic."

I couldn’t help but despise Damian in this mont.

It’s true that he is risking his life for there, but he is also the reason Luther beca so intimate with Emiliano.

That’s it.

I grabbed my keys, leaving behind a yelling, crying ss of Damian.

I had to find Luther now.

If I kill Emiliano now, everyone will bla the grenade, not .

So I grabbed my phone and called.

"Hello? This is Killian Alba for the Daily Ourin News. I will go try to find Luther between the ruins of the apartnts from the tragedy this morning. You have about fifteen minutes before I arrive. Co get your trending news."

No need to wait for their response.

I knew they would call. This might just be bigger news than the bomb itself.

And they will be my cover for the police officers that are about to eat alive as soon as I arrive there.

"Emiliano, you better pray you’re dead. Those grenade guys surely we’re more rciful than I am about to be."