#elaine irwin
Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.
God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write
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~Elain~
For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.
Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.
The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.
And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.
It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.
Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.
What the hell did I walk into?
I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.
I can practically feelthe man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.
I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.
It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.
I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even bettermeasure.
I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.
For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.
I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.
The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.
~Azriel~
“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.
I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.
Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile–the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.
I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.
I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”
Smart.
Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.
If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.
Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.
I pull up the app to track her phone–which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker–and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.
“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them notto shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”
“Working on it,” he grunts back.
“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.
The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”
I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”
“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.
Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.
Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.
Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.
Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.
But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.
I’m going after her.
There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.
I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.
She knows.
She knows, and the look on her face… she looked at me like I’m a monster.
And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.
But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to… it feels like being robbed.
And it makes me panic.
So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.
Because I needher, and damn if I’m going at this alone.
After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.
I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.
“Elain!”
I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.
That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.
Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.
Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.
I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.
Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.
I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.
“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.
As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.
She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.
She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.
She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.
She has to let me explain. She hasto.
I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.
The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.
“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.
I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.
I’ll never hurt you.
I’m sorry.
~Elain~
Am I dead?
Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?
Where am I?
These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.
And the weird part is… I don’t have any.
I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.
I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.
There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to dosomething, need to get out of here.
I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.
Come downstairs.
He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.
The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.
What the hell happened to me?
I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.
Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.
Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.
Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.
I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.
The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was lookingfor it.
And that’s when it comes back to me.
Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs… I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.
I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.
The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.
I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.
I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.
Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.
I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.
And then nothing.
Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?
I’m sorry.
I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.
He drugged me.
Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.
And he’s downstairs.
I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’splanning to do. Why is he still here?
What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?
I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.
I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.
There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.
I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.
So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.
I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.
The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.
He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?
I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.
And wait.
Because I sure as hell am not talking first.
He stayed because hehas something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.
For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.
Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”
I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.
Because he said that almost like an accusation.
Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturingsomeone.
“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.
He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”
Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”
“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”
I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.
Instead I ask, “Why?”
I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.
He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you.You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”
My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”
His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just… couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”
The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”
“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”
It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explainedanything.”
He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”
I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”
“Myself.”
Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.
If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.
Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.
“Any other questions?”
“Why did you drug me?”
If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just saythat. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.
“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”
There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.
Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to… investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”
I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.
But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”
My mouth falls open.
He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”
“I’m not known for my humor.”
I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”
When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”
“It’s not about seeingit! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and… there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killedsomeone, Azriel.”
He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”
“He wasn’t innocent.”
I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”
He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.
God,the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?
“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being.I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”
I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.
“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”
A shiver goes down my spine at his words.
He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”
I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.
“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”
I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.
“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.
I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.
“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”
That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.
Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.
Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question… why aren’t I scared of him?
He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.
Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”
I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.
He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them toyou.”
“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”
Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.
But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.
And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.
It doesn’t work.
“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”
One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”
I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.
But it doesn’t, because they aretrue.
Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.
It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.
A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.
His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.
There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.
My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home,like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.
But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.
The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.
It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”
I’m falling for you, too.
I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.
Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.
The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.
He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.
My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.
Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out.You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”
Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.
He doesn’t.
Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.
“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”
It already has.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
“No?”
“No.”
He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.
The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.
He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.
It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.
It should be. But it isn’t.
It’s the opposite of disgusting.
There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’sthe vice I can’t quit.
I’m too far gone, too addicted already.
He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burningcigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.
He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.
His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.
My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?
“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.
I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I doneed him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.
Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.
And then he says something that changes everything.
“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.
I’m lost.
I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.
My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.
His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him.This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.
It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.
Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying–like he needsme.
My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.
The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.
My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.
Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.
“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.
I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.
“Say it,” he demands again.
Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.
Because I can’t.
Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just… can’t.
He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”
The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.
His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.
“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”
Except it feels like I am.
A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”
Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monsterwould be condoning the devil’s work, right?”
He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.
“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro.”
“Azriel-”
Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”
I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.
He tsks, feigning disappointment.
I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.
“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”
I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.
“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to begme for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”
I glare at him, silently conveying that that will neverhappen.Helied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.
He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.
“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”
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