The main version was the wonderful, courteous Jax everyone loved and who would make an excellent politician.
The secondary version, handy as it being his true nature, was Jax, whom he only unleashes when the void gets too large and he must cast off some bad vibes.
Sofia was just so unfortunate to be the designated scapegoat.
Or unlucky, depending on what you're looking at.
He lagged behind and watched as he stepped into a room, whether it was his or not he didn't know.
Either way, doesn't matter. He remained frozen in the area of the corner for a couple of minutes.
Invisible.
It was a superpower he had lost along the way as he grew up and became apparent, mainly due to the manner in which he appeared. A reckless thing that happened because two good-looking persons got involved in something called love and decided to reproduce some replicas.
The replicas were him and his brother—something far from his parents' plan.
They think Stiles is the only aberration with the Carson Wentz name, but that's just because they never did meet him.
Not exactly.
When he watched how they both lost it about Stiles's idiot harmless antics with mouse-slaying, he hovered around the corner and listened in.
He heard Dad berate himself, his genes, and that gentleman who shall not be named. He heard Mom cry and beg him to stop.
He heard the noise.
The panic.
The feeling that their little ideal family was shattered.
And he resolved he would not become Stiles.
He would not show parade his demons or broadcast his emptiness. He would not even let them catch on that something was wrong or, worse, worry so much that they take him in to a doctor and have him checked out like they did with that stupid brother of his.
He decided to be their immaculate boy. The picture-perfect son they never had and never will.
A pristine, unrivaled replica of what he envisioned his dad would've been like if he were younger.
Because that's what he would've turned out like if he hadn't been born him.
Taking a quick glance about him and making sure no one was watching, he moved towards the room Sofia had gone into. His hands steady, he turned the handle, did a quick once-around to make sure no one was close, then went inside. Smiling minimally, he leaned his back against the door and locked it.
It was that easy, he was a bit offended, but nothing stopped his blood from raging in his veins, a thunderous rush that jolts him into life.
He had always loved the hunt, the way the animals scurry in the dark, the thrill of the unknown coming with every breath.
His heart pounded and his devils clawed at their prisons, their rage pouring from the depths of the void, their hunger for blood coloring the room in his mind red.
His color of choice.
Sofia's room of choice was black, the air thick with stale, chemical cold. Walls were paneled in dark wood, shadows that creep to the corners, creating the room a more constricted space than it really is.
As he approached, he caught a glimpse of a desk and bookcases stacked with books and knick-knacks. But the only thing that was quite visible was the black leather sofa in the center of the room, on which Sofia lay out. The sad fuck probably couldn't make it to a room with a bed, too stoned out of his goddamn head.
A mask still in place on his face, he had on black pants and a long-sleeved sweater. His eyes leaped to his pulse point—the first thing he'd see about a person.
It was pumping normally, the point hammering against the flesh in an entrancing sight. It was muffled, but he could detect the regular, deep throbbing.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
And he wanted to sever it.
To slice his knife through it and watch it go quiet. Still.
There is nothing.
He clicked his thumb to the corner of his upper lip but just dropped his hand before he could bite the skin and cut himself.
It's been a while since he snapped him out of the habit and he isn't going to let it come rushing back now that he has a grip on his life.
Despite as much as he desired killing Sofia, he won't.
The only thing he had imposed upon himself was no killing.
It was not due to any moral code he rationally didn't possess such wastes of space. In actuality, it'd be beneficial to the human race to get rid of the stupid wastes of space who keep lowering the average IQ. That was the realization that he could not stop and will be caught one day.
Yes, he can escape prison for a short while. Not only was he a first-year law student in training to learn the law so that he could manipulate it for his own use, but his father's family owns one of the largest and most successful law firms in the States, Carson Wentz & Carson Wentz.
His grandfather cared for him more than his own son and would get him the 'not guilty' verdict regardless of how many underhanded tricks he has to use.
But for how long?
He'd still kill.
It would be impossible not to.
Especially after…him.
He knew because bloodlust was the one hunger he could not moderate at all. He looked at the pulse points of people and he wanted to make them red. To let them choke on their own blood and fill his void. He looked at them through their eyes and he wanted them empty. He imagined dead eyes looking back at him, knowing he was the god who destroyed their lives.
It came often during sex because they were groaning and he had his hand wrapped around their throats, and he wanted to shut off that pulse point to nothing.
He wanted their orgasm to mean death. It'd be lovely, actually. To end their lives in their most pleasured moment.
Unfortunately, that would not ruin this whole image he'd built his entire life, and he did desire his image greater than his need to see people die.
So, regretfully, he was unable to kill Sophia.
He remained motionless as he scanned him again, music playing downstairs muffled.
Was he always that tall? He knew that he was big like that giant Rebecca, and they are prone to beating each other to death in the fight club, but he had thought he was closer to his 6'3" than Rebecca's 6'4".
And he wasn't standing up, so he shouldn't be that tall.
With a mental shoulder shrug, he approached him and pulled a knife out of his calf sheath.
Step one: Undress him.
But he himself won't be stripping a guy—he didn't even like stripping girls—so that's why he used the knife to cut his clothes off.
Step two: Squeeze the vial of lube that looks and feels like semen all over him.
Step three: Take a picture of his cock in his hand as if he just ejaculated on him.
Step four: Post it all over the internet with his face clearly visible.
Step five: Back to his public persona, knowing that he was the reason behind his fall.
May punch and kick him a couple of times subsequently, just to release this anger that's been building up in his veins recently. He touched the edge of his shirt, not keen on having it touch his skin. Ideally at all. Reluctantly, once or twice for need.
The-point knife cut through fabric and he hesitated as the two halves of the shredded shirt fell to either side of him, revealing a muscular chest, an eight-pack, and a very incorrect tattoo.
Due to all the fights he was in, he'd often caught Sofia half-naked. While his back had all sorts of shit on it, he only had one small tattoo on his chest—a Russian scripture.
This is what he saw now.
The guy beside him, his chest exposed, had a humongous 3D black snake slithering around his abs, scales ascending and curling like they're living, curling down to his side with deadly elegance. Its mouth was open, fangs bared, inches away from his heart like it's about to strike and tear into him.
He took a step back.
Unless Sofia had gotten herself a fresh tattoo within the last forty-eight hours, this wasn't him.
His mind reeled. How?
He clearly recalled hearing himself talk when he palmed him the stuff, and he kept him in his sights from then on.
Except when he went upstairs first.
Shit.
If this was a setup, he wasn't going to wait to find out. His legs propelled him towards the door in silent, fast strides.
The moment he grasped the knob, a metal pipe was pressed against his temple, and a gun was cocked.
A deep, unusual voice rumbled in his ear, "Bad form to get a man up and then leave him hanging. How about we set that right?"