My Wives are Beautiful Demons-Chapter 245: Rage

The engine roared like a maddened demon, each internal explosion reverberating through the chassis like encapsulated thunder.

Vergil drove a 1970 Dodge Charger R/T, cutting through the asphalt like a furious beast, spewing smoke and hatred from its exhaust pipes. The midday sun scorched the golden horizon of the desert, reflecting off the car's black, glossy hood.

But Vergil didn't care about the heat, nor the sweat running down his forehead. He simply floored the accelerator without limits.

His fingers were firmly gripping the steering wheel, the knuckles white from the strength of his hold. The blower mounted on the hood spun violently, sucking in air like a colossal lung, feeding the monster beneath the hood. With every press on the accelerator, a brutal roar took over the road, as if the vehicle itself shared its owner's fury.

'We could have just... used our speed to come...' Ada was sitting next to him in the passenger seat, her posture tense.

She had seen Vergil fight fallen angels, demons, and monsters beyond comprehension, but seeing him in this state... silent, focused, with eyes full of pure rage and worry... sent a chill down her spine. 'I don't think he's thought about it... he's just angry.' Every gear shift was brutal, making the car practically leap forward, the engine growling as if it wanted to devour the entire road.

The landscape around them was a blur of sand and rocks, the twisted cacti and shrubs becoming indistinct shadows as the Charger tore through the highway like a black arrow shot from hell. With every passing second, Vergil pushed the car faster, surpassing what should have been possible for a car like that. But limits never meant anything to him.

"Vergil... you need to calm down," Ada said, trying to keep her voice firm despite the tightness in her chest.

He didn't respond. He only gripped the wheel tighter, his eyes narrowed, staring ahead at the road as if he could already see his target on the horizon.

Vergil had a few rules in his mind... no one... has the right to attack someone Vergil considers his. A friend? An ally? A... wife? No... no one can touch what's his.

But someone did... Alexa had been attacked. Someone dared to touch her. And he wasn't going to let that slide... even if she was just a friend. That didn't give anyone the right to hurt her.

The sun blazed above them, lighting the road leading to the desert. The heat shimmered on the asphalt, creating wavering illusions in the distance. But the only thing that mattered now was reaching their destination. Vergil could feel his heart beating in sync with the furious rhythm of his Charger's engine.

A rhythm that would only increase until he found out who was responsible for this.

The Dodge tore through the desert road like black lightning. Every gear shift was a burst of adrenaline, every turn made at the limit of gravity showed that Vergil wasn't just driving—he was hunting.

Alexa had been attacked. Those words hammered in his mind, each repetition fueling a murderous instinct crawling from the depths of his soul.

Vergil saw.

A red Koenigsegg Jesko was parked in front of the motorcycle club, reflecting the relentless sun as if made of pure blood and metal. The car exuded power, its aggressive silhouette cutting through the horizon like a hunting beast waiting for the right moment to strike.

And leaning against the hood, with the confidence of one who knew exactly the impact they had, Katharina watched him. Her fiery red hair blazed under the midday sun, her sharp eyes capturing every movement of the approaching black Charger with a deafening roar.

Vergil didn't hesitate. He slammed his foot on the brakes, the tires screeching against the asphalt, and a cloud of dust rose around him as he finally stopped. The engine still rumbled low, like a demon hungry for more.

For a moment, he stayed there, inside the car, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel. Katharina raised an eyebrow, the smile on her lips dancing between provocation and a certain understanding. She knew that look. She knew the weight of his restrained fury.

She lifted a hand, a small gesture, a silent call.

Vergil didn't respond. He simply shoved the door open with force and stepped out, his eyes locked on her before quickly glancing at the Koenigsegg. A car as fierce as its owner.

"You could have just used your speed," Katharina remarked, taking a few steps forward. But before he could respond, she grabbed his face and pulled him into a quick kiss. "Calm down, darling."

Vergil remained silent, his muscles still tensed like cords on the verge of snapping.

Katharina then looked at Ada, who had just gotten out of the Charger and was fixing her hair after the chaotic ride. "I told you to control him."

Ada sighed, shrugging. "He just threw me in this car and drove like a damn possessed man. You know our husband."

Katharina smiled slightly, but there was something in her gaze. Something that made Ada narrow her eyes.

Before she could ask anything, her attention shifted to the car parked nearby.

"Sapphire really let you take this rare gem?" Ada asked, running her fingers along the flawless body of the Koenigsegg.

"She doesn't know." Katharina replied with a mischievous smile before turning back to Vergil.

"She's inside. You'd better talk to her alone."

Vergil looked at the door of the biker bar, then back at Katharina.

She sat on the hood of the car, crossing her legs and leaning back on her arms. Her tone softened a bit.

"Just... see for yourself." She said, then let it go...

Vergil entered the biker bar.

The smell of blood and gunpowder hung in the air, thick and inescapable. The place was shrouded in dim light, cut only by the yellowish glow of the neon signs flickering on the walls. Tables and chairs were overturned, some broken, and the floor was a mosaic of blood and debris.

Werewolf bodies were scattered across the room, their skins torn, limbs twisted in impossible angles. There were signs of clean cuts, precise shots, and even traces of hand-to-hand combat—an execution carried out with meticulous precision.

Vergil walked through the area without haste, his eyes scanning the scene, taking in every detail. This wasn't just a bar brawl. This was an execution.

Then, he saw her.

Sitting alone at a table at the back, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of her, Alexa drank in silence.

Her gaze was distant, fixed on some vague point on the wood in front of her. Shadows danced around her face, highlighting the hardened and exhausted features. But what truly caught Vergil's attention was the makeshift bandage covering the right side of her face, soaked with dried blood.

She'd lost an eye.

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And she was drinking as if nothing had happened.

Vergil approached without a word, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her.

She didn't react immediately, only grabbing the bottle and pouring another shot into her glass before finally lifting her eyes to meet his.

"If you're here to lecture me, you can turn around and leave," her voice was raspy, but without fragility. Just exhaustion and a heavy bitterness.

Vergil rested his forearms on the table, interlocking his fingers. His eyes stayed fixed on her, cold and calculating, but deep down, there was something more. Something only someone like Alexa, who knew him well, could see.

"Who did this?" he asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

Alexa let out a short, humorless laugh, swirling the drink in her hand. "My brother." The silence between them was interrupted by the distant sound of a flickering sign and the slow drip of blood from one of the bodies on the floor.

Alexa turned her glass, letting the liquid burn down her throat before slamming it back onto the table with a sharp thud. Her remaining eye drifted for a moment, staring at nothing, while her voice came out hoarse, laden with cold hatred and pain that not even all the alcohol in the world could drown.

"He came in as if nothing had changed… Sat beside me, asked for a drink. We talked." She laughed dryly, a lifeless sound. "I should've seen it. He wasn't the same anymore… But I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe my brother was still in there."

She tilted her head to the side, her fingers tightening around the glass.

"Then he stood up."

The silence seemed to stretch as the memory took hold of her.

"I blinked, and the first one was already dead." Alexa closed her eyes, her voice trembling for just a moment before steadying again. "He tore Caleb's throat out with his bare hands, like crushing paper."

The sound of glass cracking caught Vergil's attention. The glass in his hand had cracked.

Alexa continued.

"After that, it turned into a massacre." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to remember every detail. "He severed Sam's spine with a single strike. Grabbed Miranda by the hair and broke her neck without even flinching. The others tried to fight back, tried to face him, but he was fast. Strong. Too strong."

Her fists clenched, her nails digging into the skin of her palm.

"I fought." She looked up at Vergil, and there was something monstrous in her eyes. A deep, rooted hatred in her very soul. "I fought with everything I had. But he wasn't trying to kill me."

Alexa removed the bandage from her face, allowing Vergil to see the open wound. The hollow where her eye used to be was now just exposed flesh, jagged edges, and coagulated blood.

"He pinned me to the ground." Her voice was now a sharp whisper, like a blade. "Put his fingers on my face… and pulled."

She closed her eyes, remembering the unbearable pain, the horrible sound of flesh tearing, the screams she couldn't contain.

"He wanted me to feel it. Wanted me to remember every fucking second. The last vision of one of my eyes… Was my pack being destroyed, one by one, torn apart. I saw it all, heard the screams, the sound of flesh being ripped, blood spilling on the floor. It was the worst torture, the slow death of everything I loved. And all I could do was feel it. Feel and die with them." She spoke, pouring more drink into her glass, as if the pain would be diluted by the alcohol, but nothing could numb what she carried inside.

"Wanna know something?" She spoke, her eyes as dark as the abyss, the tone of her voice ripping through the silence of the room. "Turn me into a demon. I don't want this disgusting skin, this weak body that carries the filth of this rotten race. I don't want to carry these memories anymore. I won't live another second as a werewolf."

She took a gulp from her drink and slammed it down with a dry sound before fixing her gaze on him, her eyes now darker, deeper, as if the rage burning inside her would consume everything. "Kill me, Vergil. Kill me and make me a demon. I'll hunt him down, even if I have to rebuild my body from scratch, if I have to give up everything that's left of my soul. I will hunt him. I'll make him pay, even if I have to sell my soul to a Demon King. Nothing of me will be left, but he will pay, or I am nothing."