L*st and Death

“You touched him... didn’t you?”

At Lewis’s words, Miller flushed like a lump of red-hot coal and awkwardly scrambled to his feet. He hastily yanked up his pants to cover his lower half and assumed a boxer’s stance, jabbing the air theatrically.

“Yeah! He pissed me off, so I beat him to death and fucked his corpse! So what!”

“...Liar.”

“Liar? Fuck off. You’ll never find him. You’ll never see that body for the rest of your miserable life.”

Miller kept jabbing at Lewis’s centerline to distract him, edging sideways little by little toward the door.

“You and Anna are dead. Think you can mess with me? You think the people upstairs are gonna let you walk away from this?”

He flicked out jabs threateningly, but his final attempt failed.

The same hand that used to palm a basketball with ease was now caught like a toddler’s fist—held in place, utterly trapped.

No matter how much he tried to yank it free, it wouldn’t budge. Then Lewis’s fist slammed into his face.

Blow after blow shattered Miller’s face like glass. He stumbled and collapsed onto the bed.

“Where is he. Tell me. Now.”

Lewis advanced, voice low, shaking with fury—rage condensed into steel.

“D-don’t come any closer!”

“Where is he? Where did you hide him!”

“I don’t know! I swear I don’t know!”

“What?”

“I said stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

Miller hurled whatever he could grab—pillows, blankets, a cell phone, a tarp, Siron’s bag. They hit Lewis, bounced off, thudded to the floor. He looked like a cornered rat, slumped pathetically on the edge of the bed. As Lewis reached out to grab his collar—

—a sharp blow struck the back of his head.

He collapsed, disoriented, as if the floor had fallen out beneath him. Miller and another man exchanged panicked words overhead.

“Who the hell is this guy?!”

“Kill him! Kill him now!”

“Kill him? Are you insane?!”

“Shut the fuck up and kill him! You wanna die to that monster?! Then fucking do it!”

Dizziness tore through Lewis’s skull. Their voices faded into a distant drone. Through bloodshot eyes, he stared at a bundle of cloth lying near the edge of his vision. A pair of old, worn white underwear—thin and stretched like pantyhose, with a faint bluish tinge.

He remembered it too well. It was the underwear that creepy neighbor had stolen and worn—Siron’s. Impossible to forget.

Did Siron have a habit of undressing in his sleep? No. At least, not that Lewis had ever seen.

The underwear lying there didn’t make any sense.

The incomprehensible presence of that item filled Lewis’s mind with grotesque, horrible images.

Siron’s body, pinned under Miller’s bloated, frog-like belly. Struggling for air, buried under a mountain of sweaty flesh, suffocating.

Lewis couldn’t breathe either.

His mind kept spiraling toward the worst possibilities. Even as he tried to reason with himself—Siron couldn’t be dead, he’d only been abducted—his heart throbbed like it had suffered a hundred deaths in his absence.

Then, something heavy and blunt smashed the back of his skull.

Like a murder of crows pecking at his brain, the attack sent him reeling. But Lewis tore the pipe from the man’s hands.

Without emotion, Lewis stared down at the man’s wrinkled, panicked face.

Then he raised the pipe high—

—and smashed it down on the man’s head.

The first blow knocked him out cold.

But Lewis didn’t stop.

He kept going, over and over again, until the man’s face was pulp.

Eventually, he stopped. Letting out a long breath, Lewis looked up at the ceiling.

A strange sense of accomplishment surged through him. His bloodstream was on fire. The adrenaline poured through him like gasoline through a match.

The urge to kill—inevitable, irresistible—rose inside him.

He could feel every particle in the room, the energy of life roaring in from every direction. He was in a hyper-aware state, perceiving the world more intensely, more violently. And in that state, he looked for Joseph Miller.

But Miller was already gone.

While the stranger died beneath him, Miller had fled.

Dragging the iron pipe behind him, Lewis stepped outside.

Miller was staggering like a waddling duck down the empty road.

Lewis hurled the pipe like a spear.

It whistled past Miller’s head, barely grazing his ear before hitting the ground.

“HUUUUEEEERRK!”

A beastly, sobbing shriek burst from Miller’s mouth. He was almost at his car. He hit the key fob to unlock it and reached desperately for the handle—

“AAARGH!”

Gunshots.

A barrage of bullets ripped through the air. Miller dropped to the ground, curling up tight.

The concrete shattered around him, bullets grazing his clothes but miraculously missing flesh.

“You fucking idiot! That’s your best shot?!”

Laughing hysterically at the sudden reversal, Miller flipped Lewis the bird—

—and immediately paid for it.

A bullet tore through his thigh, sending him screaming to the pavement.

Lewis walked toward him.

Each step felt like an eternity.

Miller howled like a slaughtered pig. Deep, ragged moans tore through the cold morning air.

The sound grated on Lewis’s mind, ripping it apart like static from a hundred radios broadcasting different channels at once.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill that worthless fucking beast!

Gladly.

Lewis lunged like a rabid dog.

There was a blank gap in memory.

And then—

He was shoving Miller’s corpse into the trunk.

The metal was too mangled to close properly. The lid buckled and popped open like crooked teeth.

Frustrated, Lewis slammed it down.

It bounced back up again.

The ruined body of Joseph Miller was spread out before him, bent and broken.

In that moment, all the channels in his head cut out. Silence.

Lewis stared at the body with a blank look.

Pain throbbed through his swollen knuckles.

The red flood of images surged in—raw, unfiltered memories of what he’d done.

The image of Miller dying was seared into Lewis’s soul like a venomous fang.

“...Did I do this?”

His voice sounded strange, unfamiliar.

But the answer was clear.

He had killed a man.

Two, actually.

Joseph Miller and the other one—he didn’t even know the man’s name.

He had beaten them both to death.

Lewis collapsed onto the ground, laughing in disbelief.

Face pressed to the bloody rear bumper, his body trembled uncontrollably.

The realization was too much to bear.

It felt like he was straddling two worlds—one of raw, primal rage, and one of real-world consequence.

He closed his eyes and sighed.

It was like he’d stepped out of time—like he’d lived through something dreamlike, unreal.

In the distance, a strange car slowed as it passed by. The driver, sensing something off, briefly hit the brakes, glanced back—and floored the accelerator, panicked.

They would call the police.

Soon, the whole world would know Lewis had killed.

That he’d become a rut-crazed alpha.

They’d dissect his motives, rip apart his past, lay bare his mind.

At first, he considered turning himself in.

But the thought was crushed beneath a wave of pure terror.

He couldn’t live out the rest of his life locked in a prison cell—without Siron’s scent, Siron’s smile. That would be death.

If he had ten years left to live as an alpha, he wanted those ten years under the open sky.

Anna’s face flashed through his mind.

He reflexively reached for his phone, started to dial her number—

—but stopped.

He couldn’t call Anna.

She would never help him cover up a murder.

More than anything, he couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face.

The shame of imagining it alone was already unbearable.

But could he really erase all the evidence on his own?

Bury the bodies. Delete the shelter’s CCTV. Make the whole thing disappear?

Could he do it in his current condition—bleeding, broken?

Only now did the pain hit.

The adrenaline was gone.

His strength vanished. He could barely move a finger.

Stumbling like a wounded dog, Lewis dragged himself to the open car door, blood and spit dripping from his lips, and climbed inside.

He needed to clean up the murder.

But not alone.

Ironically, what came to mind was Hybris.

On the 15th floor of Hybris headquarters, there was a department that handled legal crises for violent alphas. Not just defense attorneys—they fixed things. Buried things.

Maybe they could bury this too.

Lewis thought of Dylan Brown’s vampire-like face and let out a weak chuckle.

Now that he’d committed murder, going back to Hybris felt inevitable.

Because he was a dirty alpha.

A monster, ruled by pheromones.

He pulled out his phone from his inside pocket.

The screen was cracked like a spiderweb, likely from the crash.

Through the shattered glass, he opened the Hybris app.

[Me]: Help me. I killed somone

Location shared.

Lewis closed his eyes.

He still hated Hybris.

But at the same time, some small part of him felt relieved.

Maybe he would go in circles forever—making the same mistakes. Maybe Hybris would always drag him back to square one.

Because he was an alpha.

Because without Yoon Siron, he could never become anything more.

But this rage that had driven him to kill today—it wasn’t just pheromones.

"If I wasn’t an omega, would you even be into me? It’s all pheromones, that’s all it is."

"You’re saying my feelings aren’t real."

A pained smile spread across Lewis’s face. Tears, like scars, carved paths down his cheeks.

“You’re wrong, Bébé.”

Siron had dismissed Lewis’s feelings as nothing but pheromonal illusion. Brushed off his passion as impulse.

But Lewis had killed—brutally—because they had hidden Siron, degraded him. Maybe even killed him.

Siron’s pain, Siron’s humiliation, had possessed him.

That emotion had become violence.

So how could this burning rage—this unbearable longing—possibly be fake?

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!