Monstrous- The Complete Collection

by Sawyer Black

  Seven whores rolled toward the front door. Half were naked, but there wasn’t time for modesty when you were hauling ass away from a monster.

  Patrick froze, blinking the daze and confusion from his eyes. For Henry, nothing else mattered.

  The trust-fund fucker stood, as if waiting for Henry to start talking, his hard-on still raging as Henry flew forward with a punch. Patrick ducked, but Henry ducked lower, his fist connecting with Patrick’s jaw.

  His head whipped around, his knees wobbling as he threw his arms out to keep himself upright.

  Henry stepped in and wrapped his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and slammed him onto the floor, his forehead driving into Patrick’s nose. A crunching squish, and the asshole’s blood dribbled into Henry’s eyes. Henry tasted it as it dripped into his mouth. Delicious.

  Patrick said nothing. He didn’t cry out or beg or even laugh. He growled like an animal and lashed out at Henry. The monster ignored the ineffectual blows.

  Henry picked Patrick up by him hair and stood him against the wall. He wouldn’t stop swinging, so Henry drove a boot into his balls, smashing the flopping erection into his gut.

  Patrick’s breath exploded out of him. Blood coursed from his crushed nose as he tumbled to the floor. He landed with a thud and a wheezing gasp. Henry stomped on the killer’s back.

  Once Patrick finished gasping, He stomped again, another whistling from his body each time Henry’s heel landed on the asshole’s back.

  Henry stomped one final time and hooked his toe under Patrick’s arm. He kicked him over onto his side.

  The man curled forward, hands cupping his balls. “Why are you doing this?” he whined, blood spilling into his mouth, staining his teeth. "Whatever you want, it’s done. It’s money, right? I’ve got plenty. Let me take you to the safe.”

  I fucking wrote that line.

  He flashed back to his own pleas the night Patrick and his buddies broke into his home. The night they murdered his daughter, raped his wife, and sent Henry down his highway to Hell.

  “There’s not enough in your safe for absolution,” Henry growled.

  Patrick rolled over, and Henry allowed him to get up, watching him carefully. He bawled like a child. Giant shuddering sighs, weeping and begging, “Please.”

  Henry grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of the man’s head and yanked him so they stood face to horrible face. “Make this quick,” he hissed. “Your two partners gave you up in seconds, without crying like pussies. Tell me who else is in your cult.”

  “That’s what you want? A handful of bums who like to get wet? No problem, I’m happy to help. The Order means nothing to me. Same safe, different prize inside. I’ve got documents in the safe that’ll tell you everything.”

  Henry looked at Patrick, like he knew he was lying. “No fucking bullshit.”

  “Hey, man. I pay for some of this shit. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to give up my life for it.”

  Patrick turned and stumbled toward the same black hole the whores had run through before. Henry followed, down one long hall, then another to the left, up a short one, and through a doorway on the right. At the room’s far side, on the opposite end of a long and handsome desk, Patrick stood by the wall, looking over his shoulder with a bloody smile.

  Though the wall looked like nothing but wood, Patrick swiped his thumb on the surface. There was a beep and a click, then a large painting of a racetrack slid three feet to the left. Patrick entered a code and the wall safe sprang open with a flash. Henry watched carefully, in case the man had a gun waiting in ambush. But it was just a wooden box, approximately ten inches by fourteen inches, perfect for a stack of documents. He brought the box to his desk.

  “Here you go.” Like a carnival barker, he grinned and spread his hands. “It’s all yours. Order From Chaos!”

  Henry approached the desk, leaning to the side for a better look. He’d managed two steps when Patrick opened the box. He spun it, sliding his fingers under the edge of a neat pile of papers. The box faced Henry, and he bent to study the evidence Patrick was offering.

  But instead of lifting the papers out, Patrick flung the stack into his face. Henry ducked, knocking the fluttering papers from his line of sight, and Patrick lifted an onyx blade from the bottom of the box. He pulled back, but faster than his eyes could follow, the blade crossed the space between them, and it slid deep into his chest.

  Henry screamed and fell to his knees. Patrick released his grip and danced back to avoid the gush of black blood that splashed at his feet.

  “Fucking Christ!” Henry roared. A sun burned beneath his skin. “The fuck is this?”

  Patrick laughed. “A blessed knife, specifically designed to kill dumb fucks like you.”

  Like the Tracker’s net, the blade held him paralyzed. He couldn’t move, not even when Patrick punched him in the face, walking around his frozen body and kicking him in the balls. An echo of Henry’s earlier beating on him.

  “I know who you are and why you’re after us,” Patrick whispered. He launched another kick, this one to Henry’s side, right over his liver. After landing the blow he leaned in with his bloody lips next to Henry’s ear. “Mr. Punchline. Henry Black.”

  If he hadn’t been worrying about whether he was bleeding inside or out, Henry would’ve wondered how in the fuck Richie Rich knew his name.

  “Why?” Henry gasped, crying in pain, certain he was minutes, if not seconds, from death.

  “He told us your family would make an ideal target,” Patrick said, ignoring Henry’s question.

  “Who told you I was coming for you?”

  The man laughed with a shrug. “God.”

  “Fuck you,” Henry hissed. "What the Hell would you know about God?”

  Patrick smirked, happy that Henry wanted to play.

  “You know,” Patrick said, circling Henry, “We hadn’t planned to rape your wife. With no idea what was behind Bonus Door Number Four, I just didn’t see it coming. But damn, that black hair, man, hanging just above those perfect tits. Shit.” He kicked Henry in the back.

  Pain flared in his kidneys, but he couldn't even control his muscles enough to properly fall.

  “Don’t get me wrong, brother. I get it. Sad sack of shit like you couldn’t get a fine bitch like that without the money and fame. So I get why you’d be mad that we came and took her. Like I said, we never planned to stir that honeypot, but the way your lady wiggled it … fuck, man, I couldn’t help myself.”

  I’m gonna kill this fucker the minute I’ve got breath in my body.

  “Shame about your little girl, though. While my man was finishing your old lady, I went up to get a piece of your daughter, but she was too little to fuck.” He shrugged, looking down at Henry with a shake of his head. “There are some places even I won’t go. I did have second thoughts after she was dead, though.”

  “You sick fuck!” Henry groaned, struggling against the blade’s hold.

  I give up.

  Help me if you’re there, and I’m yours forever.

  Boothe, Ezra, Randall, someone. Anyone! I NEED YOU!

  Patrick went to the desk, but Henry couldn’t see what he was doing. He turned back toward Henry, cell phone to his ear. “Yes, Father, I've got him here … don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He’s as good as dead.”

  Father?

  What the hell does his rich dad have to do with this?

  Patrick left the den, laughing at Henry’s writhing as he disappeared into the hall.

  Henry wondered if he would die before Patrick returned. He kept blinking, unsure if his life, along with his blood, was seeping out between blinks. A side effect of the onyx knife in his chest.

  Amélie appeared in front of him, bursting into his sight like a flaring match. She looked down with wide, terrified eyes and a question on her lips.

  “Are you okay, Daddy?”

  He couldn’t tell if she was real or imagined. He would accept her even as a dream.

  Henry swallowe
d the blood flooding his mouth. Clenching against the cough threatening to take his breath. “Please, baby girl. Pull the knife if you can.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, staring at the knife, her hand hovering inches away.

  “Please, you won’t hurt me. Just pull it out, or I’m going to die.”

  Her hand circled the hilt, and their eyes met, hers on the verge of tears. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He looked at the door and hoped like Hell Patrick wouldn’t return at that moment. He wasn’t sure if she could be harmed, but he didn’t dare take a chance. He whispered, “Just please pull it out before he comes back.”

  She pulled in a swift motion he didn’t think she could have managed alive. As the blade slid out, strength and anger coursed through him, fueling Henry like fire burning hotter by the moment. Anger descended into rage, and his vision turned crimson.

  “Come on,” Amélie said, trying to pull her father to his feet. “Come back with me. Randall is waiting.”

  “No. I have to finish this now.”

  “Please,” Amélie begged. “Don’t do this, Daddy. Let’s just go. We can be together, forever! Just take my hands.”

  He thought of all the offers he’d received since death. An angel, a demon, and now his daughter, all tempting him with a deal. An open hand, to join them on one path or another. This was the first one he truly wanted to take. Her tears pecked at the edge of his anger. He hated to see her cry, and would do anything to halt her tears.

  He reached out for Amélie’s hand and was about to take it, but Patrick returned, shaking his head and laughing as he walked through the door.

  Henry couldn’t tolerate sharing a planet with the monster for six seconds longer.

  Henry smiled as Patrick froze. His shocked eyes narrowing, his brain puzzling out how Henry was no longer incapacitated. Patrick sneered in confusion, his eyes darting from Henry to Amélie then back to the demon. “What the fuck?”

  Henry leaped across the room, landing against Patrick and driving him to the floor. With his hands at the fucker’s throat, Henry growled, “Who did you call? Who else is involved in this? Is it your father?”

  Patrick laughed. “I called someone that’s going to kill you, dumbass. You fucked with the wrong person, Henry Black! I suggest you leave before it’s too late.”

  Either in his head or right beside him, Amélie yelled, “Don’t do it, Daddy!”

  Everything else in the universe, including every cell inside him, screamed for Henry to tear the fucker’s face from his skull. He asked again, “Who did you call? Why are you people fucking with my family?”

  Patrick said nothing, meeting Henry’s eyes with a glare. “Kill me and you’ll never find out. Or stick around. They’ll be here soon.” Then Patrick looked at Amélie, and back at Henry with his eyebrows drawing together. “What is it with your family that nobody wants to stay dead?”

  Then Patrick grinned.

  And in that smile, Henry’s life with his family flashed before his eyes. From when Samantha discovered she was pregnant, to when Amélie was born, to a hundred other tender moments. They all flew by even faster than they had in real life. Gone and never to happen again because Patrick Harrison and his stupid fucking cult ended everything.

  Henry’s hand shook around Patrick’s throat, even as he squeezed tighter.

  “Tell me why. Why us?” His voice was nearly dead with calm.

  “Please, Daddy,” Amélie said, now standing beside him, tears streaming down her face. “Please, just come with me. He’s not worth it.”

  Patrick’s eyes met Amélie’s, his face shaking and red, drool spilling from his mouth as Henry continued to squeeze, his nails pushing into the skin as they became claws.

  Henry leaned in. “Don’t you fucking look at her.”

  Patrick kept looking, his smile creeping wider.

  “Stop fucking looking!” Henry screamed, squeezing tighter.

  “Please, Daddy!” Amélie cried out.

  Patrick stared at Amélie, even as his face turned purple. This was the last man who had touched his daughter. The man who had stolen her life.

  He gritted his teeth and growled, his voice cracking and desperate “Stop looking at her!”

  “Daddy!” Amélie cried out as Henry’s claws shot through the bastard’s throat, meeting through his spine and ending him in an instant.

  Amélie’s scream echoed against the polished walls.

  Henry spun to her, but his baby girl was gone.

  “Amélie!” he cried out. He screamed a hundred times but heard no response. He closed his eyes, trying to squeeze away the emptiness. Then he opened them on a crumbled road at the edge of The Forgotten.

  Oh, God, please don’t let Amélie be here. Please, God!

  “Henry?” someone said from behind.

  He turned to find Boothe and Randall standing behind him, both in their robes.

  How did I get here?

  He turned back around, surprised to find himself out of The Forgotten. Back in the garden, in front of the table, beneath the giant Tree. Randall seemed especially sour. Boothe looked mostly relieved, though the corners of his mouth appeared heavy.

  Henry looked from one to the other. “What the Hell happened?”

  Randall said, “Go ahead and tell him.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “He’s going to be very, very angry,” Boothe said, unwilling to meet Henry’s eyes.

  “What did you expect?” Randall looked disgusted. “Everyone knew this would happen.”

  Henry felt sick. Or rather, sicker than usual. He didn’t know what they were hiding, but an ugly truth bubbled under their skin hot enough to burn him where he stood.

  Henry’s voice cracked. “What don’t I know?”

  Boothe turned to Henry and finally met his eyes. “Amélie ... she’s in Hell.”

  “What?” Henry took a step back, clutched fists shaking at his side. “How?”

  Boothe said nothing.

  “How?” Even as he yelled, Henry’s mouth fell open with the dawning realization. “Oh, God. You tricked me.”

  Boothe’s eyes were the most genuine Henry had yet seen, but his words held no apology. “You really trusted a demon, Henry?”

  “I warned you,” Randall said.

  Henry fell to his knees. His palms slapped the ground.

  “I’m truly sorry,” Boothe said. “I had to lie. You never would’ve …”

  Henry went from kneeling to standing without transition. Maybe demons wielded less power in Purgatory, but Henry was a fat guy who’d had to stand up to bullies all his life.

  He swung at Boothe repeatedly, rage fueling him even as he felt a sharp pain in his shoulders and gasped for breath as exhaustion claimed his bones. Not a single blow landed. He stopped, wrapping his hands around Boothe’s neck instead, his hands still sticky with Harrison’s blood. He squeezed, glad he could finally choke the fucker to death.

  Agony rolled across his forehead and into his eyebrows. From his temples to his cheeks. Fire against his skin, rage boiling him from the inside out. His claws sprang out, curved and sharp. They pressed into Boothe’s skin, but didn’t break through. His vision blurred, and Henry drew a breath that sent a spear of pain through his lungs.

  “You fucking lied!” Henry screamed, eager to end the demon’s life with his own two hands.

  Randall cried behind him, his plea like a bee in the wind.

  “Please,” said a woman’s voice, floating through the mist behind him.

  Henry stopped, looked back. Blood dripped into his eyes, burning his vision away. He wiped at it absently, and his fingers caught against the horns blooming from his skull. He looked down at the black blood pooled in his palms. He dropped to his knees and looked up as the fog parted, lit by brilliant light. And from that light, gliding across the grass, came a beautiful woman with long dark hair. Judging from the way she looked at Boothe, then down at Henry as if he were a monster, he knew in an i
nstant who she was.

  Maria.

  She looked at Boothe, her eyes wide and filling with tears. “Walden, is that you?”

  “Maria!” he rasped.

  Henry sat back, staring up at the woman, bathed in light like the angels who’d taken the souls from the church massacre. Henry could only shake his head and stare.

  Boothe spread his arms. He smiled, running to greet his love. He pulled her into his body, sweeping her up and spinning her in a circle. Kissing and crying and calling her name.

  Henry turned to look up at Randall. “This is why he betrayed me?”

  Randall nodded. “Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?”

  Henry glared at the reunion, feeling sick and murderous like never before. Poisoned by betrayal.

  “I warned you,” Randall said again.

  “Yeah, well you could’ve fucking told me the stakes! You could’ve told me it wasn’t my soul I was damning, but my daughter’s.”

  Randall said nothing, casting his eyes down.

  “Oh, yeah. You and your fucking rules!”

  Boothe was suddenly walking toward them, Maria standing behind.

  “I’m so sorry,” Boothe said.

  He shook his head. “No! Fuck you, Boothe. And fuck you, Randall.” Henry pressed to his feet, swaying with dizziness as he stared up at the swirling clouds surrounding them. “And most of all, fuck God.”

  Henry turned and staggered toward The Forgotten.

  Randall called out, “Where are you going?”

  “To forget. All of you and all of this!”

  Henry stumbled into a run, ignoring Randall and Boothe until he hit the crumbled edges of The Forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Henry woke in the last place he ever thought he’d see again — Boothe’s sprawling apartment.

  The clock read 5:12 a.m.

  How the hell did I get here?

  No TV or sirens outside.

  “Boothe?”

  No response.

  He rose from bed and looked down at his naked body.

  Where are my fucking clothes?