by Lucy Smoke
stone-cold lie. She’ll suffer either way, but she doesn’t know that yet.
Her breath shudders in and out of her chest. Her eyes bounce back and
forth between mine. I can hear the internal clock in my mind ticking. I wait a
full ten seconds and when still she hasn't given me an answer, I reach down
and snap her ring finger back until it touches her knuckles.
A startled scream echoes through the room, nearly deafening me. "What
the fuck?" Corina shrieks, sounding breathless as she jerks. Does she really
think she can get away trussed up like she is? I shake my head. Fucking
stupid. "You're a fucking psycho bitch!" she curses me.
I release her finger and grip her by the throat, dropping the smile on my
face as I lean forward until her lips are barely an inch from mine. There's no
way in hell she can mistake my intention here. And as if she recognizes the
shift in me, her body tries to recoil. Corina shies away from me, her tears
falling harder and faster. Her lips gape open like a starving fish.
"You're damn right I am," I whisper, letting my words linger in the air
between us. "And you were the dumb cunt who thought you could come after
me and get away with it. You're not fucking leaving this house, Corina. Make
no mistake. I’m not going to give you any hope of leaving. You are going to
die here, and if I have my way, which I will, it will be in a lot of fucking
pain."
Rage boils in my blood. It extends throughout my veins until I feel like
I'm going to explode with it. My body feels hotter than ever before. Who
knew anger could actually keep you warm at night?
"I'm going to do things to you that no woman should do to another," I
whisper. I feel my shadows growing closer. The monster inside me licking
her fucking lips. It wants blood. Hers. "Maybe someday," I tell her, "I'll have
nightmares about this. Maybe one day, I'll regret my actions." My fingers
delve into my pocket and I withdraw Dean's knife—my knife now. Flicking it
open, I hold it up to her throat, letting it dig in just enough so that it slices
into her skin and fresh blood dribbles out. "That day isn't today."
"No! Wait." Corina begins to beg as I pull away and slice through her
clothes. I cut down the center of her shirt until the fabric parts. The desire to
just unleash on her, to just pull my fist back and stab her right in the chest,
and keep doing so until all of the pain and disgust inside of me fades is hard
to push away, but I manage it. When the blade reaches the top of her shorts, I
don't hesitate to cut through those as well, though it’s a bit harder since the
fabric is tougher. "I-I can help you," Corina stutters out. "Please, you—I can
tell you where Ace is."
I pause with the blade pressed to the inside of her thigh. Right above the
femoral artery. She sobs and tries to move away, but there’s nowhere for her
to go. I’ve got her right where I want her. One little slice. One cut. Too much
pressure and a downward angle and she’ll bleed out in minutes. Or less
depending on how deep I cut. I consider my options. I want to see her die.
The need for it is in me. The desire is a cancer—eating away at my
rationality. One little movement and this will all be over and I won’t have to
make her suffer.
The fucked-up thing, though, is that I want to see her suffer. Maybe it was
that damn dream or maybe the anger has just been bubbling under the surface
all these weeks, waiting to be unleashed. Roger was like a wild animal, but
she had led him to me. She had urged him to feast and to maim and hurt. She
knew what she was doing. I don’t want to just end it here. I want her to know
just how much it had hurt. How much I had fucking hurt, and I refuse to feel
guilty for that.
One of the church ladies in Plexton had pulled me aside as a child after
I’d punched a stupid boy for pulling on my hair. She’d told me, an eye for an
eye makes the whole world blind. As an eight-year-old, I hadn’t understood
her meaning. Now, I do … I just don’t care. Justice must be served. If an eye
for an eye makes the whole world blind, then I’ll walk through this world
with a rag over my eyes and blood on my feet. I’m not going to let Corina go
that fucking easy.
All I can think of is the fact that she engineered my rape. She did this and
she’s not even sorry. I haven’t heard a single apology uttered from her lips. I
glance up at her from my position. She doesn’t look like the pretty rich girl
here, like this. Her makeup is runny and smudged all around her eyes, giving
them a sunken in look. There’s blood caked under her nostrils. Bruises on the
side of her face. Even if she did suddenly start professing her regret, I
wouldn’t believe her. People like Corina aren’t the type to ever truly
understand their sins. Corina isn’t the type of woman who understands
remorse. She’s obsessive and now that she realizes she’s caught like a fly in
my fucking trap, she’ll do and say anything to get out.
“Where is he?” I ask anyway, despite myself. While Ace isn’t as guilty as
her, I do want to repay him for the torture he gave me. I reach up and finger
the side of my face, where the thin, barely there line from his knife remains,
remembering.
Panting, her chest moving up and down underneath her bra and the
remains of her clothes, she turns her head from side to side, trembling so hard
that it nearly shakes the chair she’s tied to. "Let me go and I'll— ahhh!" I pull
back and slam the sharp end of my knife into her thigh—away from the
artery—right in the fleshy bit several inches above her knees.
I release it, leaving the knife there as I take a step back. “That’s not how
this works,” I say. “Where is he?”
She groans, lifting her face. “You—” I don’t give her a chance to speak. I
grab her arm right at the wrist on the hand opposite of her broken fingers,
lock onto her middle one and then bend it and twist until the thing snaps.
Spittle flies from her lips as she shrieks in pain. I don’t care. Shoving the
black cloth around her neck back into her mouth, I work on breaking each
and every one of her fingers. Stifled sobs reach my ears, but I barely hear
them. When I finally do glance at her face, it’s a patchy disgusting mess.
Drool dribbles from her lips beneath the gag. Her eyes have taken on a hazy,
faraway look as if even her own mind is trying to pull her away from what
I’m doing to her. A part of me enjoys her pain, but it’s not enough. It won’t
ever be enough. Because even if this is what I need, what I want is to turn
back time. To erase what happened. That’s impossible, so I have to make do
with this.
I finish breaking Corina’s fingers, and step back, looking down at the
awkward, jagged digits, each one twisted or loose or swollen and purple. My
brows draw down low over my eyes and I stare at her with parted lips. After a
few seconds, she seems to come back to herself, and she spits out the gag. It’s
grown too loose. My tongue presses into my cheek as I turn and look back to
Dean and Braxton.
"What do you think?" I ask. “
You think she knows where Ace is?” Even
Rylie hadn’t been able to track him down.
Braxton takes a step forward, passes me, and rips up the handle of the
knife, holding it up as blood runs down the sides. Corina whimpers, another
sob choking in the back of her throat. "She's lying," he guesses.
"She could be telling the truth," Dean replies.
"Hmmm." I hum. I turn back to her. "Well, Corina? Where is Ace?"
"I-I said..." She gasps and whimpers. "Let me go and—" I have to
withhold a laugh as Braxton sticks her other thigh and she screams again. She
isn't too good at learning what we don't want to hear. " Why? " she sobs.
I shoot forward, grabbing her by the back of her head and jerking her face
up to meet my gaze. "That's what I want to fucking know," I tell her. "Why
the fuck did you do this? All for Luc? Did you really think you were helping
him? He doesn't even acknowledge your existence." Her tears are getting
annoying. I reach down and clamp my palm around the handle of the pocket
knife and push it back and forth, digging it into her flesh as she chokes out
more sobs. "You didn't even know me," I tell her. "So, why me? Why the
fuck did you do what you did to me?"
"Because of who you are!" she screams. "You have no fucking clue,
Avalon. No clue. Who you are. Where you come from. Who your father—"
"I know who my father was," I cut her off.
She freezes. Her lashes flicker and her eyes lift to meet mine. She stares
at me and then shakes her head. "No," she says. "No, you don't. You can't. If
you did then—"
"He was Nicholas Carter's best friend."
She pauses again, but for an even shorter time. This time when she
speaks, it's with a slightly maniacal lilt to her words. "That's all you know?"
she asks before she starts shaking her head in my grip. "No. No. No. You still
know nothing. If you want to know who's behind all of this, Carter knows..."
Her eyes move past me to something over my shoulder—or someone. I don't
look back. "I think you already know, too."
"Don't look at them," I growl, gripping her hair tighter, until several
strands are yanked out. "Look at me. I'm your fucking enemy."
"You never mattered." When she speaks, she sounds deflated. Like none
of this matters. Like nothing matters at all anymore. "You were just a product
of mistake," she says. "No one ever wanted you."
No one ever wanted me? Her words repeat in the back of my mind.
There's something unnerving about that statement of hers. She sounds so sure
and yet from her, it means nothing. She's also not right. Nicholas had
admitted as much—so had Patricia—my father had wanted me. Before I was
even born, there had been one person on this fucking planet who wanted me.
Breathing heavily, feeling the rage come forward, black spots dance in
front of my vision. I can't stop it. It curdles in my stomach, rises up to my
throat.
"Avalon?" Dean sounds like he's coming from so far away. That's not
right. He should be right behind me, only a few feet away. Corina's hair falls
out of my grip.
She thinks I don’t matter? She still doesn't seem to understand. If one of
us doesn’t matter, it’s her. I’m going to walk out of this house after I’m done
with her; she won’t ever walk again. Her head lolls to one side. What do I
have to do to make her understand the gravity of what she did? What it did to
me?
A horrible, disgusting thought blooms in my mind. I take a step back and
look down at the knife in my hand and at the skin of her throat and chest. All
the way down to her stomach. I could show her. Show her exactly what it felt
like when Roger shot me up with drugs and fucked me on the dirty kitchen
floor of my mother's trailer.
I'm strong, and yes, I survived. But no one survives those types of ordeals
without some scarring, and before she leaves this fucking earth, I want to
make sure that she knows what it's like to be shredded from the inside out.
As if sensing my intentions, she glares at me when I move towards her
once more. "What are you doing?" she demands.
There's an odd tingling in my fingertips as I lift the knife and point it at
her. I don't answer her question. I'm not going to, and when she realizes this,
true fear crosses her expression. Her eyes blow wide open. Her lips part and
her struggles increase.
"Stop!" she says. It's futile. Why do people think if they say it, that it'll
happen? It didn't happen when I told Roger to stop. Is it just instinct? My foot
lifts and I kick her square in the stomach. The chair topples over. "W-what …
are you..." she tries to wheeze out the question once more. I should think it
would be obvious by now.
I stand over her, knife in hand. Her blood runs down my fingers, coating
my palm. My head feels like it's screaming, it hurts so fucking bad. My limbs
are shaking.
"Please..." Corina finally gasps out, one last cry, one last plea. I let it
disappear into the silence of the room as I lean down and press the sharp edge
of the knife against her underwear.
"You know…” I say as I stare into her fear-filled eyes. “Even if I had said
please, I don’t think he would’ve stopped. So, I’m not going to stop for you.”
The blade pushes forward, cutting into her insides like Roger's cock had
done to me.
This, I think, is true, cold revenge.
38
DEAN
THIS IS … FUCKED UP. AVALON DOESN'T SHOW IT, BUT SHE'S ON THE EDGE.
There's a darkness within her that I haven't seen in a while. Not since that
night—the night we'd gone after her and found her in that position. An
insidious monster curls in my chest. Watching her exact her revenge isn't
enough for me. I want more. I need more.
Braxton's eyes are surprisingly not on the scene before us. Normally, he'd
be the one absorbed in someone else's pain. He's accepted that part of
himself, luxuriated in it for so long that his sadistic, twisted tendencies
became second nature. I've always fought against mine. I've always remained
somewhat human.
Until this moment.
Until now.
Avalon either doesn't care about Corina's screams and cries and pleas or
she simply doesn't hear them. It wouldn't surprise me if she didn't. She works
the girl over with cold calculation. Soils the knife I gave her in blood as she
thrusts the blade into Corina's crotch and twists and stabs until Corina is
shaking with agony. Then when she's done, she pulls out and begins carving
her up.
Sweat collects on her brow, sliding down her temple, and then lingers at
her jaw. I want to lick it off of her. I've never loved her more than I fucking
do right now. Covered in the blood of her enemies and hurting the woman
who fucking tried to break her. Some might say that these actions she takes—
the bloodshed and psychotic need to make those who hurt her pay—proves
that she is broken, but I disagree.
This proves nothing but that she was—is—stronger than them. She
survived. My dick pulses in my pants. My teeth clench against the spiral of
lust and desire
that I have for this woman. For Avalon. It's so heavy that it
feels like a physical weight on my shoulders.
God, we're fucked up, I think. Both of us, two irreparable creatures. Not
quite monsters. No longer human.
It's too hot in this fucking room. It's stifling.
"Dean?" Brax moves closer to me. "Do you need to step outside?"
I do—not because the sight of her covered in Corina's blood bothers me
—but because if I don't, I might drag her off the girl only to fuck her right
there in that blood. I need to step out, but I don't want to leave her.
In response to Brax's question, I shake my head. I will hold off. I'll hold
steady. I can handle this. I clench my hands into fists at my side. "Call a
cleaner," I order instead. "She'll be done soon." If she's not, I'll have to make
her finish. She's a predator and this bitch is her prey, but there's only so long
you can play with your food before it goes stale.
Brax eyes me for a moment and then nods. I sense more than see him
leave the room, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor behind me. My
gaze returns to Avalon. By the time she's done with Corina, she's cut out the
girl's tongue—I guess the screaming was getting to her—and tossed it to the
side. She's carved up the bitch's nasty pussy, and left long lacerations up and
down her legs and arms. Corina's mouth is filled with blood—she's
practically choking on it.
Once we're alone, I take a step forward. "Avalon." She ignores me as she
starts to work on one of Corina's pinky fingers. Corina lets out a gurgled
whimper and her eyes jerk to me. Blood slips down the corner of her lips and
into her hairline, almost slipping right into her ears. Does she think I'm going
to save her? I scowl at the disgusting hope that shines in her eyes. No. I'm not
her fucking savior. But she's only worth so much time spent torturing.
"Avalon," I say her name again and reach forward, cupping my hand over
her shoulder. "I think you've played with your food enough. Kill her and be
done."
Avalon's hands still against Corina's hand, her pinky hanging on by the
white bone that shines through the blood and flesh she's stripped away. Her
chest rises and falls with how heavily she's breathing, but she lets me pull the