Mammon (Devilry #2)

37. Beelzebub

THIRTY-SEVEN

BEELZEBUB

I know they’re speaking.

I can see their mouths moving, their eyebrows wrinkled in concern and pity as they try to get me to respond. Their actual voices sound almost muffled and distorted, broken into every other word and jagged syllables.

But when they stop talking, I don’t like the silence either. It makes me remember things I wish I could forget, the searing images that will forever haunt my nightmares, everything I wish I could erase from my brain.

A strong but gentle hand rests on my back and I look up on instinct, momentarily comforted by Mammon’s unwavering gaze. He clenches his jaw, not out of anger, but frustration, even though I get the sense it’s not me he’s frustrated with.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says, standing and taking my hand. “Beelzebub needs his rest.”

I don’t fight him as he leads me away from our brothers, all of them parting wordlessly. I can’t bear to look at them as I pass, focusing my gaze on my socked feet rather than looking up to see the disgust on their faces, like they can see the shame I wear.

Because, while Gore… I was…

I shake my head, banishing the memory. Mammon doesn’t take us upstairs to our room. Instead, we head down to the basement. Once we reach the final step, he turns to make sure we weren’t followed and takes me to the couch. I sit down on the very edge, still jumpy and fearful, but when he wraps his arm around my shoulder, I relax.

His comfort is what I need. This is what I need. To be reminded that I’m safe, I’m here, and everything is going to be okay.

Even if it’s not.

“Bel,” he starts, the nickname almost foreign on his tongue. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you, but we need to talk. Action has to be taken soon. I know it’s a lot to ask of you and I wouldn’t if there was any other choice, but there isn’t.” He tugs me closer, resting his lips on the crown on my head. “You need to tell me everything.”

In my mind, I know that he’s coming from a rational and sane place. Gore is in no state to see anybody—even us—but I am. I’m coherent, paranoid and terrified, for sure, but present. However, my heart… My soul hates him for forcing this burden on my shoulders.

I go to tell him to fuck off; that I’ll talk about it when I’m ready, because even thinking about recalling what happened sends my heart beating out of my chest, but I don’t.

I think about Gore and about what they did to him. About what they did to me . I’m doing this for him—for us—and for every member of our family. I’ll play the protector like I always have and put him first, exactly the way it should be.

The fleeting taste of letting go feels so foreign now.

I tell him everything. I start by explaining how Gore and I were walking by the lake when we were taken. I go into as much detail as I can about the warehouse and where I think it might be. I reveal the wolf man’s name—Sage—and recount all the things he said.

His next question has bile climbing up my throat.

“What did they do to you two?”

I start to shake. It’s not a light tremble, or even a twitch, but a full-body wrack that has me nearly falling off the couch. Mammon is there to catch me, scooping me up and onto his lap where tears well in my eyes.

I hold them back.

“He had a message for you.” My voice is a hoarse whisper as I bury myself into his chest. “He said, ‘We can be monsters too.’”

“Please,” he mumbles, thumbing my bottom lip tenderly. “Tell me. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Be strong.

You’re the protector.

Do this for Gore.

“I couldn’t do anything,” I say, keeping the tears at bay, using every ounce of power I possess to stay coherent enough to have this conversation. “Like I said, there were other people there. One of them…he pulled Gore’s pants down.” I gulp, remembering the way Gore’s brown eyes widened in terror at the realization of what they were going to do to him. “The other man pulled out his cock. Then he…”

Mammon’s grip on me tightens to near pain. “Then?”

“If you know it, why do I have to say it?” I cry, looking up at him, begging him to let me forget. “ Please .”

Blinking rapidly, he tries to clear away the mist in his blue eyes. His nostrils flare as he breathes out deeply, looking resigned. “Every detail matters. Something could have been said or done that could give us a clue. I’m sorry, Bel.”

I lick my chapped lips and nod. My voice is wobbly and a different pitch than I recognize when I speak the memories into truth. “He raped him.”

It was more than a rape… It was a slaughter . The man shoved his dry cock into Gore, tearing him apart from the inside out. For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the way he screamed, how he tried to crawl away, only to be held down by somebody else.

The thrusts. Sick grunting noises from a man who seemed to really take no pleasure in what he was doing. Does that somehow make it worse? Raping Gore was just a duty he had to do? Like throwing out the trash or remembering to floss? Was it so insignificant to him? Taking that from the sweetest and kindest person I’ve ever met?

“I couldn’t do anything,” I sob, snot pouring down my nose as I let it all out. “I tried, Mammon. I did, I promise. I…”

I told Gore to look at me. To see me. To know that I was there for him, that I’d be there when it was over, but it felt like a lifetime watching the brutality.

I’ve always loved violence—adored the chaos—but this was something different.

This was pure evil.

Mammon rocks me slowly, from side to side like you would an infant, practically cooing in my ear to calm my hysterics. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

My breath hitches. I don’t know how he could possibly sense that, but Mammon’s always been the smartest man alive.

“What did they do to you ?”

I think of the little pill that was shoved down my throat. The effects it had— “Mammon, I’m s-s-o sorry!”

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” he repeats, kissing my forehead, and I feel a single tear fall on my cheek, but it’s not mine. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

But now that he’s given me the option, I know that I do.

If not for Mammon, if not for Gore, then for myself.

“I didn’t want to come!” I scream, beating at his chest now, allowing my rage to pour out onto him. “I didn’t want to, but they made me!”

“Bel, stop. Don’t?—”

“He jacked me off while I watched! I… I came to the sight of my best friend getting raped! I’m fucking disgusting! I’m worse than them!”

The guilt is more than I can handle. I bolt out of Mammon’s lap, rushing toward the weapons we keep dangling on one of the basement walls. I take the first one I see—a cracked whip—and bring it down on my arm.

Again and again and again until the skin breaks and I’m bleeding.

When that isn’t enough, I take a knife, frantic in my desperation to make it all go away.

Disgusting.

Traitor.

Pervert.

Mammon stops me just as I’m fishing my dick out of my pants, the knife poised over the skin. “Stop!”

“Let me do it! I don’t want it! I can’t have it anymore!”

“Beelzebub—”

“I didn’t want to, Mammon! I swear! I?—”

A sharp slap stings my cheek, and the knife flies from my hand. I clutch my face, breathless for a moment, before I’m engulfed in Mammon’s large arms. We fall to the floor together, both of us screaming and cursing and sobbing utter nonsense.

Apologies that are meaningless.

Platitudes that are useless.

Promises that are worthless.

“I’ll find them,” he swears through a cracked voice. Cupping my face in his hands, he forces me to look at his heartbroken eyes. “I promise I’ll find them and when I do, I’ll kill them myself.”

It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think even that would be enough.

Because Gore and I have always been a bit deranged, sometimes referred to as batshit, mostly unhinged.

And now we’re broken beyond repair too.