Chapter 48
Darkness surrounds us and the moon hangs heavy in the sky as Damon and I approach Clive’s motel room wearing all-black and Calacas to hide our faces.
Could he have picked a more sketchy, low-rate place to bring Delilah?
I doubt it, but it helps us. The motel is at the furthest end of the exit, hidden from the road and other buildings by trees.
There are only a couple of other cars in the parking lot and, from the looks of them, their owners probably aren’t the type to call the police. Zane is keeping watch, just in case.
As gravel crunches beneath my boots, I slip on my leather gloves and zero in on the doorknob.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I prepare to seek both my revenge and Darcy’s.
It’s a shame I didn’t have time to grab my weapons from The Compound.
But, as the muscles in my shoulders and back contract, I know my body is ready to deliver a deadly beating.
Along with the tools of torment hidden in my cargo pants, I will make good on my promise to Darcy.
Clive Cunningham will die a slow and tortuous death. But, first, Delilah.
I look to Damon, and he nods, letting me know he’s ready for exfil.
And then, without missing a step, I kick through the door separating me from my sunshine.
Wood splinters beneath my boot as Delilah’s scream reaches me.
I enter the small beige room to find her sitting on the bed.
The sight of her breaks my heart. Her face, already red and tear-stained from being snatched away from her mother, contorts in even more fear as she shrinks away from me.
She doesn’t recognize me in my mask. It takes everything in me not to rip it off and go to her.
But, as my eyes drift lower, finding her hands bound with the telephone cable and bruises shaped like fingerprints on her arms, there is but one sensation greater than to comfort her.
And, that is, to destroy the man who hurt her.
Turning away from her, my leather gloves crack from the force of my grip as I move toward the bathroom.
It’s the only other place Clive could be, since he isn’t in the bedroom.
“Sunshine safe,” Damon says as Clive appears, bewildered and naked, in the doorway in front of me.
My lips draw into a wicked grin at the sight of him and, without hesitation, I charge him.
The spineless man tries to lock himself in the bathroom.
Father of the year, huh? But we already knew that.
I kick the bathroom door before he can get it closed, storming into the room after him.
He backs away, cowering near the toilet.
“Please, I don’t have any money. The girl is enough, is she not? ”
“What the fuck did you just say?” My eyes narrow at the audacity.
You come all the way down here to take her away from her loving mother just to let her go that fucking easily?
It makes me wonder why he wanted her in the first place.
Originally, I thought he took her just to cause Darcy pain, but he left her for dead.
And that’s when I realize taking Delilah was never about Darcy.
He had another purpose for her, either to be his new victim or his new commodity.
As the pieces of the wicked puzzle click into place, I lose it.
As my fist connects with the corner of his mouth, blood spews from his gums and he loses a tooth.
Then, the upper cut I land has him falling backward.
He catches himself in the perfect position for a dunk in the shitter.
Literally, seeing as there is fresh excrement in the toilet that looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned since this decrepit joint opened.
Grabbing him by the back of the neck, I force him down, face first. “Eat it and I might have mercy.” It’s a lie.
There is no mercy when it comes to my girls or anyone who would exploit a child.
I force him down harder, pinning his arms behind his back.
The sounds of tearful gags bring me joy. But not as much as what comes next.
Pulling the knife hidden in my waistband, I use it to carve Clive’s back in the same places he left marks on Darcy.
A slice to the back and to the bum and then, I pierce his shoulder blade straight through.
Clive screams and struggles against me. Shit and blood fling from his mouth.
Letting go of his pity, he tries to fight back.
But I don’t give him an inch. After everything he’s done to Darcy—overpowering her, raping her, verbally abusing her—I’m going to crush his ego as much as I crush his bones.
“How does it fucking feel, huh?” I ask, leaning all my body weight against him to keep him in place.
My knife still lodged in his shoulder, I twist it.
Blood seeps from his wounds, staining his skin.
“How does it feel to be so weak, so powerless? So worthless? All the things you made her feel, all the things she never was, but you…you were born this tragic, weren’t you? ”
I pull my knife from his shoulder and stab it through the back of his knee.
It slices through the tissue and shatters the bone with ease.
The blood-curdling scream he releases has me burying him deeper into his own shit.
That is until I make use of another gadget.
Releasing his arms, I pull out an electric collar that tightens with each shock.
As the current becomes more intense, it simultaneously becomes harder to breathe.
Slapping the collar on him like the bitch he is, I quickly issue the first four charges so that he is gasping for air in the same way she did.
Tests state it’s survivable up to ten charges, but this won’t be the way Clive Cunningham dies. No, this is just for fun.
Dislodging the knife from his knee, I drag him out of the bathroom by his legs as the collar continues to elicit electric shocks and suffocating squeezes every twenty seconds.
My gloves protect me from transferable electrocution.
And by the time I get him on his knees in the main room, my hands are itching for a taste of his skin.
“Who…are…you? Why?” He struggles to speak as I strike his head and gut in a two-punch blow.
“You’re as dumb as you are dead. Does nothing, nothing at all, come to mind that would warrant my oh-so-pleasant company?
Are you even capable of acknowledging the pain you’ve caused?
” Clive gasps as another shock leaves him shaking and writhing on the floor.
It’s so intense he pisses all over the carpet.
“Look at you, making a mess. You know, Darcy told me how you locked her in that closet, forcing her to remain in her own waste for hours while pregnant with the sweet little girl you were all too happy to sell off. She told me everything.”
Using my boot, I kick him in the side. The cracking sound lets me know I’ve broken a rib, maybe two. Clive wheezes, gasping for what little oxygen the collar allows him as I force him onto his back. Pressing my heel into his stomach, more crunching ensues as I look down upon him with disdain.
My heart races and I feel as if I could explode.
I’m angry—angry because I know nothing I do will ever be enough to bring Darcy justice, to make him feel what she felt, or to make him acknowledge what he’s done.
There isn’t enough time and, despite the darkness inside me, I don’t have it in me to cross certain lines.
I want to tear him limb from limb. I want him to know what it feels like to be raped.
But I can’t do it. What I can do is degrade him by taking away his weapon of choice and then finish him, leaving the rest of his punishment to the Devil himself.
He can serve his eternal sentence in Hell, reaping the consequences of his earthly actions.
“Hurting her made you feel more like a man, didn’t it?
” I say, meeting his bug-eyed gaze. “Hitting her made you feel strong. Raping her made you feel powerful. Controlling her made you feel in control.” I remove my boot and kneel beside him.
At this point, he’s too weak to even try to fight.
But he can feel. And that’s all I need. “That’s not what makes a man, Clive.
And neither is this.” At that, I use the knife crusted with his blood to remove his penis.
He yells and reaches for the missing appendage, which I hold up with the tip of my knife for him to see like a hot dog on a stick.
His eyes widen in horror and his body wriggles as the ninth shock torments him.
“Or these.” Tossing his dick to the side, I use the same knife to remove his testicles.
Blood floods the space between his legs.
Even still, this is not the life-stealing blow.
Standing, I say, “My name is Gio Moretti. Darcy Moretti sends her regards.” At that, I use the heel of my boot to stomp his head in, eliciting the same trauma he tried to inflict on my poor Darcy. I don’t stop until I see his skull and hear it crack beneath me.
One knock on the motel door and Zane opens it from the outside.
He hands me a bag with sanitization supplies and fresh clothes.
The last thing Delilah needs to see is brain matter on my shoes and blood staining my skin.
Quickly, I clean off and change. As I exit the motel room with my eyes fixed on the Range Rover parked in the distance, I sigh in relief.
It’s done. He will never hurt them again.
Only, now that the threat has been eliminated, my mind and body have time to feel the weight of the day’s events.