Twisted in Chaos (Destructive Devastation #2)

Chapter 50

My heart beats erratically in my ears, pounding away. It drowns out the sounds around me. Our footsteps. Arrow’s cackles from below. The sound of water moving through the pipes.

I swallow the bile in my throat, pushing away the anxiety beating through me at the sight of him.

Thomas Mondelli. Bound. Gagged. Bloodied. Beaten.

His beady, swollen eyes glare through me. My world stops. My feet no longer move, and I’m stuck to the floor, staring at the man who stared in all my nightmares. Every time I shut my eyes, he was there with his wicked words and painful touch. A gloss forms over his eyes as he takes me in, no doubt snarling that I’m here and not on his shitty island. I want to tell him about Darrel’s betrayal and rub it in his face.

But I stop myself and count to ten in my head.

“Welcome to the show, Sheppy Boy! Step right up and take a swing,” Arrow says with a grin, maneuvering the large bat in his hands until it’s suspended in the air, waiting for me to take it.

I swallow hard, shaking my head.

“Buzzkill,” Arrow pouts. “Don’t you want to fuck him up with this? Oh! Do you want something else?” He wiggles his brows as he digs through a damn pile of weapons and pulls something out.

“You good?” Jericho asks, sauntering beside me with furrowed brows. He tucks his hands deep in his pockets and trails his eyes over my tension-filled face, nodding once. He knows exactly what I’m feeling right now because he would be in the same position.

I’m not good. Not by a long shot. The concrete walls close in on me. Solid and cold. Much like the prison from my childhood. His cruel voice echoes in my ears. Taunting me and pushing my buttons.

The ghost of the leather straps he put me into wraps around my wrists and ankles.

I freeze, breathing through my mouth in heavy pants where my tongue is supposed to sit. A constant reminder of the punishment for speaking out against him and the sins he committed in the dark. Fuck.

“We won’t think badly of you if you want to assist Journey in the tub. Walk away now before his blood spills.” Jericho’s brows raise when I whip my gaze to him.

“Yeah, Sheppy Boy. I’ll spill all the blood in your name. You’ll never have to see a drop. It’ll be my fucking pleasure,” Arrow quips, staring Shadow down with no emotions hiding in his eyes. They’ve evaporated into dust, giving us the Arrow who loves and aches for blood.

They can’t take this away from me. I won’t walk away just because my heart is beating through my fucking chest and my brain screams at me to run for the hills.

I plant my feet. ‘No,’ I sign aggressively . ‘I want to see blood spill and his life fall away. I need this.’ Sucking in several calming breaths, I never take my eyes off the man who deserves to die a slow and painful death at my hands. No one else. Arrow can torture him all he wants, but I call dibs when it comes to giving the death blow.

“If that’s what you need, brother. That’s what you get,” Jericho murmurs in a low voice full of understanding. "But remember, we're your family." Jericho levels me with a look, staring deep into my eyes with understanding. “And family helps to take out the trash.”

He doesn't have to utter the words—we're here for you. We're your brothers, and no one else can come between us. It's the way he's taking control and offering me his support.

Something inside me clicks into place. Yes. They’re my family. My brothers. The men who have been here with me through everything my father has done to me. They picked me up and learned sign language for me so we could communicate.

The people in this house have my fucking heart.

And now, it’s time to take the man who gave me life out. He took so much from me. Now, I’m about to take everything from him. His blood, soul, life, and fucking last breath.

Today is the day Thomas Mondelli says goodbye for good.

My fists curl at my sides when Arrow turns around, revealing the weapon of his choice. Of course. He’s always been partial to fire and explosives. It almost makes me smile to see the happiness radiating off him.

"Are we ready?" Arrow asks, grinning as he lights a small torch and adjusts the height of the fire, which illuminates his face with an orange glow.

"We need answers," Jericho sighs, waving a finger for Arrow to turn it off.

"But fire, Daddy Jer," he pouts, slumping his body with disappointment.

"Later," Jericho says with a nod. "When we want to hear his screams for help. Not now. We need him to speak. So, shall you speak, Thomas?" He cocks his head in my father's direction.

Shadow doesn't move a muscle except for his eyes. They track everyone's movements like he's committing them to memory. But why? He won't make it out of this basement alive. The moment his heart stops beating, we'll incinerate his remains and make sure he never regenerates again.

"Later always means maybe, and we all know what maybe means—no," Arrow grumbles, turning off the flame and setting down the tiny torch. He sets it on his workbench with a loud clink.

"Let's start with removing the gag," Jericho says to Arrow, who enthusiastically nods, clapping his hands with glee.

He's way too perky in the torture room, bringing out another side of him completely. Sure, he's bubbly—on the psychotic side—but bringing him here, in his element, it's a whole new Arrow for the world to see. This torture wipes away all the worries he has weighing down his chest. Sometimes, I wish I was more like Jericho and Arrow. Their bloodlust has gotten us out of sticky situations and helped with our enemies.

My fingers curl into fists when the gag is removed from my sperm donor's mouth, and he smacks his swollen lips together with a groan. The sound of his voice grates on my nerves—more than before. I'm not in true survival mode in this cabin. I'm at peace. Home. Especially with our wife bathing upstairs without worrying about cameras following our moves. Having Shadow in this space is fucking with my mind, and I’m desperate to remove him.

"You boys finally come to your senses?" he rasps out in a terrible voice, sounding like he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes before sitting in the chair. "Oh, you've come to play." He grins at Arrow, who reaches for the torch again but stops when Jericho snaps his fingers and shakes his head.

"Our senses?" Jericho hums. "Enlighten me on what that would be?" He cocks his head, staring down at Shadow without an ounce of emotion. He's good at that. Shutting everything out and not letting the enemy know what he's feeling. I guess it's all the training his father gave him through his torturous childhood.

That's the thing about the three of us—The Devils. We've survived unimaginable childhoods riddled with abuse and power plays. Men who were supposed to protect us, abandoned us—used us like chess pieces on their boards.

And it's high time we take them down one by one and show them the monsters they've created.

Shadow grins, exposing his yellowing, missing teeth and cracked lips from lack of water. "That you know you've already been defeated."

"Defeated, huh?" Arrow quips, picking up a pair of pliers. "I could defeat you really fast. Tell me, how do you like your teeth?" Arrow leans in slightly, holding the tool in front of Shadow’s face.

He laughs. Fucking laughs at Arrow's threat. "You think a set of tools and a small torch will break me open, boy?”

"I mean, I have more in my arsenal," Arrow quips. "Some fun devices they don't even make anymore. Like this finger splitter. All you have to do is set your finger in here, and bam! No more flesh. It's highly effective."

My sperm donor doesn't flinch when Arrow puts it on his finger and tightens the medieval-looking contraption so it's in the appropriate position and primed for use. I've only seen him use it once or twice before. Here and in the basement beneath the mansion. The man we held here for two days gave us everything we needed to know by removing the flesh of one finger. In the end, he died a coward. The woman, on the other hand? She lost all her fingers in two days and barely gave up the answers we were seeking.

So, it truly depends on the pain threshold of the person earning its ire.

"Hmmm. I think I've seen one of these before, boys. They're interesting, aren't they? Do you have the de-boner as well? It spices up torture nicely," Shadow says, sitting perfectly still.

The only instance of panic I can see is when his eyes shift between us and then back to the device with unease. It's on the tip of his tongue to beg, but I know his tactics. He'll attempt to talk his way out of this situation. Manipulate those around him to set him free.

Funny, he can't manipulate us into doing anything like he's manipulated me so many times before.

All the memories of my childhood. What he did. How he did it. What he said. It all swirls there in my brain, echoing back to me.

My fingers curl harder, eager to hit Shadow in the nose and watch as he bleeds. Rage almost consumes me, firing through my veins. Eager to take over and make him pay. It's an all-consuming anger. Something I can't shake off.

"No, but tell me more," Arrow says, leaning in further. "I need more funsies." Funsies? How can he find this fun and liberating? He says it helps to cleanse the demon riding him hard. The one that begs for blood, broken bones, and death.

Me, though? I'm having a hard time keeping the burning bile out of my throat as it is. I know the moment my sperm donor's finger is skinned, I'm going to have to turn my back until I can control myself.

"Arrow," Jericho sing-songs, bringing Arrow back from the brink of his madness.

"Right. I'm being bad. Shadow, tell us your plans for Briar Cove and the Family. What’s the endgame?" Arrow doesn't wait a second for him to answer when he presses on the device, and a loud sound comes from Shadow's finger before he wails in pain. "Fuck. I think I'm hard. Where's my Kitten? I want to fuck her in the blood of our enemy," Arrow whoops, staring down at his carnage with stars in his eyes. They practically sparkle with anticipation, eager to move on to the next form of torture.

My stomach turns—drool pools in my mouth. I'm ten seconds away from vomiting the snack I made. Hold it together, Shepp. Don't let the blood and broken bones stop you from witnessing the demise of a man who should have stayed dead. I stand tall, puffing out my damn chest despite the nausea swimming through me.

I will not fall at the sight of bodily fluids.

"Gonna lose your lunch, boy? You were always a terrible interrogator. Can't even handle the blood." His voice cuts through the fog in my brain, taunting me repeatedly from his chair. "Pathetic excuse for a fucking Mondelli. Always have been. I'm ashamed to give you the family name," he grunts through the pain of his finger, spitting on the ground near my feet.

"Oh, you want more?" Arrow quips, doing something else to make him howl in pain. "Ah, that's it. Give me something, Dead Man. I want to know all the plans you and Grace concocted together. Actually, did you fuck her?" Arrow stops suddenly, waiting for the answer of the hour. The answer only he fucking cares about.

"For God's sake, Arrow," Jericho hisses, thumping Arrow on the chest. "Don't discuss my mother's sex life." His face twists with disgust, and he shakes his head.

"What?" Arrow asks in defense, putting his bloodied hands in the air. "You act like you haven't thought about this guy and your mom boning over and over again. Those pictures! Come on, they were fucking in high school after prom. Weren't ya, Tommy Boy? I mean, how else did she lure him into her clutches and fake being Shadow? That was it, right? She pussy-whipped you into submission. So you were the face of the operation when the time came?" Arrow leans in, eagerly awaiting Shadow's words, but he's only met with a pale-face glare and silence. "Come on. Give me something here!" Arrow protests, stepping back and grabbing something else from his pile of tools.

Shadow laughs through the pain. "Plans? Do you want to know the plans? You mean everything that's already happened?" he cackles. "It's all done, boys. Why do you think I'm here?" He laughs more. "I'm the goddamn sacrifice. My last fuck you to your father and the family. My last display of love for Grace. I do this for her."

I look between Jericho and Arrow with furrowed brows. There's a hidden meaning there. There's a reason my sperm donor gave himself over to us. Why would he?

"Elaborate more," Jericho hisses, slamming his fist into the side of Shadow's head. "I want more answers," he growls with impatience, hitting him repeatedly.

“Daddy Jer, you wanted him to keep speaking. Let him catch his breath,” Arrow quips, grabbing Jericho’s fist before he can sink it into Shadow’s skull again.

Shadow groans under his breath as blood pours from the side of his head and ear.

Jericho’s chest heaves when he throws Arrow off him, and he steps back, running his bloodied hands through his hair.

“We need something,” Jericho hisses through clenched teeth.

'This was on purpose. He's a martyr. Something to keep us busy,' I quickly sign with agitation, shaking my head. 'They knew we'd come back after the dust settled. They're trying to keep us away.' But what is that something ? ‘Maybe away from the church?’ I urgently sign.

Jericho stills, cocking his head. "Interesting," he says without giving himself away.

"What did the little shit say?" my sperm donor says through heavy breaths, eyeing me with narrowed eyes. "Use your voice, boy," he mocks in his old tone. His lips tilt up into a malicious smile. "Oh, right. You can't, can you? Someone snatched your voice from you, didn't they?" he laughs again. Sweat pours from his forehead and dampens his hairline. A ghostly paleness takes him over, but he refuses to back down, even when death is knocking at his door.

"I want to know about my mother, Grace," Jericho says, pivoting until he's standing right in Shadow's laughing form. "What is your true history with her? We've seen the photos and read the letters. What's with you and my father? You were his loyal second-in-command for so long, and then..." He waves a hand, seeming to lose himself in the history of it all.

My sperm donor is his father's second-hand man, like me to Jericho. His mother is the ideal mafia wife, showing everyone else up in the Family. She was perfectly put together. Of course, she came from her own mafia background—a wealthy family from the East Coast that moved here for an alliance when she was a teenager.

"You'd love to know, wouldn't you? It's eating you up on the inside because you don't know why I'm so loyal to Grace and not her snake of a husband," he hisses, spitting on the floor again.

"Well, I'll give you the snake part. Gabriel Viotto is the epitome of a snake in the grass, waiting to strike at a moment's notice. He doesn't care who he hurts or ruins to get what he wants. Much like you." Jericho tucks his hands behind his back, pacing in front of Shadow now. A pensive expression takes over his features as he mulls over everything he's learned. "Is that what he did?" Jericho turns his indifferent stare to Shadow, who laughs in his face, exposing all his teeth. "He stole Grace right out from underneath you. You were to be married, and instead, she married him."

"Oh, boy. You're good at this. Did he give you special treatment when your mother took off to Oregon?" Shadow raises a brow.

"Oregon? What the fuck is in Oregon?" Arrow asks, falling right into the trap Shadow planted. He wants us to ask stupid questions until he bleeds out and gets nothing from us. All the while stalling us for what?

'He's stalling for some reason and baiting you into questions,' I sign, shaking my head.

'Why, though?' Jericho surmises, pursing his lips.

'Cuz he's crazy?' Arrow signs back with a shrug.

"I see. The three of you have your own special language going on, don't you?" Shadow teases, coughing slightly. "Is that how you plotted to take over the family?"

I clench my fists again at his mocking. He's always had something to say about the situation he forced upon me. I gave him what he wanted. I no longer talked to other people besides my friends through ASL. What the fuck more does he want from me? My life? Well, he already took my voice.

"Amongst other things," Jericho says, pacing again. "We've had plans in place long before you left."

Shadow smirks at Jericho. "How's that going for you, boys? Huh?" he mocks.

"Fine." Jericho brushes him off with another wave of his wrist. "How's it going for my mother?" He stops dead, turning toward Shadow blankly. "That's what this Shadow business is, isn't it?" Shadow smirks. "She took off and created her empire of running drugs and whatever else you may do..."

"Gambling. Kidnapping. Drugs. Guns. You name it, boy. We've done it. All for the mighty green," Shadow says with a grin.

'Not likely,' I sign with narrowed eyes. 'He's not telling us something. It's all too fishy.' The agitation brewing inside me builds hotter and deeper than before. Talking with my sperm donor does nothing to quell the distaste I have for him. He's dancing around the questions like the pro he is. He was a higher-up in the family, after all.

"But why? Weren't you satisfied in the ranks of the family? Second-in-command isn't too bad. You were provided with so many opportunities to thrive. But you didn't get the woman you wanted. Is that it?"

"Being second-in-command was nothing but bitch work," Shadow snarls, wincing when he attempts to move his fingers into a fist. I don't have a clue how he's still coherent. It makes my stomach churn.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mess with those," Arrow hums, standing back with a hammer. "You think he'd talk if I blew out his kneecaps? I can't take any more limbs, or he'll slip away and burn in Hell before we get to the conclusion." Arrow hums to himself, watching Shadow with keen eyes. He knows something is up. "And I really hate cliffhangers."

"By all means, maybe he'll sing," Jericho grumbles, stepping back and letting Arrow take a swing at Shadow's left knee. He howls again, filling the empty basement with his misery and pain.

The same pain he's made so many people before him feel. My mother. Me. Journey. Sunshine. That phrase runs through my mind on repeat. Over and over again, fueling my damn rage, ready to explode out of me.

"You wanna know all the dirty truths?" Shadow breathes heavily, focusing on me.

"I mean, that's why we're here, right? I'm just dying to know what you've been up to for the past three years and how you've stayed undetected," Arrow says, examining the hammer with his finger with a sigh.

"That's the beauty of the island your mother bought," Shadow says with a weak grin, slumping into his chair.

"I'm curious as to how she was able to obtain such an obscure island with no money?"

"No money?" Shadow scoffs. "Why the fuck do you think your father wanted her so badly and rigged the damn marriages?" He raises his brow and then laughs. "Right! You don't know about the history, do you?"

"Elaborate then and inform me," Jericho says with exhaustion. "Or perhaps Arrow should take your elbow this time."

"Oh, please! It'd hurt like a bitch, Shadow fucker. But goddamn, it would be so satisfying." He beams at the prospect, and finally, I see the moment my father slumps further, no longer having any reason to bite his tongue.

"It's true that Grace Contelli was my intended wife," Shadow frowns with an odd sadness. Fuck. I think he truly loved her, and the bitterness of losing her made him the man he is today. "My father told me when the deal was done. Her father agreed. He agreed. It was going to be a match made in heaven. Before the initiation, we knew we were destined for each other.” His eyes gloss over more like he's stuck in memories.

"In Heaven, you say?" Jericho hums, attempting to bring Shadow back into the conversation. "Why exactly?"

"My father made the deal for me. Grace and I were in love." He smirks at that. "So yes. I have fucked your mother on so many occasions. Best pussy on this side of..." He doesn't get another word in before Jericho slams his fist into Shadow's lips, knocking the words from his lips.

"Don't speak of my fucking mother like that!" he growls, taking a step back with a heaving chest. A wild look crosses his eyes. Murder. He wants to take Shadow down right here and now.

Jericho stills but doesn't fall into the trap.

"I can hit his elbow for that, Daddy Jer. How rude," Arrow says, pulling the hammer back and beginning to aim for his elbow and slamming it down.

Shadow grunts, barely containing the shout threatening to spill from his lips. "That all you got, boy?" he wheezes as more sweat pours from his flesh.

"Oh, no. I've got more," Arrow growls between clenched teeth, throwing the hammer into the corner of the room. It lands with a thundering sound. "So many more toys to show you. Shit, I can stick down your dickhole and up your ass. I can break every fucking inch of you, and you'll be begging for me to end it."

"You won't end it, boy," Shadow wheezes again, throwing his head back into the chair to catch his breath. "You don't have it in you."

Blood pours from his lips onto his chin. Color leeches from his flesh when he tries to move his limbs but can't. His knee hangs to the side, proving he'll never walk again. Well, if he wasn't going to die right here.

For the first time in my fucking life, Shadow—my father—is nothing but a weakened man, wilting away beneath the hand of someone he helped to train for this very reason. A weak-ass man parading as a strong warrior. There's nothing strong about him. Never has been. I mean, who picks on a fucking kid and a weak woman.

Thomas Mondelli is a goddamn joke.

Always has been.

Always will be.

How have I been so scared of him? Letting him beat me down, steal my tongue, and make me into the man I am. There's no reason for me to be afraid of him anymore. He's a fucking joke. A love-sick fool so caught up in Grace Viotto he can't see straight.

"Oh, I have it in me, Shadow Fucker. I have it all in me. Death. Destruction. Every goddamn thing." Arrow grins, holding up a sharp, shiny knife in Shadow's face. He doesn't flinch. Instead, he grins at Arrow, saying without words that he should bring it on. He wants the pain to end and his suffering to cease.

"How's your wife, boys?" Shadow wheezes out, coughing more blood. "Have you found out about the baby yet?" He maniacally laughs when we all freeze, not daring to move at the news.

"How in the absolute fuck did you know about the baby?" Jericho asks, standing stock still.

"It was easy to see. She vomited every chance she got. It was apparent from the time she came in that she was—oh, what do they say? In the family way," he chuckles at his words. "She was pregnant. But is she still? Did I do damage?"

Before anyone else can make a move, I do. Something snaps inside me. Erupting like a volcano and seeping lava through my veins. I see red. My vision blurs when I march forward, grabbing the knife from Arrow’s hand. He doesn’t fight me. Only chuckles and gestures for me to step up to the plate and take my swing. Gladly.

Something fizzles in my throat, tossing off the cobwebs of my trauma. It happens slowly, coming out in small noises and waves, but once I get my bearings. I unleash.

Looking Shadow directly in the eye with clenched teeth, I stare into his soul.

"You starved us. Left us in the goddamn dark! You put her in harm’s way every chance you got. You fucking piece of shit," I growl through a raspy voice, thrusting the knife directly into his throat without thought. His eyes widen, and he gurgles at me, choking on his own damn blood. "Speak up, Father. I can't fucking hear you through the knife in your throat!" My voice echoes off the basement walls, filling my ears with the rasp of my unused voice. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, spilling out onto my cheeks. "You took something from me repeatedly. You took my voice. But fuck you if you think I'm going to stay silent any longer," I hiss, pressing the knife straight through his cervical spine. Every inch of his body relaxes as his eyes plead with me. He gasps for air. His lips flap like a damn fish. "Goodbye, Shadow. The world won't miss you. Especially the second time." My chest heaves as I step back, watching the life drain from his eyes.

The blood doesn’t bother me. Nothing does. Not right now. Because right now, I’ve been granted the freedom away from the man who took it all.

Now, he’s dead.

"Shepp," Journey's sweet voice wraps around me, soothing the aches from my body.

I turn, facing her with a heavy breath. Eyeing the long sweatshirt and long socks covering her body after her bath. Gently, she gets on her tippy toes and wipes the tears from my cheeks with her warm fingers.

“Holy fucking shit, Kitten! Did you hear that?” Arrow breathes with amazement. “Did you see that!” Excitement fills his voice, and he whoops, slapping me on the shoulder.

“I knew you had it in you,” Journey whispers sincerely, cupping my cheek. “It’s amazing to hear your voice again.”

I smile at her. “It’s over,” I rasp, clinging to her hand. “It’s all over. He’s dead.” I squeeze my eyes shut, losing myself in the feel of her hands on me. Her flesh on mine. Her warmth.

My home.

“Wait! She said again. What the fuck, Sheppy Boy?” Arrow quips, coming behind Journey and putting his hands on her hips. His hands run over her stomach, and he sighs. “Did he speak to you, Kitten? Did he tell you all the dirty things he wanted to do to you? But wait! What about your bros? Bros before hos, Sheppard. I’m aghast.” Arrow holds a hand over his heart with feigned outrage.

I blush.

“You’ve spoken to her before?” Jericho asks curiously, tilting his head and watching me closely.

“Yes,” I say, sighing at the sound of my voice. It’s so odd, once again, to hear what I had lost for so long. A piece of me. My fucking identity.

And now, it’s mine. I’m reclaiming it.

“Should we take him to bed, Kitten? Have him murmur all those naughty words in your ear as we run a train on you and make you airtight?” Arrow wiggles his brows, getting the reaction he needed from her.

Her pupils dilate.

“I think that’s a yes. Don’t you, Sheppy Boy?” Arrow grins, staring at me with pride in his eyes. “The last one up gets the last hole!” Arrow shouts, pulling Journey into his arms. She yelps, throwing her fists into his shoulders while cursing him out.

“You good?” Jericho asks, coming up beside me.

Turning over my shoulder, I look at the remnants of my father with the knife sticking from his throat and blood coating his clothes.

“More than good now,” I whisper, my throat tightening with every word, threatening to leave me again.

But I don’t let it close this time. I don’t let it stop my words from spilling out.

I killed the man who took everything from me.

This is my freedom.