Chapter 45 #3
“I wasn’t even there,” Caleb cuts in, breathing hard, eyes darting for an exit that doesn’t exist. “I swear I went home. I didn’t touch him.”
I cock my head, unconvinced. “Oh, you touched him.”
My voice drops lower. “All of you did.”
Their eyes flick to my hand as I pull the knife free. The glint alone is enough to make Caleb flinch, but he still tries to rise.
Bad choice.
He doesn’t make it halfway up before my boot sends him back to the ground. He grunts, and I jam my boots between his legs, hitting his balls and penis so hard. He curls in on himself, but I don’t stop.
“I’ll apologize to him,” he cries, voice strained and breaking. “I’ll do… anything.”
I crouch beside him, slow and deliberate.
“Then do me a favor,” I whisper, calm as sin. “And wait for me in hell.”
And with one swift motion, I slice off his dick; he screams, blood splashing everywhere. His scream doesn’t last for long because I take it and stuff his mouth with it, choking him with it. He struggles, but I don’t give him time.
My fist crashes into his mouth, cracking bone, knocking teeth loose. He whimpers—maybe tries to, since his mouth is full, but I’m not done.
I grab his throat, fingers digging deep, locking tight. His legs flail, his back arches, and still I hold, unblinking.
His lungs start to fail. His face turns a sick shade of red, then purple.
His fingers claw at mine, desperate, useless.
I want him to feel it, every second of it.
I need him to know this is how he dies. Not with dignity.
Not with peace. But with his own filth stuffed down his throat, and me watching.
“Your apology wouldn’t have changed a thing in his life,” I whisper, voice low, steady, eyes never leaving his. “Lucas still lives with what you did, so now, you get to die with it buried deep in your mouth; his name will hunt you even in hell.”
His eyes stop moving.
His chest stops fighting.
His brain gives up.
I stay like that, hand still tight on his throat, just to feel the last twitch, the last pulse under my palm.
After a while, I let go and rise. A slow, satisfied exhale escapes my chest.
Josh is still strapped to the chair, wide-eyed, soaked in sweat, frozen in place, and clearly traumatized. His mouth is open, but no sound comes out, just trembling breath and the stink of fear.
I step toward him and shrink in like prey.
He opens his mouth, desperate to beg, but I don’t give him the chance.
The knife drives upward under his jaw, clean and deliberate. His body jerks. His eyes roll.
I pull the blade out slowly, savoring the sound, watching the blood pour.
He gurgles, chokes, eyes wide and wild.
I crouch to his level.
“Let the name Lucas be the last thing you remember,” I say, voice ice-cold. “I’m the karma he sent.”
And with that, I slice his dick off and force it down his throat, blood pools around the mess in his mouth, and the last thing he chokes on is his own blood and his own fucking dick.
With a final glance at the lifeless bodies behind me, I pull my helmet on, take my gun and the leftover cigarette, then I walk out of the apartment complex, the scent of blood still clinging to my gloves.
I ride to the underground parking lot and kill the engine. As I dismount, one of our men approaches—plain black baseball cap, face mask, no words—just a nod. I give him one in return and hand over the keys. He swings onto the bike and rides off like a ghost into the dark.
I head toward the waiting car, the back door already open, then slip inside and shut it behind me.
Mike glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“All went well, sir?”
I lean back against the leather and exhale.
“Very well, Mike.”
He nods once and starts the engine.
I reach for the duffel beside me, unzip it, and pull out a clean shirt and slacks. Blood has dried on my gloves and sleeves, but I don’t mind. I’ve worn worse.
As I shrug off the soiled clothes and button up the fresh shirt, my phone buzzes.
The corner of my mouth lifts when I see who it’s from—the only person who makes any of this shit feel worth it.
Lucas.
We’d FaceTimed earlier tonight, right before I left my hotel to handle things. His voice had been soft, a little sleepy, asking when I’d be back. He had asked the same question this morning, when I told him I wouldn’t be coming home tonight.
I open the message, and it’s a selfie.
He’s lying on his stomach, tangled in the sheets, his blonde curls messy on the pillow. A bored, tired look on his face… and a pout on his lips. No text, just the picture. But it says enough.
Alex: Why are you still
awake krasivy, it’s late.
Krasivy: It feels really weird
to sleep here all alone, and
I should have gone back to
my place until you’re back
Alex: I want you home. And
Baby, you’re just sleeping
alone just for tonight
Krasivy: I am home… But
You are not here with me.
Alex: I’ll be home in the
Morning, and I promise
to make it up to you.
Krasivy: Okay. I won’t be home
In the morning, I have that photo-
Shoot your mom wants me to do
for her brand. I’m nervous about it.
I sigh, leaning my head back against the seat.
Of course, the shoot. My mother insisted on having Lucas in her campaign for her brand after noticing how flawless his skin looked.
Said he’s been using her products for weeks and now his skin “radiates.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her Lucas has always radiated.
He didn’t need creams or lighting or filters. He just… glows.
I told him he could back out, that he didn’t have to do anything just because my mother asked. But he had only smiled and said he gets bored most times, so he might as well go and “see how it is.” My fingers hover over the screen for a second before I type.
Alex: You can still back out.
But I know you’ll be amazing.
He reads it, and a moment later, he sends a GIF—Cinderella running away in tears. I huff a short laugh through my nose.
Krasivy: I’m going to sleep now…
I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll be at
home when I come back, right?
Alex: Yes baby.
I will. I love you.
Krasivy: I love you too.
Those four words. They land like a blade to the chest—sharp, breathtaking. No matter how many times he says it, it still feels unreal.
Because now… now I know. What he’s been through. What those bastards did to him. How they tried to shatter something so soft, so beautiful, so good.
And still… he loves. Wholeheartedly. Openly.
He offers his heart like it’s not something that has been through a lot.
And because of that, I will do everything in my power to protect him against anyone or anything and kill off whoever dares to hurt him.
Two down.
But there’s still one left.
Fucking Nate.
I’m not rushing his. No, his will be special. I want him to feel every second. I want to watch his soul shatter the way he tried to shatter Lucas’s. And I hope he enjoys his time in China, because when he comes back to the States, I will be ready for him.