Chapter 14 Tati
Tati
“Isee you, Brax. There’s no longer a need to hide,” I taunt.
Seeing Mikah tied to a tree wasn’t what I expected once I stepped into the clearing.
We’re near the main barn, and I chuckle to myself because, of course, Mikah would stick close to an exit.
Chicken shit.
Brax steps out from his hiding spot and closes the distance between us, only stopping when we’re chest to stomach.
The tall fucker.
Then he lowers his mouth to my ear, “I’ve been waiting for you, little fox.”
My breath hitches, caught in my throat before I quickly swallow.
I can’t do this with him. Not right now.
Glaring up, I push Brax away and punch him in his muscular arm. “I don’t have time for your Loki-ass behavior at the moment.”
Understanding appears on his face. He moves back, giving me the space I need.
And there he is. The piece of shit I’ve waited eighteen years to be at my mercy.
Tied to a tree and bleeding. That’s how I find Mikah Gordon, the harbinger of senseless evil. He may not be a Fredrick, but he certainly was the one who offered us up on a crystal platter.
A whirl of emotions flows over me—anger…sadness…smug satisfaction. I finally have him where I want him.
I pause, realizing what it means for him to still be breathing.
Turning back around, I survey Brax, looking for the answer as to why he left Mikah alive instead of getting the vengeance he so rightly deserves. “You didn’t kill him?” I question, knowing he’s owed this kill just as much as I am. “But, your sis—”
Raising his hand, he silences me, and every potential inquiry dies on my tongue.
“You grieve as I do, but it’s different.
The light in your world was drowned in the blood of your family.
” He pauses, trying to mask the pain in his gaze.
How and why he’d do this for me—give up his chance of revenge for me.
“Emi would want it to be this way,” is the last thing he manages before his mouth snaps shut.
I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent the tears I know are welling in my eyes from spilling over.
Some men offer women flowers and jewelry as grand gestures. Mine offers me his blood debt.
Mine?
Ignoring the giant smoke signal going up, alerting me to the greatest threat before me—feelings.
“Are you sure, Braxton?” I have to ask because this is a monumental moment and I never want him to live in regret of not meting out the fate of his sister’s killer.
Brax only nods, and I dip my head in thanks before turning to the shitstain of high society. “How long has he been out?” I question without looking back as I hide my face and wipe the errant tears that leaked free.
“About ten minutes,” he replies.
Then I move, dropping the Ghostface and Freddy masks on the ground, and reaching into my duffel bag.
First, I pull out my bat. It’s still covered in brain matter and other chunks of Griff and Fredrick.
Next, I slip on my tactical gloves to ensure my grip is steady, even when blood drips down onto my hands.
Finally, I lay out the few things I think I may need to gain closure—a set of sewing needles, a bone saw, and an icepick.
I pull the sewing needles from the pouch and stride over, stopping only when I’m before him. I prep a nail, happy when I notice even Mikah’s arms are trapped. It makes things much easier, though I will miss not getting to capture him myself.
Peering over my shoulder, I sneak a quick peek at Brax. My throat tightens at his generosity. I know how much this kill means to him as well, and for him to step aside and allow me to get the vengeance I thirst for makes me look at him differently.
It doesn’t change my stance on doing anything but fucking or fighting him, though. That road is permanently closed. Who needs men when I have so many toys?
You, you horny bitch.
I can fuck myself, I argue.
Not the way you’ve been craving.
Annoyed, I shrug off the Team Braxton whore occupying my body and refocus my attention where it belongs—on Mikah.
Lifting his index finger, I twirl the needle before jamming it under his nail, but he doesn’t stir.
I glance back at Brax. “Did you kill him?”
He laughs, shaking his head and shrugging. “I may or may not have punched him in the head right before you arrived.”
It’s my turn to be amused before I turn away.
Grabbing the next needle, I pick up his middle finger, and then his ring finger.
This time, I grab the thickest among my set.
And instead of ramming, I slowly twist it, watching it appear between his nail and nail bed.
This one bleeds slower, but the action gets the response I want.
“Fuck,” Mikah screams. “What the f—” He stills, his words cut off once he notices me. “Tati.”
His voice is pained and remorseful. But fuck his remorse and his pain. He doesn’t get to feel regret. The only privilege he’ll get is to die by my hand.
“Tati,” he murmurs again. “You came. I knew you would. I planned it out perfectly, and it worked.”
That gets my attention. It’s not enough to stop me from pressing the needle in and then lifting it until it rips, until the nail is loose. Then I pinch the nail and yank, tearing it completely from his finger. Blood spurts on my chest, some of it landing on my cheek.
I fight the instinct to throw up at the touch of his tainted blood. I begin to pull away until something damp wipes my face. “His dirty blood doesn’t get to touch your face,” Brax mutters, seemingly disgruntled.
Ignoring whatever that was, I reach for my pliers in my belt. I need to speed up this process. Being in Mikah’s presence threatens to unsettle me. One by one, I pull his nails off before I reach for my bone saw.
Panting and barely coherent, he still manages to speak. “Now, they can’t get to you. They promised if you listened, they’d–”
Not caring for his ramblings, I grab the needle, shoving it until it pierces through the other side of his finger in the hopes he’ll shut the fuck up already.
“Please, Talia. You have to listen to me,” Mikah heaves between pained screams.
Obviously, the universe doesn’t agree because the fucker still has the ability to formulate coherent sentences.
Sweat rolls down Mikah’s face as he breathes through another needle. I’ve decided he can be Edward Needlehands. “Talia,” he breathes my name like a whispered prayer. “You have to listen to me. They are coming.”
Snickering, I retort, “Actually, Mikah, I don’t have to do shit else but exterminate you from existence, leaving you out here to rot with your brethren.”
“You have to listen, Talia. It’s important,” Mikah tries for the second time.
The very sound of his voice grates on my nerves. Agitated, I toss the saw and pick up my bat, deciding a slow, torturous death means having to listen to and see him. Neither one is high on my list of fun times.
“They’re coming, Talia. You need to be ready, or they’ll take you—they’ll take all of you.”
“Who is they and why the fuck would they take me?” The question rattles off my tongue before I think better of it. He’s been lamenting about this damn they since he woke up.
Furious that he won’t stop blubbering on, I smash my bat into his stomach, the barbed wire tears at the fabric of his shirt, but barely scratches him. Unsatisfied with this result, I swing two more times, smiling when I finally tear flesh.
Mikah screams in agony, gasping for air.
“Answer my question, or I’ll cut out your tongue since it must be for decoration,” I order.
When he doesn’t respond, I swing again, following all the way through this time, and the gash in his stomach becomes an open wound. It’s not enough for him to bleed out, at least not yet. But it’s more than enough to make him understand that if he doesn’t say what I want to hear soon, I’ll end him.
“Ahhh, fuccckkkk. Tati, please, understand I did it to save you—it was the only way to ensure you all were s—”
Rage storms through like an acid cloud, burning through any and every fiber in my body when those words leave his lips.
How fucking dare he spew that bullshit my way?
Incensed, I grip the handle of my bat and swing with such force that the swoosh is audible. Glee like never before fills be at the snap of his kneecap.
Mikah’s screams become banshee-like shrieks. It’s so loud that blood fills his pupil from a vein his strain must’ve ruptured.
“Shut the fuck up already. I don’t want to hear your bullshit excuses.
This isn’t an ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, I forgot to do my homework situation.
’” I seethe, my torso twisting before I launch another strike, this time to his other kneecap.
I don’t wait between the next few strikes.
My bat whirs through what’s left of the night air, colliding with the same spot.
And I slam it over and over until the only thing keeping Mikah upright is the same barbed-wire rope Braxton tied him up with.
Blood pours down his arms in rivulets, saturating his shirt in crimson. I bask in the sight of Mikah sliding. The lubrication, combined with the loss of a leg, causes him to slip, further embedding the sharp, jagged pieces into his flesh.
“I’m s-s-sor-r-ry,” he mewls, snot dripping down his nose and into his mouth.
“You don’t get to be sorry, Mikah,” I hiss.
Smash.
You don’t get to feel guilt.”
Smack.
You only get to die by my hand,” I declare. “It’s what you owe them—it’s what you owe me.”
Mikah must pass out while I’m in my frenzied state.
“Wake up, you twisted fuck,” I yell, ramming a needle into his ear deep enough that I know I ruptured his eardrum.
Stupid fuck deserves to be raked across hot coals.
He should be melted in a vat of acid while still alive.
My imagination runs wild with all the things I wish I could do.
Killing and then reviving him to kill him again.
My bloodlust for Mikah’s death can’t be sated, but I’ll settle for sparking embers over a roaring blaze.
“I did it to save them,” Mikah splutters.
It’s the same shit, rinse and repeat.
“You didn’t save them, Mikah—you didn’t save me,” I shout. “You resigned our fate—you forced me to walk alone in the depths of guilt, anguish, anger, apathy, numbness.” I rattle off the endless list. “You stole our lives before we ever got the chance to know the world—to walk our path.”
Mikah’s jaw clenches so hard, I think it might rip through his cheek. “No,” he growls. “I saved them—I saved you. They were going to—”
“You hide behind the mysterious boogeyman, but the truth is you’re not even human. You’re worse than scum, and I’ll hate you into eternity, and in every reincarnation thereafter, I will loathe you beyond the end of time.”
“They’re already on their way,” Mikah stammers, resigned sadness pooling in what’s left of his eyebrow.
A sudden fierceness flashes in his eyes when his gaze lands on Brax. “You have to promise to protect her—you have to keep her safe.”
Having had enough of his shit, I grab the icepick and thrust it into his eye. His cries are instant, and my beast is far from sated.
“I will end you in a million different ways, Mikah Gordon,” I snarl. “You ruined what could have been and left me in the depths of despair in hopes that I wouldn’t survive, but I did. And now I’m your reckoning.”