Chapter 37
Colton
The impact of my fist against Daniel’s face sends a shock all the way up my arm. I have never hit anyone before. Violence has never been part of who I am.
After everything I saw growing up, after all the beatings and fear and cruelty that surrounded me from the time I was sixteen, I made myself a promise that I would never become like them.
Never raise my hand to another person. Never let myself turn into someone who uses fear and pain to control people.
But the second he said Ollie was only here because they couldn’t sell me, something inside me shattered.
Father, no, not Father. Daniel. He lost the right to be called anything else a long time ago.
Rage pours through me so fast it feels impossible to contain.
It burns through my chest and down my arms until I’m shaking with it.
I want him to hurt. I want him to feel even a fraction of what he put me through.
For the first time in my life, I understand how violence can consume someone, how it can take over until it is the only thing left. I want to hit him again. And again. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he stops breathing. The thought horrifies me.
But not enough to make me stop.
I pull my arm back to hit him again, but Ronan stops me. I round on him. I’m about to yell at him for trying to take this away from me when he holds up my hand.
“You’ll break your hand or wrist if you hold it like that.” He repositions my thumb and straightens my wrist. “Power comes from your core.” His hands move my hips and shoulders to show me the follow-through of a punch.
Stepping back, he motions to Daniel. Realization of what I’m doing dawns on me.
I look down at my fist and then at Ronan.
He told me that I was his light and he was my darkness.
He would do this for me so I wouldn’t have to.
But he’s still willing to step aside if this is what I need.
Do I need it? Does it need to be by my hands that they suffer?
Will I be able to live with myself if I follow through with the fantasies running through my mind? This isn’t me.
“I have my answer.” I turn to Ronan. “You’re my darkness,” I remind him as I turn back to the two people who were supposed to be my parents, the ones who were supposed to love and protect Ollie and me.
All I see are two worthless people who mean nothing.
“I will raise Ollie, and he’ll never know about you.
Your life ends here, and mine will be lived with purpose. Fuck you. I hope you burn in hell.”
Ronan kisses my forehead. “Do you want to stay or go back upstairs to wait?” I only think about it for a second.
“Stay,” I say firmly. I may not be the one who gives them what they deserve, but I want to see it.
I want them to look at me and realize they didn’t break me.
For seven years, these people controlled every part of my life.
Not anymore. There’s a chair against the wall near the door, and I sit down in it, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees while I wait.
“Turn away or leave if it gets to be too much for you,” Ronan says.
I nod. He’s going to handle this for me. He’s going to give me justice I could never take for myself. Maybe I should feel weak for needing that. I don’t. Because Ronan is my strength.
“Where are Moses and Ezra?” he asks, standing in front of my parents.
Neither of them answers. He snips a finger from my father’s right hand.
The hand he used to sign the papers that would have sold Ollie, the hand that sold other babies.
Daniel locks his jaw and glares at Ronan.
I must move or make a sound because his glare turns to me.
There is nothing but hate in his eyes. When I used to get this look at home, I would avert my eyes, never able to meet his stare.
Not now, though. I stare right back, and I hold it.
He’s nothing now, and Ronan will make him even less.
I don’t know how long we have been in this room, but the twenty fingers that the pair started with are down to eight, four each.
Questions are asked, no answer is given, and then another finger is removed.
Liam no longer turns the blowtorch off between them.
He stands ready to burn the bleeding stumps each time.
Daniel tries to spout Bible verses, but his words are cut off as Conor snatches his head back.
He does it so forcefully that I’m surprised it’s still attached to his shoulders.
“Still nothing to say? When I finish with these last few fingers, I’m going to start on your toes.”
Rebecca’s eyes roll, and her head falls forward.
She’s not quite out yet, but she’s close.
Conor grips her chin and yanks her head back.
“Nope, you need to stay awake for this.” He pulls a syringe from his pocket and injects a clear liquid into the vein in her neck.
“There you go. Epinephrine to keep you alert.”
It doesn’t take long for her eyes to widen. “Please. Please stop.” Her voice is low and raw. She no longer sounds like the pious bitch that I grew up with. She’s weak and pathetic.
“Stop? You’re asking me to stop. Do you think the fuckers that bought those kids stop when they beg?” Ronan places the snips against another finger.
“Stop.” Her eyes are wide, and her body shakes. Whatever was in that shot Conor gave her is taking effect.
“You know how to make this stop.”
“They left to find Kenneth. When we couldn’t get in touch with him, they left. I don’t know where they are,” she cries.
The door to the room opens before she can say more. Finn and Duncan stride in. There’s a smirk on Finn’s face.
“Haven’t gotten them to talk yet, brother?”
“Fuck off, Finn. Colton got his answers. That was priority, now I get mine.”
I smile at Ronan. Even though the most important part of this is finding out where Moses is, Ronan still prioritizes my needs. I’ve never had anyone look out for me before him. I fall even more in love with this man.
“Conor, you go with Finn. We have the location. Jeremiah has a tracking app on Moses’ phone that the fucker doesn’t know about.”
At Jeremiah’s name, my head snaps to Duncan.
The fucker gave in before my parents did, that’s surprising.
The man who terrorized me since I was sixteen.
The man who would walk the aisles between the pews with a leather belt.
The man who beat me and others for perceived slights against the teaching.
I think about Gina, a sixteen-year-old girl.
She was whipped all because she asked if she could finish high school before she had to marry.
The groom to be stood to the side and watched as she was punished.
“Is the bastard still alive?” I ask.
“Barely,” Finn says.
I stand and walk toward the door. I’m not sure why I need to see him, but I do. I want to see his pain, his helplessness.
“Colton,” Ronan calls after me.
“I want to see him, Ronan. I need to see him.” I explain.
“Then we go see him.” Ronan takes my hand. “Did you get everything you needed, Uncle Duncan?”
“Yes, the kill’s yours.”
Ronan leads me into the room next door, and I have to force myself to take a deep breath before we step inside.
I heard what they said about him, heard them say he was barely alive, but my brain still refuses to fully process it.
Part of me keeps expecting to walk in and see the same man who haunted my nightmares for years.
My palms are slick with sweat where they grip Ronan’s hand, and I swear my heart is beating so hard that he has to be able to feel it through my skin. Ronan squeezes my hand once before pushing the door open. The man hanging in the middle of the room by his wrists is barely recognizable.
Blood has dried in his hair, matting it to his forehead and temples, and his head hangs forward so heavily that for a second I think he might already be unconscious.
Quiet sobs mix with broken groans, the sounds wet and ragged in the otherwise silent room.
Then, as we step inside, his head slowly lifts.
“Please, no more. I told you everything.” His eyes land on me. “Colton, boy, help me.”
For a second, my breath catches, and my heart stops.
I’m back on my knees in front of the stage.
Harsh words about my failure and my salvation buzz in my ears.
Phantom pain lashes across my back. I feel the belt over and over again as it hits my bare skin.
I can’t breathe. A strong hand cups the back of my neck, and gentle, firm pressure breaks through my consciousness.
“You’re safe and with me, Colton. Breathe, a stór.” He cups my cheek with his other hand and forces me to look at him. “He’s the one who beat you?”
I can only nod, not trusting my voice. In Ronan’s beautiful green eyes, I see his concern for me turn to something darker, something lethal. The switch should be alarming, but I know he would never hurt me. He turns toward Jeremiah.
“Your life is forfeit.” The calm way he says that statement sends a shiver down my spine. When he’s like this, he truly is my darkness. “Colton, do you need anything from this dead man?”
“No.”
“Good enough.” He picks up a large hunting-style knife and walks behind him. “Look away, a stór.”
I keep my eyes locked on Jeremiah’s face. He shows panic and fear in every feature. Every fucking time this man caused those same looks to innocent people of the congregation fills my head. So no, I’m not going to look away. I’m going to watch as Ronan takes his life.
“Colton,” Ronan calls to me.
“No. I want to watch.” I glance at Ronan and then back to the piece of shit. “I want him to see me as he dies. I want him to know that he didn’t break me.”
Ronan nods. I’m starting to read him more easily now.
He doesn’t want me to be here, but he knows this is what I need.
I watch as Ronan slips the knife into Jeremiah’s flesh.
Ronan’s arm flexes its hold on his neck as the knife is slid farther in.
The gurgling sounds that Jeremiah makes are the only sounds in the room.
I see the exact moment that life leaves this worthless man’s body.
I’m not sure what I should be feeling. I should be thrilled that this man is dead.
I should be jumping for joy. But I feel nothing, empty inside.
I’m glad he’s gone, but I don’t understand the numbness.
The sound of running water seeps into my consciousness. Ronan is washing his hands in a sink that I hadn’t noticed before. I watch his hands as he dries them on a paper towel. My eyes are still fixated on those hands when he stops in front of me.
“What do you need?” he asks.
I take his hands in mine and kiss his knuckles. I kiss the hands that have slain my enemy. The hands that not only bring me pleasure but also peace. I can feel that down to my bones, but nothing else is registering in me. “I don’t really know. I feel empty.”
“It’s actually called emotional numbness. It’s your brain’s way of dealing with all of this.”
Of course, Ronan would know the medical term for what’s happening to me.