Chapter Thirty
V engeance, am I right?
Weird shit, man.
I guess I always thought about it in abstract terms. When I caught Michelangelo fucking my girlfriend, I had this urge inside me—a brutal antipathy. Animosity, like venom in my veins I couldn’t recover from. That bitterness called for action. Retaliation .
Something to tip the scales back in my favor.
I think the act of seeking revenge is like trying to control karma.
Ultimately, you’re supposed to rise above, and let the universe work it out for you.
But the emotions—the hurt, jealousy or rage—become a blinding hatred you just can’t shake.
And if you’re like me, someone who needs control to keep yourself from spinning out, well…
Simply letting go and moving on is much easier said than done.
You fixate on what happened, cause and effect, allowing it to consume your thoughts like a flesh-eating bacteria, until eventually, you develop a hardened layer of spite, just beneath your surface. And the only way to get rid of it is to take back control.
I had every intention of making Michelangelo Russo pay for what he’d done to me—unknowingly or not. But even then, it was an objective ideal. Vindication would depend on the person’s reaction to your malice.
The enemy has to play into your plan for revenge. And if they don’t… It can muddy the waters a bit .
We all know what ended up happening with Michelangelo.
This part is about Felix Darcey.
“Storm’s getting bad…” the timid, yet calm, voice rasps from the bed.
I cock my head.
Sitting in a large, ornate maroon velvet chair across the room, I stare at him. Gaze narrowed in the same speculative glower I’ve had aimed directly in his direction, and nowhere else, for minutes on end. Just watching.
Observing . Lips firmly zipped.
I haven’t taken my eyes off of him, nor have I spoken a word since Trevel left with Dr. Love twenty minutes ago.
There’s a lot I could say to this asshole, and yet none of it really seems necessary.
He already knows how I feel about him. He knows I hate his fucking guts for what he did to my friend, and that I’d love nothing more than to spill his blood as payback for him spilling O’Malley’s.
I told him all of that when I confronted him in the showers that day. And in the same way that Michelangelo Russo threw his complicated wrench into my plans for retribution, Felix Darcey has taken some of the satisfaction away from this revenge plot… By being a complete and utter sociopath.
But it’s like Trevel says, there are other ways to get revenge. Violence is my forte, but he’s much more calculated—not quite apparent in this hastily organized plan we’ve embarked on.
There was no discussion about where Trevel was taking Dr. Love, or when he’d be back, and that’s making me itchy inside.
What I do know is that Trevel wanted to separate Dr. Love and Felix Darcey.
It’s a smart play because they’re obviously very codependent.
Wrenching them apart is definitely the best way to expose their weaknesses and subtly poke at them until it starts to drive them both nuts.
Darcey is clearly uncomfortable; neck strapped to the bed, wrists and ankles tied. His glasses are sliding down his nose, chestnut hair strewn about, pale complexion flushed, most likely from the tightness of the belt and the overall stress of the situation.
His fingers wiggle where they’re resting over his lap.
At first, I thought he was trying to wriggle them free from the rope, but after a while, I realized it’s just a nervous tic.
Something to show me that, despite his apathetic demeanor, his brain is working overtime.
Rushing through thoughts of what might be happening to his man, concocting plans or schemes to free himself from this vulnerable position.
It’s very satisfying.
“Did the power go out in the prison too?” he asks me.
I don’t answer him, confident glare unwavering.
I’ve got you right where I want you, asshole.
Darcey puffs out a breath, frustratedly attempting to blow his hair away from his eyes. It brings an uncontrollable twitch to my lips.
“You know, Lemuel’s never spoken a bad word about Trevel…” He keeps going with the inane ramblings, meant either to fill the silence, or get me to crack. Or both. “And he thinks you could be good for him. Someone to make him feel safe.”
My eyebrow arches subtly. I can’t really help it. The audacity of this nerdy twink and his charlatan fucking boyfriend, I swear to God…
“Independence isn’t a bad thing,” he says with a small shrug. “Lem and I are both loners. Or, I mean, we were …”
You mean, before you absorbed one another?
“Sometimes it can be a coping mechanism, though,” he murmurs. “Keeping people at a distance… Never letting anyone know the real you.”
My jaw clenches. Interesting. I didn’t know bending over for a shrink makes you a fucking expert, you unbearable fucking twat.
“Personally, I’m glad you found Trevel.” He just keeps fucking talking .
Tuning him out was working fine… But the moment he uttered Trevel’s name, my fingers slowly curled into fists.
“Despite all of this, and what everyone else was saying, I think you guys are cute together. If he’s someone you can be yourself with… then it’s a good thing, right?”
He shows me a tiny smirk that I can see through like glass. I can hear what he’s saying, in between his bullshit, in that one stupid, shit-eating grin…
I killed your friend. I loved doing it.
I don’t feel bad.
My boyfriend let me do it. He’s stronger than you. And smarter than you.
Your friends are now my friends. I’m The Ivory’s favorite.
I’m everyone’s favorite.
And your boyfriend is in love with my boyfriend.
Standing up slowly, I crack my knuckles.
Darcey’s smirk falls away, and he tilts his head as much as he can, a curious expression covering his smug face.
I step over to the bed, our eyes locked the whole time.
He doesn’t look scared, which is infuriating, but I know it’s his thing.
He’s a fucking psychopath. If anything, I’m brimming with fast rage because, even tied up at my mercy, he still thinks he has me by the balls.
I crack my neck and lean over him. “What are you gonna do?”
His brows zip together, like he’s not sure what I’m talking about. So I elaborate.
“When he’s gone…”
That gets him. It’s the first flash of fear I’ve seen since we tied up Dr. Love.
“What ever will you do with yourself… when he’s dead , and you’re all alone again?” I hiss quietly. “Because that’s what you deserve, isn’t it? You know it as well as I do… I don’t have to do shit to you, neither does Trevel. We don’t have to lay a finger on you …”
With my index finger, I push his glasses up his nose. He flinches.
My lips slope into a smirk of satisfaction.
“I’ve thought a lot about breaking your bones, you know that?
I’ve fantasized about how it would feel…
Using my bare hands to make you bleed. How it would sound …
breaking your jaw or your nose, cracking your eye sockets.
What it might look like… to leave you lying in a pool of blood, like you did to my friend. ”
Darcey’s throat dips.
“I know it’d be satisfying as hell.” I sigh.
“I mean, how could it not? These are my weapons…” I hold up my hands.
“I don’t need a knife to fuck up your face, Carver .
I can do it easier than breathing, and it’d feel fucking great .
” I stop to shrug. “But the point is that I don’t have to.
We can ruin your life while you lie right here in this bed, like a scared, helpless victim .
” I hover even closer to his face. “And then you’ll be all by yourself… Like you deserve .”
Fury flickers in his gray eyes; his hatred, his malice. It mirrors my own, and it gives me chills.
“What makes you think Lemuel won’t kill Trevel??” he snaps. “How confident are you in his skills? Without you… You think your man’s wrath is stronger than mine’s?”
His chest is jumping, pupils dilated with his obvious surge of adrenaline. Finally , I’m getting the serial killer, rather than his fucking disguise.
This is what I wanted. I don’t give a fuck about Felix Darcey. I could crush him with my thumb.
I want into the ring with The Carver.
“My man isn’t just my man, though,” I rumble, ignoring the confusing flutters at referring to Trevel this way. “He’s also The Ivory’s man. So… sure, Manuel Blanco will keep you alive. But Lemuel?” I pull a very condescending shrug, and his jaw tics.
“You mean, you’re willing to side with The Ivory… After everything he’s done to your friends?”
“I have no fucking friends anymore, thanks to you,” I growl.
A bit of his anger wavers, eyes glistening up at me. “Trevel is all you have left…?”
Okay. That’s it.
A roar leaves my lips as I jump on top of him. Fuck playing it coy. I’m going to tear him to shreds.
“You think you own this fucking place?! You think you’re invincible, you psycho bitch?
? Well, guess what?? You’re not! You’re weak .
” My hands wrap around his throat as I snarl over his face, “You gave the doctor all of your power, and now you’re nothing!
The Carver is dead! You’re just Felix fucking Darcey. ”
I shove off of his throat with a scoff, and he grunts in pain.
“Byron…” he gasps. “I’m… sorry, okay? I’m sorry about Kieran—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I snarl, backhanding him across the face. “Don’t fucking say his name to me!” I grab him by the collar. “ You don’t feel shit like sorry , so don’t fucking patronize me! You’re embarrassing yourself…”
“No, wait. Listen,” he croaks. “I’m not sorry I killed him… He was a piece of shit, you know that.”
I glare down at him, heaving with unfettered wrath.
“Come on, man. You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve to die…”
“So do you,” I teem.