Chapter Thirty-Four #2
“Get down there!” I roar, wheezing and shaking. “Right now! Make him fucking bleed . I want him to rue the day he ever stepped into my life like he could fucking help me , because he can’t! ” I’m heaving, fisting my hair as I breathe out ragged, “No one can.”
Their faces are the picture of baffled uncertainty, but I just growl again, “Go. Now. ”
And they nod, grabbing their bags of supplies and sauntering off to obey my orders. But the power in it is doing nothing for me. I feel nothing but impotence and insecurity.
Storming to the kitchen, I ransack the place for anything that will numb me. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to feel anything .
What I wouldn’t give for some bloody heroin right now.
The Ivory’s cartel blokes must be able to get it. Maybe I could blow one of them for a bag…
The way my brain goes to this so easily, like a physiological response, only makes me angrier, and makes me hate myself more.
After several minutes of tearing through the mansion like a twister, I stumble upon The Ivory’s bar.
Grabbing the first bottle I see, I unscrew the cap with trembling fingers.
I’m about to dump the entire thing down my throat when I feel something buzzing in my pocket.
I pause, bottle at my lips. Huh…
Pulling out the cellphone, I stare at it in shock. It’s ringing. It’s on and actually ringing .
I take too long balking at it, and end up missing the call. Placing the bottle of booze down with a thunk , I rush around a corner for some privacy, taking a deep breath. And then I redial the number that just called.
It rings only twice before a male voice answers. “Hello?”
My lips part. But I say nothing.
“Hello?? Joy?? ” the person asks frantically.
Well, that explains whose phone it is.
And that voice is awfully familiar…
My heart rate evens out, lips sloping into a grin. “Hello… Luthor.”
I’m wading through emotional muck, waist-deep and sinking .
Byron… ended things. He hates me.
Dr. Love is still trying to help me, despite my having him tortured.
And then that phone call…
They’re not dead.
I just spoke to Luthor on the phone. He and Ren are very much alive . I’m not sure how , or where they are. Those are questions I would have asked if I were a good person. But I’m not.
Luthor and Ren are worried about their friends, about Byron. Because they are good.
But me?
I’m pure black mold.
I barely remember what I said to Luthor. Just raving resentment and disdain while rippling with the need to make something happen. If anything, it sounded much more like Leo than me.
But the part I wasn’t exaggerating about was Velle being at a disadvantage. I just can’t see how he and his men could overpower The Ivory. There’s no defeating the devil.
And if that’s the truth, wouldn’t it make sense to stay in his good graces?
I have no ties to Velle, Joy, or the others. Sure, they seem much more interesting than The Ivory’s dead-eyed soldiers. But if staying on his side keeps Byron and me alive, I’ll do what needs to be done. Even if that means playing the part of the enemy.
Hell, I’ll be the slimy, untrustworthy newcomer. If that’s what they want.
Except that it’s not that simple, apparently. Those people are Byron’s friends. He cares for them, and clearly, they care for him. But they’ve cast him aside…
Because of me.
“No amount of revenge will ever fix you, Trevel… Let him love you broken… Or spend forever alone, looking for a partner in crime who doesn’t exist.”
I cover my face with my hands, growling and crying into my palms.
Sod it all. What am I doing??
Giving up Byron for this? I don’t want this…
I’m not in love with Lemuel, and I don’t care that he left…
The conversation with Luthor was the last straw. I told him that Byron wanted revenge on Felix… But he doesn’t. He doesn’t need it anymore, and neither do I. Because there’s something so much better here…
“If it weren’t for Dr. Love… you wouldn’t have met Byron…”
Picking myself up is difficult. I’m so heavy with regret, lightheaded from unnecessary anger. But as soon as I’m standing, I feel sturdy once more. I’m determined.
I rush back down to the tombs, immediately hit by the sounds of my doctor being tortured. It sheets my flesh with chills.
Emerging from the darkness, I wander over to where Hassan and Johansson have Lemuel chained to the wall by his neck, wrists, and ankles. Bag over his head, he’s shirtless, decorated in electrodes and burn marks. They’re using hot pokers—some sort of pain measurement test that seems like overkill.
Of course it is. It’s just torture and humiliation. They stand to gain nothing with this… Nothing but revenge.
The Ivory’s revenge, not mine.
This isn’t for me. I don’t need this.
“You’ll never come first. Your wants, needs… They’ll all take a backseat to his. Because he is all of it.”
“The best revenge is not needing it…”
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Hassan grins, taunting, “Where’s your pretty monster boyfriend, Lemuel? If only he could save you like you saved him… From Templeton. And me .”
Dr. Love is grumbling, but his words are muffled, most likely by a gag in his mouth.
“I was disappointed that you burst in that day… Before I could finish my experiment,” he goes on, sadistic glee in his eyes turning my stomach. “If only Felix knew how much shit you’ve been taking because of him… He might come out of hiding.”
Johansson flicks on a device and murmurs, “One-sixty.”
He presses a button, and Dr. Love jerks violently.
Electroshock… Jesus.
“Let me,” I grunt, stomping over with my hand out.
They both look up. Hassan steps aside, watching as I grab the long, pointed metal rod he’s been using to burn and pierce Lemuel’s skin.
I rip the bag off of his head. “Look at me, Doctor,” I growl. His eyes slowly creep open. “I want you to see all of this…”
Our gazes lock, his amber irises housing the same rage and helplessness I’ve been seeing for weeks on end. And yet, still , he shows no remorse…
Like he said to me, in the woods. “No qualms, or hesitations.”
And I get it now. I do know that feeling.
“Now we’re even,” I whisper.
And I spin fast, stabbing the metal rod right through Hassan’s neck.
Blood squirts from the wound, his eyes wide and bulging as he falls to the floor with a thud.
Johansson’s face morphs in shock and terror. He stumbles backward, attempting to flee. But tackle him to the ground. Reaching for the chain of Lemuel’s shackles, I wrap it around Johansson’s neck. I pull with all my might, choking him brutally, using my body weight to hold him down.
A guttural roar leaves my lips as I yank both ends of the chain. There’s a distinct crunch . And Johansson goes limp beneath me.
Panting, my breathing echoes through the cold, damp space as I feel a weight being lifted from my shoulders. Interestingly, it’s the same kind of release I felt when I killed the four men who raped me. When I killed Andres. It’s freedom from my own chains.
I’m flying , higher than the best hit I’ve ever had.
The best revenge is not needing it anymore.
Wiping my forehead with my hand, I look over the bodies beside me… The pool of blood seeping closer to where I’m slumped on the floor. I peer up at Dr. Love. His eyes are round.
“I suppose it really was inevitable, yea?” I breathe out, stuffing my hand into Johansson’s pocket and pulling out a set of keys to the cuffs and shackles.
Standing up on shaky legs, I remove the gag from Lemuel’s mouth and free him from his chains. He stares down at the dead assholes, spitting out some blood right on Hassan’s body.
“Thank you, Trevel,” he says sincerely after a beat.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I pull him out of the way before Hassan’s blood reaches his foot.
“I know,” he hums. “But still. I owe you.”
I give him a skeptical side-eye. “I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”
“No. You were right,” he grumbles. “I’m here because I chose to be. And I deserve it, just as much as the rest of them.”
“You didn’t deserve that.” I gulp, guilt easing out in my tone. “No one does…”
“Maybe not, but it’s not your fault.” He stares at me until I eventually meet his gaze. “I am sorry, Trevel… For leaving you the way I did. I want you to know that I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for you. Having you as a patient… it changed everything. You were a gift I didn’t deserve.”
My throat is closing, chest constricting so tightly I can barely breathe. I’m astounded… That after everything I’ve done to him over the past few weeks, he’s actually standing here, thanking me .
Giving me credit for being his first monster.
And it dawns on me. This is the revenge I wanted. Better than weeks of spilling his blood and inflicting him pain.
All I’ve ever wanted was to be seen .
I clear my throat, fighting off the pressure building up in my skull. “We’ll have to do something with the bodies…”
“I can help.”
My face springs up at the sound of Byron’s voice. He’s standing there, lips pursed to dampen his smile.
My real partner in crime… He’s here.
Dr. Love nudges me, and I peek at him. “Share the burden. He’s strong enough to help you carry it.”