32
Naps are never long enough, especially after sex. The things Hayes did to me... the memory makes me squirm.
We didn’t even involve blood this time since he insisted I needed more time to heal. But the things that man can do with his fingers, tongue and cock are far better than what he can do with a knife, and as I look at the neglected set of blades on the nightstand, I’m not sad we didn’t use them.
Smiling into the pillow, I reach down to play with the mess he left between my thighs. “Don’t shower without me,” he’d warned. “You’re mine.”
That’s been the rule for a while now, yet I still get butterflies every time he reminds me to follow it.
The clock shining dim light into the room tells me he’s been gone for a while, so I get up, throw on a tank top and shorts in case Boo came home and follow the sound of the music. Hayes always blasts music when he works in the garage. I don’t know how he hears himself think, though he swears it helps. I guess I’d rather listen to rock and roll than the sound of power tools, too.
He’s busy when I open the door at the end of the hall, and I know better than to startle him when he’s using his table saw. I spend a few moments just watching the sweat bead on the back of his neck, the muscles flex under his shirt, and the way his hair just teases his eyebrows when he leans over before shutting the door as quietly as I can. I can wait to shower until he’s done.
Still grinning to myself, I make my way to the kitchen for a snack. There’s still no sign of my brother. He’s been with Amaya more often lately when he isn’t working, so I’m not worried — though I can’t help but wonder why he’s spending time with her at all if he really believes she’s betraying him.
Keep your enemies closer, I guess. I just didn’t think “closer” meant balls deep.
I really hope he knows what he’s doing.
The dull drone of the microwave is almost completely obscured by Hayes’ music. It’s so loud even out here that it’s vibrating the house, causing the empty glass containers on top of the fridge to clink together. I honestly can’t believe it didn’t wake me up sooner, but I’m glad for it.
I deserved that nap.
Right as I open the door to get my food out, I hear the muffled sound of glass breaking. For a moment, I think it’s part of the song. But I know this one. That doesn’t make sense. So what—
Whipping around, I see shadows bouncing off the floor in the foyer. Someone’s here, and if they had to break in, I’m guessing it isn’t Boo.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
The fucking Sons are here.
My heart thunders loudly in my ears as the truth sets in. This isn’t a game anymore, not some silly little phone tag or something I’m hearing about peripherally. They brought the fight to us, and right now, I’m all alone.
“Her fucking truck is here, dumbass. Means she has to be here. Spread out and fucking find her, but bring her to me. That little bitch is mine.”
Carter. I recognize his voice from the message he left me — the message that had Hayes on the phone with Boo immediately.
I’m too frozen to scream .
I wanted to know how this would end... it ends now.
Right here.
Bolting through the living room to the bedroom, I snatch the butcher knife from the set Hayes left on the nightstand. He swore to me it was meant for fear play and not actual blood play, but tonight, I think I’m going to change that.
There’s no fucking way I let these assholes win.
“You can run...” Carter sing-songs from the hallway. “But good luck trying to hide. You’re outnumbered, cursed girl.”
Who, me? Run and hide? Not anymore. Gripping the handle as tightly as I can, I try to listen for footsteps and hear none. If I survive this, I’m taking a baseball bat to that goddamn radio. Sound won’t help me now.
The moment I see a shadow cresting the far side of the door jamb, I move, rounding the corner and swinging the knife as hard as I can. I catch a glimpse of wild red hair a second before blood spurts all over me, covering my face, my eyes, my chest. Carter’s scream turns into a gurgle as I try to clear my vision, and when I open my eyes again, he’s on the ground against the wall holding his neck .
The sight makes me violently nauseous, so I spit on him. “I may be outnumbered, but you’re out-fucking-matched. Choke on it, dick.”
Pure fury and adrenaline course through me until I feel almost invincible. Watching him gasp and claw at his torn throat only makes me hate him even more — this man who threatened me, hurt my brother, burned my house down. Having his throat slit when he didn’t see it coming is too easy for him.
The impact of my bare foot against his face sends a bolt of pain clear up my leg, but I don’t have time to coddle myself. There are two others in this house and they obviously didn’t come for the leftovers I just heated up. They came to finish what they started.
Moving away from Carter’s now limp body, I inch back toward the living room and scramble to find a bloodless piece of clothing to wipe the handle of the knife off. It’s slippery as hell, and I barely get it dried and back into my hand before Ricky tackles me to the ground.
His low, gravelly voice speaks straight into my ear, just audible over the pounding of my own heart and the music from the garage. “I would’ve made it quick, you know. But now? Now I think I’ll have a little fun. ”
Pain sears and spreads through my cheek as he backhands me, stunning me. One of his meaty legs pins my arm down and makes the muscle spasm until I drop the knife, and I realize this is it. I’m about to die. And Ricky fucking Madoff of all people is going to do it.
Carter’s blood drips off my cheek into my mouth, making me gag. “Fuck you,” I grunt, squirming to no avail. “If you think you’ll live long after you kill me, you’re fucking wrong. And whatever sick things you’re about to do to me will pale in comparison to what Hayes will do to you when he finds you. So go ahead. Do your fucking worst.”
“Oh, I will. And then I’ll kill him too.”
His hands close around my throat, but as he leans forward to apply more pressure, he frees my arms. Spots burst in my vision as the instinct to survive supersedes everything else. I grab the blade and stab him in the side, using all the strength and body weight I have to throw him sideways. The knife is too wide to have gone in far enough to kill, but he’s bleeding. Maybe I hit something important. I take off toward the kitchen to put some space between us and scream at the top of my lungs, hoping Hayes hears me — but the damage that prick did to my throat cuts it off too quickly, making me choke. I don’t think I can do this alone, especially since I have no idea where Holt is and Ricky almost certainly isn’t dead.
Scrambling, I grab a smaller, more manageable knife from the block on the counter and try to stay on my feet as I head back to the hallway, chasing certain death. Ricky’s crawling toward Carter and leaving a blood trail in his wake while Holt — all hunched shoulders and jet black hair, the spitting image of his fuckwit little brother — is almost at the garage door.
Hayes didn’t hear it when I opened the door. He won’t hear it now.
Running as fast as I can, I leap over Ricky and Carter just for Ricky to grab my fucking leg. I faceplant against the floor, dropping the knife, but Holt is too close. He’s mere feet away now. Kicking back as hard as I can, I free myself from Ricky and get back up, reaching Holt just as he reaches for the door handle. With no weapon, I leap onto his back and wrap my legs around him.
“Hayes!” I scream, digging my fingers into Holt’s eyes. “Hayes, help!”
Nothing answers me but the cry of the man under me. I dig harder, jerking when I feel my fingers slip into his sockets. Holt desperately tries to buck me off, tearing my shirt and slamming me back against the wall. My head swims from the collision, but I don’t let up until he’s dropping to his knees and I scramble back for the knife. I can’t think of anything but surviving. Rushing forward, I drive the knife into Holt’s neck and twist it, pulling it out just to stab him again and again until I’m sobbing over his body.
Every part of me is shaking, but there’s still one left.
Turning with what little energy I have, I see Ricky at the end of the hall — but what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense. There’s someone behind him, holding him up by his hair. I wipe the blood and tears from my eyes as I move closer and see Hayes looking more dangerous than I’ve ever seen him.
“I’m sorry!” Ricky screams. “It wasn’t my idea, I swear! Just please let me go!”
“Let you go? Let... you... go?!” Hayes screams. It’s louder than I’ve ever heard his voice before, and the boom of it makes me flinch. He slams Ricky’s head down hard enough to break his nose, and then lifts him back up by his hair. “Look at her!”
A chill runs down my spine as I step closer, prepared to do whatever I have to. I’ve come this far, there’s no way I’m letting him leave here alive.
“I’m looking at her! I’m looking!”
“Say her fucking name.”
“S-S-S-Sam-mara,” he stutters out. “Please!”
“Samara Sarro,” he growls. “And she’s the last person you’ll ever fucking see.”
He grips Ricky’s chin with one hand and uses his other to twist in one quick, solid motion, the crunch of his neck reaching my ears a second before he falls face down, unmoving.
The last of The Sons is dead.
The still-pounding thrum of music from the garage makes this all feel like a dream, or some weird, twisted party game. I keep expecting the lights to come up, the music to dim, and the three dead men in this hallway to stand up and applaud — but none of that happens.
They’re really dead.
And I killed them.