Chapter 27
Anita
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L ocation: GenCre Academy
Operation: Yeah, my ribs hurt.
I rest my head onto the arm rest of the couch. The cool leather caressing my cheek. I’m careful to not lean the wrong way due to my bruised ribs.
Dr. Rio's words exactly.
I sigh, rubbing over my tank top where my ribs lie. Never have I had a man care for me enough to demand I leave. To take care of myself.
How can I do that when I've neglected it for this long? How does one recover from the deprivation of their wellbeing? It left me discombobulated and angry. Angry at Ronan for caring about me more than I care about myself. Putting myself before a goal is foreign to me.
If that was my father, he would've thrown me a pack of ice and forced me to go into that building. I vividly remember spraining my foot from a fall during an obstacle course. My father dragged me up and shoved me to keep going.
I did.
It left me with an ankle so swollen it still hurts randomly to this day. Or maybe it's just a phantom pain.
Ronan’s need for me opens a spot in my heart that I try to contain with loads of clay. But for some reason the clay doesn't hold; it becomes thinner by the day, slowly tipping, causing that brick to fall.
I promised your brother.
I chew on the inside of my lip, those four words replaying in my head, digging deep into my soul, settling all the sorrow I hold regarding my brother. The way he always looked out for, and even before his death, he thought of me , his sweet little sister. He knew either way he was going to die, and he wanted Ronan, the man I had to despise, to promise him my safety. I sniff back the moisture that’s pooling in my eyes.
I’m distraught.
I want to be furious with Ronan. For keeping this promise from me, for taking my retribution away. I planned this for so long, only for it to slip through my fingers. But it opened up something in my chest, causing my heart to beat louder than a revenge that...Wasn’t even mine to begin with. I took it on. Carried it as my own, like an old wound. It made me someone strong and powerful...but it also made my heart hateful.
The lock on the door scatters my heart up to my throat. I glance over my shoulder as the knob twists, and Ronan walks in. He looks around, then his hard gaze lands on me. They soften once he sees me, and he walks over with a foreboding look.
He is coated in blood and grim. The blood splatter from my knife attack remains everywhere on him.
He looks disgusting. And wildly beautiful.
“ Oi ,” I muster out in Portuguese.
“Salut,” he murmurs in French. Gymnastic flips kick in my belly, a rush of heat scorching my face. “Least I can know when you’re threatening me,” he says with a slight tease in his exhausted voice. “Or flirting.”
I glance down, sprinting a smile as the burn hits my cheeks. He’s learning my language.
He sits beside me, but not too close. “Dr. Rio says only minor bruised ribs. You should heal in a couple of weeks.”
Of course, he went to Dr. Rio and probably demanded the diagnosis. I nod. “Yes, he gave me steroids to help manage the pain, and some pills to get high on.” I chuckle at that. Ronan doesn't.
Silence stretches between us for a few seconds.
“Are you upset with me?” He touches my knee and brushes his thumb across it. Tingles erupt at the spot, picking up my heartbeat.
“Yes.” I can hear his breath become shallow. I continue, “I was. Not anymore.” I don’t move my leg. I nudge it closer. I've had enough of pulling away from his touch in one night. Truth be told, I loathe it. The moments he reaches out to touch me—even in front of the team—are the times I really need it.
“I never wanted to take that chance away from you, but I’ll do it again in a heartbeat,” Ronan says confidently. “Not only because of the promise I made to Carter, but.” He watches his hand on my leg, caressing it softly. “Because I care for you more than you realize, Anita.”
A glow mellows in my chest, spreading over me like a coat. I care for you, too. The words are there, but I’m terrified to say them. I don’t understand why he cares for me. I’m damaged, there’s no space for someone to care. Yet, his words envelop me with this peace only he allows me to feel. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but it’s what it’s become.
“I know,” I whisper, covering my hand over his despite the lingering, dried blood. We look at each other, and something else sits in the pits of my stomach.
“I didn't mean what I said.” I vividly remember the way he stiffened as if I had shot him in the chest. “I was angry, and it was nasty of me.” I squeeze his hand. “I know you, Ronan, and your intentions. I won't question that again.”
“You had every right to be upset. I understood.” Ronan intertwines our fingers. “To make up for it, I have a gift for you.”
I frown, gazing at him, and a sinister smile forms on his lips, curling the laceration. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
Ronan lifts my hand to his lips, applying a soft kiss to my knuckles. As he does, his eyes hood up at me with vicious carnage and says, “To retribution, amor.”
***
R onan guides me to the lower level, after some long minutes that it took for him to help me get ready. It made me slightly uncomfortable, not because he was touching me so delicately, but from my lack of strength. Not being able to do it myself is new for me and will take some getting used to.
I stuff my hands into my coat, bunching my shoulders to combat the brisk air. He leads me out into the dead of night, going at a slow pace because of me. We head through the path of thick, inky woods and away from the academy. The air blows past in eerie whistles, the tall trees strong, sturdy with swaying branches, and the leaves rustle in the breeze. Each crunch of the leaves stokes a surge to my heart. Anticipation. What is it?
He says we’re going ‘to retribution,’ and I can't think of what he means by that. I won’t come up with any ideas because that means I’ll have expectations and if they aren't met, it’ll lead to disappointment.
That is, until I see Mal and Boone. Along with a few other students wearing black combat pants and black hoodies. They seem like the older group, called Rampages. They're a little older—possibly eighteen or twenty-one. From what I hear, they’re the ones who graduate after Stygian day and go into the field with their Headman.
Then, my heart knocks hard against my ribs, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.
Victor.
My lips part and goosebumps pile all over. Victor is there, stripped of his clothes, bound above the ground between two thick barren trees. His hands and legs are bound by ropes, stretching his body out.
Ronan places his hand on my lower back and the students part in union for us to go through.
Mal turns with that wicked grin of hers. “You made it, Cinderella.”
No words come through. I’m fully stunned. I switch from Ronan, to Mal, to Boone—who stands off to the side with his hands clasped in front of him—then back to Ronan. I grip his elbow, and he gazes down at me with this look of satisfaction, like he’s waiting for my approval. “You brought him here. Why?”
The wind blows over his loose strands, a few landing over his eye. “For you, my little snake. For us. We were meant to do this together.”
More flutters arrange in my belly, and I catch my breath from his ‘gift.’ It’s nothing like I expected and means more to me than anything. I look back at Victor, who’s struggling with the angle of his body in the air like that. He hocks up blood, and it spills to his chest, dripping onto the earth. His body is black and blue, both eyes nearly shut, probably from Ronan’s abuse. A gaping hole in his knee that matches the color of his bruises. “Please,” he attempts to beg.
Ronan tilts his head, and I flick my gaze back to him. Menace forms in his features, the look I have seen the day we tortured Fred, flashes dangerously before me. “Tell me how you want it, Venom,” he coos.
He’s going to kill him in front of everyone. And he wants me to conduct the torture.
A shiver runs up my spine, and I cock my chin. “I believe he’s missing something,” I say. “Slice his chest and don't miss a spot. Then slit his throat.” I glower at the man who took my brother from me, who's scarred Ronan, the man that ruined lives and continued to traumatize them. He got off on lowering the minds of others and killing them from the inside out. Now it's his turn, and I will show no mercy.
Ronan’s eyes gleam mischievously, and he reaches in his back pocket to retrieve something. My eyes spread as my dagger dangles in his palm like it was meant for him. The light from the moon and stars hits the metal, sparking a shine off it like diamonds.
“I took it on the way out.” He drags his teeth over his bottom lip, watching me with this dark stare, then steps back and makes his way to Victor.
Victor wobbles, his head falling back then forward. He notices Ronan’s dark figure and his eyes widen like wings. Terror etching over his ugly features. “Wait. Wait, wait,” he gurgles. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“It's a little too late for that,” Mal sings, placing her hands on her waist.
Ronan stands in the middle, examining everyone before him, his head held high, shoulders strong and dominating. “Tonight is the night where this kind of evil will never walk this earth again. This is not only an ending for me, but for her.” He direct Victor’s gaze at me. “But for you.” He points at the young person whose face is covered by the hoodie. “And you.” He points to another. “And you. For all of you. No Mercy.”
“No mercy,” they chorus in an eerie tune.
Tingles and more shivers roam over my nerves. Ronan faces back to Victor as he tries once more to plead his case, but he snatches Victor's jaw, smashing it in, then he proceeds to slice him from the lips and down to his chest. I watch in amazement as Ronan digs my blade into the monster's chest, carving him like a craftsman. Shiny red crimson spills from his chest and rims the ground with his toxic blood. It's beautiful and so sick.
Ronan doesn't stop even when Victor’s excruciating screams pour into the air, signaling to the silent world of his suffering. No one will come for him; nobody will save him from what is meant to be. This was manifested, it was always going to end this way.
I stroll slowly to the mess, my boots crunching on the branches and cracked leaves. Up close Victor looks even worse, his exhausted eyes only pleading because he knows he’s going to die. I don’t give a shit.
“Leave your mark.” Ronan places my dagger in my hand, and he guides it up to Victor's stenciled chest. There’s no place for another mark, but Ronan makes sure it is. He moves my hand along the wounds and creates the letter V.
He lowers my hand, and a smile switches on the side of my lip. Every one of them will get my mark.
I’m even more surprised when Ronan digs the letter P beside it.
Our marks.
If there were room and time, I would carve every last name on his body of whom he’s taken, whose life he’s destroyed.
I move away and swiftly; Ronan swipes his hand across Victor's neck, slitting his throat. For a second, Ronan doesn’t move, he only watches as Victor chokes on his own death, as if he’s watching the blood drip from him.
Satisfied, he steps back, red liquid dripping down his hand, his broad shoulders rising and falling in heavy puffs.
Victor cries in thick coughs, his eyes rolling back, his pain is evident. A student, almost as tall as Ronan, comes forward with a red gasoline tank and matches, handing it to Ronan before walking back to his spot.
Ronan looks over his shoulder at me and I nod. Burn him alive. I don't need to say it, he understands the task. It's what we promised each other. He covers Victor in gasoline. Then, he lights a match; without another word, he steps back and flings the stick at Victor. It took no time for his body to engulf in flames, a scorching blaze as if the universe were sick of him, too. The fire roars along with Victor's death cries. There are so many mixed emotions, anger, relief, and so much satisfaction.
Most of all, grief. Not for Victor, but for Carter. It’s the kind of grieving I’ve always needed; one I was never able to have. How can you grieve when your father required you to be strong? Here, right now, I can finally have my moment. Our moment. Finally.
Ronan comes to my side, and we look at each other, the heat blasting on us, mixing with the cold air.
“Seventeen drips,” he says, his voice tight.
I squint slightly, and he looks back at Victor’s flames. “Seventeen drips, until Carter stopped breathing.”
My lips part as my breath constricts. I switch back to the eruption, the fire turning burnt orange. That’s what he was looking at. Counting the drips of Victor's blood.
We don't say anything, but the energy between us speaks louder than any words could.
I take his hand in mine. Enjoying the way his callous hand cups my palm. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He runs his gaze over my face, landing on my lips. When he looks at me, the red flame glints over his eyes and hard jawline. The look he gives me is possessive and so devastatingly sexy. “I told you before. You don’t need to thank me for doing what I’m supposed to do.”
My chest warms despite the angry fire screaming at us. His eyes darken as he watches me; then suddenly, he leans down to the shell of my ear, grazing his soft lips over the curves of it. I tremble on impact, not caring about those around. To me, even with an audience, it's only me and him. Ronan places a delicate kiss on the lobe, then whispers seductively, “The things I would do to you if you weren’t hurt right now.” His beard teases the edges of my jaw as he tugs me a little closer to him. “I would lick every part of you as he burns away, then take you right there on that tree.” I skate my eyes to the large tree next to the one holding Victor's blazing body. “And fuck you until you’re coming and crying all for me, my beautiful, little snake.” My breath catches and I have to swallow to pull myself together. He leaves one last peck, invisible to the eyes of others, and stands back upright as if he didn't leave me needy and melting like lava.
I want to reverse time and kick that fucker's ass because my injury is a reason why I can’t enjoy the beauty that comes with his presence. Because if I weren’t battered right now, I would let him do every last dirty thing that he wants to me.
Instead, I clear my throat as if nothing is happening, and we both turn back to the firestorm, our hands still clasped together, all of us watching the inferno rise.
After seconds pass, I notice the grayish smoke rising from the burnt corpse, the rancid aroma of spoiled eggs, and copper fills the surrounding air. “What happens when a cop or first responder sees the smoke above?” I ask curiously.
Ronan grunts. “I work closely with someone in the police department; he made sure no one came to investigate the scene. He knows to keep away from anything that has to do with GenCre.”
“I didn’t know you worked with the law.”
“Occasionally, they call for my help when they can’t handle it on their own.”
I nod and watch as Victor's skin peels and turns to ash, his true skeleton form revealing itself. “Sometimes having them on your side is needed. I get to do my job with no problem, and Gear stays out of my way.”
Gear? Never heard of him, but as long as I never get to meet him, I’m fine with it. Whatever Ronan’s been doing so far with him has clearly been useful.
“This calls for a picture!” Wicked Mal squeals. I whip my focus to her, and Ronan shakes his head as she rushes around, passing her phone to one of the Rampages. She grabs Boone, too. Ronan wraps his arm around my waist gently, and Mal stands in a pose beside me. “Say cheese, bitch.”
I smile, watching her excitement over this and circling my arm around Ronan's waist, too. He tugs me in protectively into him. That surge of contentment and peace surfaces in me again. I rest my head against him and look ahead. The fire scorches behind us and the camera snaps in a white flash.
Click.