Chapter 18
A maris temporarily held a lid over my restless energy, but as soon as I left her at her door knowing she’s safe and sound inside her room, there was no more containing my ire. It spreads through my veins, further strengthening my resolve until there’s only one thought on my mind.
I’m out for blood tonight.
Benito has been keeping a close eye on Duke since I fired off a text to him before heading back to the compound. There is no way I’m going to let our little encounter slide and I wasn’t letting him get away so easily.
Leading Ace inside, I refill his water bowl and then serve his food while I make a call to the one person I know will join me for fun. The line connects after the second ring and I take that as a good sign.
“Where’s the party tonight?” he asks instantly.
Ignoring his question, I cut to the chase. “I need you and your men to pick up a target and take him to the warehouse for me, tonight. Can you do that?”
His teasing voice meets my ears making a muscle in my jaw twitch. “Ooh, you sound mad. Is this a work party or a pleasure fest?”
I don’t have time for his games.
“Pleasure,” I say simply, knowing what he’s asking.
“I see.” He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out handful of seconds that grate on my nerves with each that pass by. “Do I get to help out?” he finally asks.
“Keep your mouth shut about this and you can try whatever fucked up device you’ve been wanting to do on this one.”
A dark chuckle has a wave of goosebumps rolling over me. “Music to my ears, baby. When and where?”
“I’m sending you the information I have on him now. Benito has eyes on him, so he’ll send you the location. If you guys get there before I do, tie him up or secure him to the chains.”
“Got it. I’ll call Benny.” With that, he ends the call and presumably gets to hunting.
He’s good at tracking people down even without Benito’s help, so this should be a walk in the park for him. Especially since Duke isn’t hiding. Bastard likely doesn’t even expect the retribution that’s headed his way.
That dickhead not only had the audacity to disrespect her right in front of me, but he was fully ready to lay a hand on her perfect skin. He can’t say I didn’t warn him. As much as I know Amaris can handle her own, that just didn’t sit right with me.
At all.
On my ride to the warehouse, my thoughts alternate between Duke’s demise and other ways I can see the bright smile on Amaris’ face. Maybe I’ll gift her his severed hand that dared to try and strike her so she’ll truly know that I will slay all her dragons, with or without her by my side—scratch that, it might scare her off. This is what I was made for, though, isn’t it? Albeit, this is the first time it feels right. The first time I crave the bloodshed and agony that awaits me.
The van is already parked out front when I arrive; the fucker works fast. Halfway to the door, I slow my steps to a stop when a purple smile plastered onto a mask—similar to the one I usually wear—stands at the entrance and then meets me halfway.
“Why do we need to wear these masks? I want to feel, see, and smell everything I’m doing to the sack of shit in all its glory.” Dario’s hoarse voice filters through the mask. While his face is concealed, I couldn’t hide the distaste from my features even if I tried.
“Relax, bloodhound. You can take it off now. It was just so the cameras don’t pick up your faces on this side of town with that asshat. I don’t need anyone sniffing around here or looking for him,” I respond coolly.
Swiftly removing the mask from his face, he shakes his hair out—it isn’t much longer than mine, I have no idea why he does that. “Good. I’m all for masks, but not these, that shit gets hot. It’s only fun when the situation calls for it. Or if there’s role-play involved,” he says with a wink.
“Is he conscious?” I push forward, moving towards the open door.
“I have two guys in there chaining him up to the hoist. He’ll be up soon if he isn’t already. I didn’t give him much, he must be the easiest target I’ve had.” Dario snorts.
Noticing he’s walking back to the van, my confusion makes me pause, but I think better of asking and just saunter inside. He’ll be back.
The men inside are still masked, each of us wearing all-black clothing. One guy is securing the last chain to a senseless Duke’s ankle while the other is at the table laying out different weapons. It doesn’t take long for Dario to stroll inside carrying a speaker in one hand and some sort of knife in the other.
He sets both items onto the table casually and I’ve never seen that thing in my life. Upon closer inspection, I notice that it’s a set of brass knuckles with sharp spikes protruding out the knobs and each side ends with a karambit-style blade. My attention bounces between the contraption and Dario’s cheeky grin. A quick scan of the room confirms that the other guys are as curious as I am.
“Dude, what the fuck is that bear claw thing?” The smirk that slips out is beyond my control. This crazy motherfucker never fails to surprise me.
“You like it? I named it Raven. Kinda looks like one, right? Just had the wings sharpened this morning.”
For what?
“I just called you less than an hour ago,” I deadpan.
“You never know.” He shrugs. “Look at the odds, I get to put it to use today anyway. It worked out.”
Glancing at the tattoo he has of a raven spanning the length of his forearm and then back at the weapon, I can see the similarity.
An uncomfortable groan along with the light sound of chains rattling pulls all of our attention away from the table and to the owner of the sound.
Show time.
“What the hell?” Duke’s groggy voice matches his confused, disorientated state.
He blinks hard a few times until the realization hits him that he can’t move. We quietly move closer to him, waiting for him to look up and spot us. He furrows his brows at the chains holding him in place as he tries to free himself. The fear must give him an energy boost, because his wide eyes shoot up searching for our faces frantically.
“What’s going on?” he whines, eyes squinting to adjust to the lighting.
Dario laughs, turning to sharpen the hunter’s knife he pulled out of his pocket. Duke struggles to focus his gaze on my advancing form.
My voice is a low rumble when I finally speak. “You did a stupid, stupid thing.”
Whether my voice makes him realize who I am or his eyes finally start working properly, his ashen expression gives him away. The fear emanating from his pores is spreading through the room, filling me with a sense of enthusiastic anticipation.
He tugs at his chains again with no luck. “Are you talking about what happened today? I’m fucking sorry, man. I didn’t even do shit to her, she hit me !”
Closing the gap between us, I haul him up to eye level by the collar of his button up. “I’m talking about ever speaking to her in the first place. You should have just left her alone,” I grit out.
Annoyance flares when his mouth opens to speak. I have no interest in hearing whatever moronic remark he’ll spew next. The deep grunt that escapes Duke the moment my fist connects with his gut in a sharp blow enables my annoyance to melt away as I relish in his grimace and already weak form.
“Fuck.” A string of coughs follow as he asks, “All this over some girl?”
Some girl?
He really is a bigger idiot than I had him pinned down as. In my few experiences with this guy, every time he opens his mouth, he gives me another reason to end his life. Nothing worth listening to comes out of his mouth, and frankly, I’m tired of his grating voice. It triggers the same switch Renato has controlled for years.
I tense then release my facial muscles, rolling my shoulder back before looming over him. “You have no idea the lengths I would go to for that girl . I want you to tell me how you fucked up with her, and for every fuck up, I’ll reward you.” Amusement laces my tone as I take a step back, calculating my next move.
“The quicker you die, the less pain you’ll experience. We don’t have to drag this out too long if you comply. Although, I would enjoy keeping you overnight.” Those are my parting words as I disappear behind his line of sight. Any pleas or bargains from him fall on deaf ears.
London Bridge Is Falling Down is my tune of choice to whistle when making my way to stand behind him, loud and deliberate, echoing from the walls with an eerie ringing. Duke is trying to stay quiet and track me down, but his body freezes when his gaze falls on Dario’s crazed smile.
“Listen, I-I don’t—" With the bullwhip in my hand, I lash out three rapid swats, transforming insignificant words into shrieks that heighten after each blow.
“Stop,” he whimpers weakly in between breaths.
“Okay,” I reply simply, then shrug towards Dario. “He looks a little hot, don’t you think?”
Instantly picking up on my implication, he walks over with his freshly sharpened hunter’s knife, swiftly cutting through the front of his button up then repeating through both layers on his backside. Ignoring his futile struggles, he rips the clothing clean off, leaving Duke in nothing but his pants and exposing the fresh welts I’ve decorated him with.
“All better?” Dario asks with a slap to Duke’s face.
“Perfect.”
Duke continues to struggle and plead until the whip smacks him again. The more flesh I tear through, the harder I strike. Crack. Crack. CRACK . His body shakes with his cries and the shock of the pain. I derive a sadistic joy from it all. The screams. The tears. The fear. Not as much elation as I see reflected in Dario’s eyes, but at this moment, I think I get it.
Switching the bullwhip to my left hand, I take the moment of respite to query, “Tell me…Did you ever put your hands on her?”
He’s quick to answer. Too quick.
“What? No—AH!” The whips makes contact with his raised, bloody skin before he can finish his lie.
“It would be in your best interest not to lie to me, puke .” I keep my voice low. Menacing.
“I never fucking hit her, man,” he spits. Dario takes one look at my face and takes a step back, eyebrows raised and a knowing grin plastered on.
I’m in Duke’s face in an instant, baring my teeth with my free hand squeezing his windpipe. “I saw the way you grabbed her at the café after your breakup. You looked a little too comfortable doing that for my liking.” Releasing my hold on him, I push myself back a couple of steps. “So, I’ll ask one more time. Did you put your hands on her?”
“No.” He flinches when I raise the whip. “Not intentionally! I just,” he pauses to suck in a breath, hiccups following his stray tears. “Maybe I’ve grabbed her too tightly or pushed her around, but I never beat her. I swear.” He drops his head down in a display of defeat.
Crack. Crack.
“But you wanted to,” I push, “when you lunged at her today.” The image of the event replays in my head, so I whip him hard on his chest. “Did you honestly think you could threaten or insult a hair on her head and I would just let it happen? That you would be able to go on with your life as if you're worth something in this world after that shit you pulled?”
Crack .
“Say you never deserved her.”
Crack .
Tripping over his words, he chokes out, “I-I never deserved her! I didn’t treat her right. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything.”
The blubbering mess before me is crying like a petulant child now, bartering in any way he can think of. His entire torso is torn to shreds, crimson liquid cascading down into his waistband.
“Stop your damn whining, Wall Street.” Dario’s voice booms from behind me, light footsteps following until he’s directly in front of Duke. Despite his best efforts, he can’t stop running his mouth with incoherent apologies.
Dario’s irritability grows tenfold by the second. Any second now, he’ll snap.
“I am sick and tired of your incessant crying. He’s only just gotten started with you.” Duke’s lip quivering is the final straw for him. In one fluid motion, Dario drives his fist straight into his gut. “Shut up!” Another punch. “Shut the fuck up!” Two more hard swings that have Duke’s eyes rolling back in pain.
Squeezing Duke’s cheeks roughly until his mouth creates an O, Dario reaches in with his gloved hand and pulls out Duke’s tongue forcefully. Without wasting any time, he reaches into his back pocket for the knife and impales diagonally through the nerves and muscle, severing it completely like it’s his craftwork.
Duke’s face pales upon seeing his tongue detached from his mouth, separated from his body. His lips move to say something, but no words follow. Dario looks towards the ceiling and releases a breath, visibly relaxing. The feral smile on his face sets Duke over the edge and he goes limp, drooping his head forward, allowing the pooling blood to leak out, dripping onto the cement.
“There we go.” Dario sighs, eyeing the severed tongue in his hands before looking at me with that glint in his eyes. In a split second, the tongue is flying in my direction, narrowly missing me when I move out of the way. Shooting a warning glare at Dario does nothing to cease the rumble of his chest. On the final chuckle, he turns to the back tables. “Now, we need some classical music to make this perfect.”
He must be mad. Who in their right mind would toss a decapitated tongue at somebody?
“You play too damn much,” I call to Dario’s retreating form.
Kicking the dying, darkening organ aside, I step closer to the sack of garbage on display, gauging the conditions he’s in. Most likely, he passed out from the fear and pain—at least he didn’t shit his pants. Yet.
Danse Macabre filters through the room setting the perfect tone—I get why he likes to work with his music now. This shit feels like a scene straight out of a movie. It heightens the thrill of an already exhilarating moment.
A slap to the face doesn’t wake Duke. Neither does the next slap or handful of blows I deliver. It’s no fun when he isn’t truly, visibly suffering from what I do. Like a manifestation of my thoughts, Dario appears to my right without a word, his crazy ninja knife ready for action. Shaking my head to hide my smirk, I step aside and let him show off.
“I always wanted to play the violin. Improvising has always been my specialty,” he whispers as he prowls towards Duke like a predator with one goal on his mind.
Slicing along his exposed chest and ribs in rapid succession, Dario falls in sync with the song. It’s not long before Duke’s eyes shoot open and he tries to move away. His mouth opens to scream, beg, but nothing more than a strangled moan slips past his lips. That only serves to further his panic, sending him into a thrashing frenzy.
My spiked bat lies in the corner, gaining my attention, demanding to be a part of the fun. Sardonic laughter escapes Dario as I’m moving across the room. The last thing I catch before fully turning is his gloved finger pressing deep into an open wound on Duke’s rib.
When I return, Dario is drawing wings and other random objects on his chest like a canvas. It momentarily strikes me that he has many talents beyond just hurting people, even if he does enjoy this for his own pleasure.
“This…this is what I call art.”
Duke shakes his head and stares at me with pleading, tear-stained eyes, as if it would do something to me. “You might’ve missed your calling.” Coming up behind Dario, I clap his shoulder with my free hand.
“My turn,” I singsong. My bat cracks against his right leg, emitting a deep, resonant crunching sound. Duke is decorated in different shades of red, from his legs to the top of his head, shallow breaths coming out rapidly.
“There we are, almost thought we lost you for a moment there. Is your leg hurting?” I taunt, flicking my eyes down to the broken body and then back up. Dario tracks the swift movement instantly, rounding the hanging body. “I guess I am feeling a little nice today. Let us help you off your feet.”
Before Duke can fully protest, Dario is pulling on the chain behind him, lifting him by his ankles. He face plants on the cement by the time I get around to helping Dario scrape the rest of his body up off the ground until he’s vertical again, eyes lined up with my thighs.
Crunching down, I meet his eyes to make sure he knows I mean every last word from the bottom of my broken soul.
“You should never have gotten the luxury of breathing the same air as her. Amaris means more than you can wrap your puny brain around.”
Dies Irae from Verdi’s Requiem resounds through the room, urging me on. The bat shatters his left leg and I swing into his stomach before tossing the bat aside.
Reaching behind my back, I grab my gun from where it was tucked in my waistband and aim at his head, breathing heavily. “You’ll be going where you belong. Back into the soil until Hell takes you. The pigs deserve a nice meal tonight.”
Click. Pop. Pop. Pop.
I empty the magazine in his head, not letting up until a few hollow clicks sound. After taking a minute to compose myself, I meet Dario at the back table where he’s wiping blood off his knives with a rag.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the girl has you eating out the palm of her hand,” he teases without looking up.
“Well, then it’s a good thing you don’t know any better,” I snap back.
He’s right. Right in ways beyond my comfort zone. He’s baiting to get a reaction, he likes to see people squirm, but I won’t give him that satisfaction.
Finally, looking up, amusement laces his features when he asks, “So, you wouldn’t wanna go burn off this excess energy at Lacy’s? I know a girl who’ll take us both tonight if you’re into sharing.”
The insinuation embedded in his words ticks me off, but I reign in the storm of emotions.
“Can’t tonight. There’s still one more thing I need to take care of.” Leaving his stupid smirk to his devices, I head for the door with my final parting words.
“And I don’t share.”
“Suit yourself,” he snorts.
The sun is setting when I step outside, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. Rolling my shoulder back and releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I allow myself to take a moment in the quiet. Standing with the bold colors surrounding me, I breathe an inkling of life into me—as much as it can.