Empty House, Full Revenge
Ryan
It didn’t take me long to find Brandon Widlow. I referred back to the information Cade got from that detective, piecing together Widlow’s whereabouts. Funny thing is, he came right back to the same dingy house he lived in when that social worker first brought Avi to them. But there was one big difference now: he came back to an empty house.
Lily had left him.
She finally realized what a disgusting pig he really was, and it took everything in me not to laugh as I read that in the notes Cade wrote down. Her departure was a small victory, but it didn’t matter. Not to me. His sins had caught up with him, and I was here to collect.
I could almost feel the satisfaction rolling through me, but I didn’t let it show. Not yet. The real work was just beginning.
I pulled up to the curb, engine still humming, but my mind was already miles ahead. The house was worse than I imagined. I’d seen the photos in Avi’s file, but standing here in front of it, the decay was suffocating. The siding was chipped, peeling like old scars—broken, tired. The porch sagged, a reflection of everything that had gone wrong. The front yard was littered with shattered glass and tangled weeds. The truck parked in the driveway was a monument to neglect, rust claiming it piece by piece.
I took it all in, but I wasn’t here for any of this. I was here for Avi. For closure. For what had been taken from her .
I could see her in my mind, the girl she used to be, small and fragile, standing there with her tiny backpack. The same uncertain eyes. She didn’t deserve any of it. I had to remind myself—this was for her. Every step I took was a step toward justice.
The crunch of gravel under my boots felt like a warning, but I didn’t slow down.
The door was already ajar, and it took little more than a push to let myself inside. The air hit me, stale, heavy with mildew and something that made my stomach churn. I didn’t flinch.
I found him in the living room, just like I expected—slumped on the couch, a half-empty bottle dangling from his fingers, eyes glued to the flickering TV. Pathetic. He didn’t hear me come in, didn’t even flinch. I hated him more in that moment than I’d ever hated anyone. For her. For everything he’d done.
Avi hadn’t come with me. I’d told her it wasn’t her fight. But I knew, deep down, she wanted to be here. Wanted this moment. She needed it, just as much as I did. This wasn’t just about me getting revenge on Widlow. It was about giving Avi the closure she deserved.
I was her shield. But today, I was her sword too.
“Brandon.”
His head snapped up, eyes wide, confused at first—and then terrified. Recognition bloomed across his face like a bruise.
“Who are you?” he croaked, scrambling to sit up, but his body was slow, bloated from years of drinking and whatever else he’d been doing to numb his miserable existence.
I didn’t give him a chance to run. I crossed the room in two strides and grabbed him by the front of his filthy shirt, hauling him off the couch and slamming him against the wall. The drywall cracked under the impact, but I barely noticed. All I saw was him . The man who stole her innocence. The man who haunted her dreams .
“You remember Aviana?” I hissed, my face inches from his. His breath reeked of whiskey and fear. “You remember what you did to her?”
“I-I didn’t—” he stammered, but I slammed him into the wall again, the drywall cracking under the force, cutting off whatever pathetic excuse was about to spill from his mouth.
“Don’t.” My voice was low, dangerous. “You don’t get to lie. Not to me.”
Widlow’s hands clawed at mine, trying to pry my fingers from his shirt, but he was weak. Nothing but a coward hiding behind empty bottles and locked doors. I tightened my grip, feeling the fabric strain.
“She still wakes up screaming because of you,” I growled. “She still fights to breathe because of what you did. But you? You’ve just been living here, like none of it happened.”
I let him go suddenly, and he crumpled to the floor like the worthless piece of trash he was. But I wasn’t done—not by a long shot. I brought my boot down hard on his ribs, hearing a sickening crack as he howled in pain. Again. And again. Each blow a release of the rage that had been festering inside me for years.
I drag his limp, wheezing body toward what looks to be the basement door, the weight of his struggles fading with each step. The old wood looms ahead, shadowed and imposing, a silent witness to the countless actions that have taken place in its confines. My hand grips tighter on his collar, pulling him closer. I can hear the sharp gasps for air that escape from his mouth, the sound of his panic fueling something darker within me.
“You think this is enough?” I spat, throwing him against the door. The familiar, musty scent of the basement fills my nostrils as I stand there, feeling every inch of control slip from his grasp. He can barely keep his eyes open, but I know he’s aware of what’s coming. He knows, just like I do, that once we step through that door, there's no going back.
The basement was cold, damp. A single bulb flickered overhead, its weak light barely enough to cut through the thick darkness. The smell of mildew lingered, clinging to the concrete walls like a ghost. The only sound was the steady drip of water from a pipe in the corner and the ragged breaths coming from Brandon.
Brandon sat bound to the chair in front of me, slumped forward, his wrists tied behind him, his head hanging low. Blood stained his torn shirt, a slow trickle running from his split lip. His face was swollen, one eye already shut from the impact of my fists.
I stepped away, crossing to the old freezer against the far wall. When I yanked the lid open, a cloud of cold air curled out. Inside, chunks of ice glistened in a half-melted pile. I grabbed the metal bucket sitting beside it, scooped in a few handfuls of ice, then filled the rest with water from the rusted sink in the corner. The water sloshed as I turned back to him.
Without hesitation, I tilted the bucket forward, dumping the freezing water over his head.
Brandon jolted upright with a sharp gasp, his body convulsing against the restraints. He sucked in a breath, sputtering as the cold seeped into his bruised skin, the shock snapping him back to consciousness.
"Wake up," I growled, tossing the bucket aside with a hollow clang. "We're just getting started."
I ran my tongue over my teeth, watching him, waiting. The belt hung loose in my grip, the leather warm from my hands, slick with his sweat.
“Go to hell,” he spat, defiance flickering in his bruised eyes.
I tilted his head, amusement curling at his lips. “You first.”
He was breaking. I could see it in the way his shoulders twitched against the rope, the way his fists clenched behind the chair, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.
“You recognize this?” I held up the belt, stretching it between my hands before snapping it taut. His belt. The same one he’d worn when he thought he was untouchable. When he thought he could do whatever he wanted to her .
His bloodshot eyes flickered to it, and I saw the moment the realization hit.
The first strike landed across his chest, the thick leather kissing the bare skin through this shirt with a brutal snap. The man sucked in a sharp breath, his body tensing against the pain, but he didn’t make a sound.
“That all you got, boy?” His voice was hoarse but steady. “I expected more from you.”
I reached for the jar of cobbler’s wax, the remnants from earlier in the day still holding a wicked warmth. The wax had cooled slightly but was far from cold—still hot enough to scorch skin. I twisted off the lid and tilted the jar, letting the viscous liquid spill onto his chest, watching it ooze and drip over the contours of his body.
He flinched as the molten substance spread, the heat sinking deep into his flesh. His breath hitched when it dripped down over his ribs, then splattered lower, hitting his stomach and dripping slowly toward his groin. The wax clung to him like a second skin, burning as it hardened, and he couldn't move to wipe it away.
“You think this scares me?” he muttered, voice still thick with defiance, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of panic. “You’ll have to do better.”
I didn’t need any more of his bravado. Without hesitation, I cracked the belt across his face. The leather snapped against his cheek with a grisly thud, and his head jerked to the side. A stream of blood spilled from his lip, but he forced out a laugh—a low, ragged chuckle that made my spine crawl.
“You really think I care about your games?” he sneered, struggling to push through the pain.
I grabbed his face, my fingers digging into the bruised flesh of his jaw. “No,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “But I know what will.”
Without warning, I yanked at the hardened wax, watching it pull free from his skin with a nauseating sound—skin and clothing tearing as I ripped it away. His body tensed, a sharp gasp of pain escaping him as the wax clung to his flesh. He fought to keep his composure, but his breath came in ragged gasps, the agony written all over his face.
I grabbed the lasting pliers from the workbench, the cold metal heavy in my hands. With brutal force, I wrenched his mouth open, the pliers pressing against his teeth. Brandon thrashed, his body straining against the restraints, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
I squeezed.
The first tooth cracked with a repulsive crunch, like glass shattering under pressure. Blood flooded his mouth, spilling from the corners of his lips.
He spat a glob of crimson onto the floor, his eyes burning with a twisted defiance. Then he grinned, despite the pain, his teeth now marred with gaps and blood.“Is that all you’ve got, or have you run out of tricks, tough guy?”
I didn’t answer. I just moved to the next tooth.
Another sharp crunch—louder this time, more satisfying.
His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists behind him, the veins in his arms bulging from the strain. But still, no scream.
I let the second tooth clatter to the floor, stepping back to study him. His body trembled, his breath coming in ragged bursts, but that look— that damn defiance—still burned in his eyes.
I crouched in front of him, my gaze cold, focused. I watched him carefully, savoring the moment, letting the silence stretch just a little longer.
“You can act tough all you want,” I murmured, my voice low and steady, not giving an inch. “But you know why you’re here.”
His eyes flickered, but he didn’t answer.
““You were supposed to protect her, Brandon. She was so innocent.” I reached for the hot wax again, feeling the weight of the jar in my hand, knowing the pain it would bring. “Yet you saw this little girl who lost her mother, and you thought you had some authority over her. You thought you could break her down, turn her into something you could control. But you couldn’t be more wrong.”
I leaned closer, my breath even as I poured the wax slowly over the most sensitive areas of his body. The same areas he forced upon my Little Bird. “You broke her down. You broke her down so she would do everything you wanted her to do.” I gripped the jar tighter. “And now you’ll pay for it.”
I watched Brandon carefully, the tension in the air thick enough to cut through. His nostrils flared, his jaw clenched as he swallowed against the pain. But it wasn’t the pain that caught my attention—it was the flicker of something beneath that damn conceit. Fear, maybe, or regret. Either way, it was a crack in his armor, and I was going to make it bigger.
I could hear the sound of my own breath, slow and measured, as I stepped away from him, my eyes not leaving his. I walked back to the table, placing the pliers down and grabbing the belt.
“You never deserved to breathe the same air as her.”
“And yet I did. I even did more than breathe the same air as she did.”
At that moment I saw red and launched myself behind him, pulling his belt around his throat.
Widlow chuckled, “I actually made her choke on my cock. Watching her gag —.”
I yanked the belt tighter around his throat before he could finish.
His body started to jolt, his smirk vanishing as the leather bit into his skin. I held firm, wrapping the belt around my fists and pulling harder. His veins bulged, his eyes wide and wild, but yet he still kept fighting. His knees jerked, boots scraping against the floor.
I leaned in close to his ear, my grip unrelenting. “Not laughing anymore, are you Widlow?” I murmured.
He choked out something incoherent. Maybe it was her name. Maybe it was just a final curse. It didn’t matter .
I held on until the last fight drained from his body, until the blood vessels in his eyes burst and his face turned a hideous shade of purple. Until his fingers stopped twitching. Until his body slumped forward, heavy and lifeless.
I didn’t let go right away. I had to make sure he was gone. That he can never hurt my Little Bird ever again.
When I finally loosened my grip, his head lolled to the side, his mouth slack and eyes empty. I stepped in front of him, letting his own belt hang loosely from my fingers.
I exhaled slowly, my pulse steady.
I look down at Widlow’s lifeless body, the weight of what I’ve just done settling in my chest. His eyes are vacant now, his mouth slack. I let go of the belt, the leather hanging loosely in my fingers, and take a slow breath.
“Never again,” I whisper under my breath, my voice cold, final. I’ll make sure of that.
I can’t leave him here, exposed to the world. I need him gone. I need him buried where no one can ever find him. No one can trace this back to me. Not now, not ever.
My pulse steadies as I drag his body, careful to keep my movements controlled, silent. Every step is deliberate as I pull him through the darkened house and out the back door. The garage is a safe spot—a place where no one will think to look.
The garage smelled of oil and old earth, its walls lined with dust and cobwebs. The dirt floor was uneven, patches of bare earth visible through cracks in the concrete. It was clear the place hadn’t been used in years, the kind of forgotten space where time had stilled, leaving behind only the scent of neglect and the occasional drip of water from the leaky roof. I stepped inside, boots crunching on the loose gravel, my eyes scanning the shadows, each corner filled with the weight of forgotten things.
I grab the shovel, the metal cold against my palm, and I start digging. The earth shifts easily beneath the blade, soft and willing to bury what I need hidden. Sweat beads at my forehead, but my hands remain steady, methodical. There’s no time to hesitate.
His body is heavy. It feels wrong, unnatural, but I push through, dragging him into the grave I’ve made. The dirt crumbles as I lower him into it, and I don’t look back. Not once. The hole swallows him whole, like he was never here at all.
I fill the grave quickly, the earth swallowing Widlow’s body with finality. No one will ever know. Not a single person.
I stand over the grave for a moment, wiping the sweat from my brow, staring down at the ground like it can somehow erase what I’ve done. But it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. And he’ll never hurt her again.
“Never again,” I repeat to myself, the words colder now, more resolute.
I turn away, my heartbeat steady. I leave the grave behind, moving in silence, knowing it’s over.