Chapter Thirty-Three #2
"Can't what?" I crouched down until we were eye level, close enough to smell the fear-sweat soaking through his shirt. "Give you what you gave the Moore family? Let you feel what they felt?"
Adrian pulled out a tablet, legal documents already loaded on the screen. "Full name, dates, locations. A lovely little will transferring all your assets to Leo."
He pretended to set a timer on his phone. "Ten seconds, starting now."
"I'm not signing shit," Damon snarled, but his voice cracked.
"Five seconds," Adrian sang, positioning the shears around Damon's left pinky finger.
"Four. Three. Two?— "
"Wait!" Damon screamed, but we knew Adrian was going to do what he wanted.
The shears closed with a wet crunch, and Damon's pinky finger fell to the concrete with a soft thud, blood spurting from the severed digit. His scream tore through the warehouse, echoing off the concrete walls.
Adrian was already moving, producing the blowtorch from his kit. "Can't have you bleeding out on us," he smiled cheerfully, igniting the flame. "This is going to hurt."
The smell of burning flesh filled the air as Adrian pressed the flame to the wound, cauterizing the severed finger. Damon's screams reached a new octave, his body convulsing against the chains. The sizzle of flesh and the acrid smoke made my stomach turn, but I didn't look away.
This man deserved every ounce of pain he was experiencing for the amount he inflicted on others. I’d called my father’s highest-ranked ‘people’ to take out the two shooters from LA a little after it happened. They should be well taken care of by now.
"There," Adrian grinned, extinguishing the torch. "All sealed up. Now, about those papers..."
"Fuck you," Damon gasped, tears streaming down his face.
Adrian pretended to reset the timer. "Ten seconds. Ring finger this time."
"I need... I need time to read?—"
"Five seconds."
"Please, I'll sign, I'll?—"
Another wet crunch, another finger hit the floor, another scream that seemed to come from the depths of hell itself.
This time, Adrian took his time with the cauterization, letting the flame lick at the wound until the bleeding stopped and the flesh was charred black.
The smell was nauseating, but Damon's sobs were music to my ears. Even Connor, standing behind the chair, wrinkled his nose.
"You made money off their suffering.” I stood over Damon as Adrian prepared for the next countdown. "Got rich while families fell apart. While children lost their mothers. Estelle worked three jobs to keep Leo fed while you lived in luxury.”
I checked the monitor again—Estelle still had her arm flopped over Sierra, both girls deep in sleep. Even unconscious, she was taking care of someone. The sight of her peaceful face, unmarked by fear, was everything I needed.
"Look at her.” I forced Damon's head up to face the screen. "See how she sleeps now? No nightmares. No jumping at shadows. That's because she knows you can't hurt her anymore."
"Third finger," Adrian announced, resetting the timer. "Middle finger seems appropriate."
"I'll sign!" Damon screamed. "I'll sign whatever you want!"
"Too late!” And Adrian closed the shears again, followed by his finger hitting the concrete.
Damon passed out from the pain this time. Connor slapped him awake, leaving a bright red handprint on Damon's cheek. When he came to, Adrian was already cauterizing the wound, the flame dancing across the severed stump.
"Times up," Adrian hummed, moving to the index finger. “Shouldn’t have passed out.”
"No, no, no," Damon babbled, his remaining fingers twitching helplessly. "I'll sign now, I'll sign everything!"
"You had your chance," I growled coldly. "This is for every night they couldn't sleep because of you."
Adrian didn’t give a fuck whether Damon agreed to sign or not—he was set on getting his piranhas some treats for the next few months. He would have removed Damon’s fingers regardless.
“Please," he whispered, his voice broken and choked. “Please let me sign.”
I tapped the tablet in front of Damon and held out the stylus for his right hand. He shook as he reached for it, his severed left hand a mangled mess of cauterized stumps.
The signature was nearly illegible, smeared with his pain and fear, but it was legally binding. Adrian checked over the documents, immediately uploading them to his servers.
"Beautiful," he praised, tucking the tablet away. "Now for the main event."
He reached into the special case we planned and produced a vial, eyes bright with anticipation. “This,” he held the clear liquid to the light, “Is heroin. Laced with fentanyl.”
I watched Damon’s reaction carefully. On the plane, Adrian dug up Giselle’s medical records, and she had died from this —Heroin laced with fentanyl.
I moved closer, voice cold. “She wasn’t trying to die. She was trying to escape. But you killed her.”
Damon’s lips parted, useless and soundless. His tongue flicked out, like he wanted to taste the lie before he said it.
“She didn’t know,” I murmured, each word a punch to the heart. “Estelle thought it was her fault. That her sister overdosed, and she didn’t stop it. But it was you. You cut the batch. You laced it. You left Giselle for dead.”
Damon shook his head now. Violently. “No—she asked for it, she—she used, I didn’t?—”
“You think that makes it better?” I snapped. “You gave a struggling addict poison and walked away like it didn’t matter.”
I crouched in front of him so we were at eye-level again, more disgusted by him with each second that passed. I wanted him to see exactly why he was dying.
“You tried to take everything from Estelle. So now I’m taking everything from you.”
Damon started to scream, loud, but Adrian slid the needle right in. "Sweet dreams," he whispered, depressing the plunger slowly. "This won’t be euphoric for you.”
The effect was immediate. Damon's pupils dilated, his breathing became shallow and erratic. He writhed. Eyes rolling, breath turning shallow, hands jerking against the restraints. It hit fast. Very fast.
Fentanyl doesn’t take its time .
His breathing stalled, his remaining fingers clawing at the air.
Connor glared down with clinical detachment. “Feel it? This is what a seizure feels like.”
But I couldn't let him die like this. I couldn't let him slip away into unconsciousness so easily.
I drew my silver gun, the weight familiar in my palm. The metal was cold, comforting in its finality. My hands shook as I raised it, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what this meant.
"You destroyed their life," I said, my voice cracking with emotion. "You tried to steal her son. You tried to murder the woman I love."
Damon's eyes focused on me through the haze of drugs, confusion, and terror warring in his mind. He was dying, slipping away, but he could still see me. Still understand what was happening.
"This is for Estelle," I whispered, pressing the barrel to his temple. "For Leo. For Giselle. For every life you've poisoned."
"Go to hell.”
I pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed, sharp and definitive, cutting through the warehouse like a judgment from God. Damon's head snapped back, blood spraying across the concrete wall behind him. His body slumped forward, held upright only by the chains, lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
The silence that followed was deafening. I stood there, gun in my hand, feeling something inside me break and heal at the same time. The rage that had consumed me was gone, replaced by peace.
"It's done.”
Adrian was already cleaning up, placing the severed fingers in a ziplock bag for his fish. Connor wiped down surfaces, erasing our presence with quiet efficiency. We moved like ghosts, leaving no trace except for the corpse chained to the chair.
"Let's take care of the body and go home," Connor rumbled.
I holstered my gun, the barrel still warm against my hip. The rage had cooled, leaving behind peace, justice. The knowledge that the people I loved were truly safe.
I'm coming, princess. I'm coming home.