Chapter 20
Cade
The air in the room is shit now, heavy with the cloying sweetness of blood, and I just want to get this over with. After fixing Bunny in the corner of the room, I rip the comforter off the bed and throw it over the heap on the floor.
Drained, I order, “Stand.” Nathan doesn’t make me ask twice, scurrying to his feet like a weak little rat.
There’s a moment in the ring when you look into the eyes of your opponent, and the only thing staring back at you is surrender.
That’s what I see now as Nathan hunches forward, accepting what’s coming.
He knows I’m going to kill him, but it’s the how that keeps him scared.
I don’t need him afraid, though. That’s not the point. I just need his honesty. Maybe now, after all he’s seen, we won’t need to go that far. “Now tell me why you chose me.”
He hangs his head in resignation, the little bit of fight he had draining from his shoulders. “You fit the profile I was given.”
“And what was that?”
Some color finds Nathan’s face as bits of strength return to him.
“Handsome,” he mutters, contrite. “Strong… Someone the men wouldn’t mind betting on and the whores wouldn’t mind fucking.
Yes,” he pauses, appearing sick as he admits to his sins, “there were tons of you there that night, but you… You were perfect.” Nathan’s eyes somewhat glaze over, staring straight at me but through…
as if I’m not even here. “Still are… but you were who Marone picked out of the litter.”
I have to be confused, but I’m sure there’s a bit of jealousy in Nathan’s tone. It sure is reflected in his watery gaze. But why? What is there to be jealous of? I was a fucking pet to Marone—a prize fucking mutt. He hated me almost as much as he loved me.
To see this weak, pathetic excuse of a man pine after my torment, after everything he knows I was subjected to… well. Maybe we do need to go that far.
Without a word—without a fucking hint—I strike forward, feeling every crunch of broken bones as Nathan’s nose shatters. His screams are muffled behind his palm, drowning in a steady current of thick, crimson blood.
“Get up,” I demand, wiping my sore knuckles against my thigh.
When he stays in his curled position, I jab my foot into his side.
“I said get up!” Stabbing my nails into the soft cushion in the back of his neck, I bring him to his feet, tearing his palm away from his nose so I can see the blood that deserves to be shed.
I spin Nathan around, holding onto him with an iron grip while I force him to look at me. “Please,” he cries, fingers shaking as they form into hands of prayer. I used to pray.
I said please way too many times.
“Do you know how many times I begged please?” Nathan takes that as permission to speak, but fuck.
I don’t want to hear him! Quicker than he can react to, I dart the handle of my blade into the side of his head, letting him go in time for him to hit the ground.
“Do you know how many times I asked them to stop beating me?! To stop whipping me?! Do you know what they did?!”
“Please,” is his only reply. “Please…” Please. Please—mother fucking please!
I drop to his level, making sure the only thing he can see is me—ensuring the only thing in his head is me.
Waving the bloodied, rusted knife in his eyes, I bring us both back to the past—to the very first injury I never healed from.
“They took this from my back and forced it into my hand.” I recall the moment Marone had his guard do it.
I remember every single fiery second of that blade entering my tissue and my muscle, all the way down to my bone.
It came out slick, coated in pieces of me.
“This blood,” I drawl, flashing him the vast history, “is on your hands as much as it's on mine. Can you live with that?”
A puddle forms beneath my shoes as he pisses himself, his bubbling cries drowning out stuttered, muffled words. The color of his skin drains with his urine, leaving me staring at a ghost.
No. Mm hm. No, he doesn’t get to do that. Nathan doesn’t get to disappear while Bunny and I are forced to live with it.
Taking hold of his chin, I drag Nathan close, breathing in his foul stench. “Can you live with that, Nathan? Those men—those kids—deaths on your hands.”
After some time, well, he turns out to be exactly who I knew he was.
“Y-yes. I can.”
An honest monster. I can respect that. “And because of you, so can I.” Without breaking eye contact, I sink the blade into the delicate area beneath his belly button, tearing him open from the inside out.
Thick pieces of intestine and stomach matter fall against my feet, but I don’t stop until I reach his heart.
I want to feel the tremoring beats stop against the metal; only then do I think I can breathe a little easier.
When everything stills, I smile, tasting the blood on my teeth.
I need both my hands to rip the knife free from his bones.
When it’s back in my possession, I clean the gore on the carpet, secretly watching Bunny fight the need to be sick.
Her hand is pressed tightly against her abdomen, muscles stiff.
I want to go to her. I want her to run to me, but we’re both too damaged, and I don’t know what touch could do to us right now. Would she be scared of me? Would I flinch away from here? Purely out of disgust with myself.
Another monster shouldn’t touch her, even if it’s me.
But my joy was short-lived, and now I just feel small.
Dirty.
Not because I’m covered in piss and blood, but because I’m sure they’re worth any of this—not to me, at least.
Feeling guilty for not being as enthusiastic as Bunny, I rise from the pool of bodily fluids and flee, bringing Bunny with me. Please don’t see me differently. I want to beg. Please don’t think me weak because I don’t want this for myself.
A slight hiss whispers behind me, and I’m worried that’s exactly what she thinks of me.
Then I turn around, spot my rigid grip of her wrist, and realize that I’m hurting her.
I can’t get the apology out around the blockage in my throat, but I loosen immediately, rubbing out the red nail prints with a soft, delicate rub of my thumb.
I’m sure the music is still playing, but I can only hear my guilt as I walk to the expensive leather couch. What does it mean that I don’t want this? I should enjoy this as much as Bunny does—more so, maybe. But I don’t.
I just want to go home.
Turning away from the darkened hallway, I focus on Bunny, remembering that she’s my home now. She’s the only one who understands. I do this for her, and once it’s over, we’ll be free.
Taking the abandoned champagne glasses, I hand one to her, smiling away the pain that begins to stiffen my chest. Her grin burns away any discomfort, reminding me it’s all worth it.
We toast.
We eat.
We sit in silence for far too long.
“What do you want to do?” Bunny finally asks, eyes back on the hallway. Not that. I don’t want that.
Taking her wrist, lightly this time, I bring her into the bathroom with me. I’m grateful for the overwhelming scent of pine. It smells much cleaner than iron. Bunny doesn’t seem to appreciate it as much as I do, scrunching her nose and turning away, tucking her nose into her shoulder.
Her eyes glaze over with a faraway look, leaving me alone in this room.
I bring her back with a slight tug on her dress.
When she walked out this morning in the tight fabric, I almost lost my breath.
It got stuck in my throat at the sight of her.
You’re so beautiful, I wanted to tell her, but Bunny’s anxiety was through the roof, pacing straight lines in the outdated carpet.
I can tell her now, though, as I pull the bloodied outfit off her silky, scarred skin. “Fuck.” Dropping the dress to the floor, I pull her nipple into my mouth, breathing, “You’re so perfect, my girl,” before latching on completely.
Her hands latch onto my scalp, dirty, bloody, and broken nails clawing into my skin while her leg folds over my hip. She grinds into me, whispering, “Oh, God,” into my hair. When my hand finds her hip, she stills, almost melting in my arms.
I hold her like that, wrapping her in my arms before peering up between her breasts.
“We got three, Bun.” My smile comes easily when I take in the glow on her cheeks.
It’s just another reminder of why this is worth it, why we’re doing this.
“They can never get us again… They can never get you again.”
Do you feel safe? I want to know. Am I doing right by you? Please say I am.
Instead, Bunny runs her fingers through my hair, brushing out the tangles with a gentle hand. Her eyes take on a softness that resembles the warmth of the warmest summer day. In a tone that envelopes me entirely, she says, “You’ve given me everything.”
Wrapping herself around me, Bunny takes my lips between her teeth. That’s all I need for my mind to rest.
I’m doing good.
I’m doing good.
And then night falls, and there’s nothing to stop the anxiety from coming. In bed, I toss and turn, doing my best to keep from waking Bunny. She was out the second she hit the sheets, but my eyes refuse to close.
My dad would take a hot shower when his nights became long.
Still, no amount of steam can settle my head.
Around 3:30, I roll out of the blanket and silently slip from the room.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve grown used to the steady quiet of the inn, but at this time, there’s not a soul to be heard. Even my footsteps are muted.
It’s like I’m not here at all.
When I emerge from the hallway, I head straight for the little table Susie keeps by the door, hoping all the treats and snacks aren’t put away. I’m caught by surprise when I spot her at the desk, but I smile anyway when she says hello.
“Need something, honey?”
Everything. But most of all, I just need some peace.
“Can I have some?” I nod to her drink, but I kind of want a smoke, too.