Chapter 74
Seth
Grant is strapped to the table, wrists and ankles locked down so tight the circulation in his hands is already compromised. His fingers are tinged purple. It will slow the bleeding later. His chest rises fast and shallow, panic starting to chew through whatever arrogance he walked in with.
He still smiles at me.
“You’re such a fucking disappointment, Seth,” Grant mutters once I pull the gag down just enough for him to speak. His voice is rough, but there’s satisfaction in it. “Richard always said it.”
I don’t answer. I step closer instead. I want him to watch. I want him to understand how much time exists between now and the end.
“You like to talk,” I murmur calmly. “That’s going to be a problem for you.”
Grant laughs. It sounds wrong in this room. “Watching your mother realize she was going to die. That was fun.”
I look at him fully now.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” I tell him. “I promise you that.”
Grant tilts his head. “I regret nothing.”
“Yeah,” I glance around the room before looking back at him. “And now you’re here.”
I reach for the gloves and slide them on slowly. Latex snaps against my wrists.
“You tortured Brooke,” I continue. “You stabbed Travis in front of my brother and sister. You put guns to their heads.”
Grant spits. It hits my boot.
“I’d do it again,” he bites out. “Watching you unravel was worth it.”
“You wanna know how I killed my father?” I ask.
That shuts him up.
“I beat him to death,” I continue. “It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t clean. I took a tire iron and kept swinging until there was nothing left of his fucking head but bone and pulp.”
Grant’s breathing stutters.
“He was a piece of shit,” I add, stepping closer. “And so are you.”
I stop right in front of him.
“So when you talk about him,” I murmur, “you should remember that.”
I move to the workbench and pick up the long knife. Built for this kind of damage. I turn on the torch and hold the blade over the flame.
The metal darkens, then reddens, then glows.
Grant starts to struggle. His body knows before his mind catches up.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “Listen to me. The Collective will tear you apart if you kill me.”
I turn off the torch and walk back to him.
His eyes flicker. Rage tries to surface.
“Oh really,” I tilt my head slightly. “That’s not what John said.”
I grab his shoulder and drive the glowing blade into his side.
Flesh sizzles. The smell hits immediately. Grant screams, his body arching violently against the restraints, veins standing out in his neck as shock collides with pain.
I leave the blade there long enough to cauterize.
Then I pull it free.
The wound seals instantly. No blood. Just ruined flesh.
Grant sobs. His whole body shaking as his brain tries to process pain it can't escape.
“I’m not starting slow,” I tell him. “I don’t reward fuckers like you with patience.”
I set the knife down carefully and lean in close enough that he has to look at me.
“You’re going to live through this. Every part of it.”
Grant’s eyes are wild now.
I straighten and step back, already cataloging what comes next. What can be taken. What can be damaged without killing him. How long the human body can be kept on the edge before it breaks completely.
I have waited a long time for this.
Grant watches me like this is still a contest, like he is waiting for his turn to speak because he assumes he is going to get one. Blood runs from his mouth and down his chin, but his lips still try to pull into something smug when I stop moving and just look at him.
He coughs, and it turns wet halfway through.
“Your… father…” he manages, dragging in a breath that doesn’t come easy. “Always thought you were weak.”
I step closer.
He swallows, throat working through it, chest hitching. “He thought Luke had potential,” he forces out. “If his mother hadn’t… fucked him up before he was even born. Drugs will do that. Ruins the wiring.”
I don’t speak.
Grant takes that silence and runs with it, even though it costs him.
“He told us you were a liability,” his voice breaking under the strain. “Said if it came down to it… he’d choose Luke.”
He lets out something that tries to be a laugh and fails, turning into another cough.
“Funny… how that worked out.”
I stop directly in front of him.
“I heard about the babysitter,” Grant says, quieter now, each word pulled up through pain. “Natalie. That was her name, right?” He pauses, sucking in air. “Richard didn’t even bother moving the body. Just left her down there… with you.”
His eyes drag over my face, hunting for a reaction.
“You cried for days,” he adds, voice rough and uneven. “Locked you down there with her. That was when he knew… you were weak. Like your mother.”
A broken sound slips out of him, something close to a laugh.
“It felt good… putting a bullet in her head.”
My hands curl into fists.
“And Brooke’s father,” Grant goes on, slower now, words starting to slur at the edges. “He really thought they could take down The Collective.” He coughs again, blood spilling from his lips. “There is no leaving. There never was.”
His eyes sharpen for a second, fighting to stay focused.
“Her dad begged. Her mom screamed.” He drags in another breath. “They were lucky… we didn’t find little Brooke that night.”
He leans forward as much as the restraints allow, even though his body shakes with it.
“If we had…Richard and I would’ve taken our time with her.” His mouth twitches. “Wouldn’t that be ironic… if your father broke in your girl before you got to her? He liked breaking pretty little things… like her.”
I exhale once, slow.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say calmly. “You’re trying to make me end this faster.”
I lean down until we’re eye level.
“Fuckers like you always think provocation equals power,” I continue. “You say the worst thing you can imagine and hope it buys you a quick death. But you’ll never get that from me.”
Grant’s smile tightens but doesn't disappear.
“You’re not pissing me off,” I tell him. “You’re making me more innovative.”
I straighten and step back, giving him space just long enough for it to register. I turn toward the table of tools.
“I will be the last thing you see before you die, Grant. But it’s going to take a while.”
I pick up a wrench and test its weight.
“And until then, I'm going to hurt you in ways you didn’t know a body could survive.”