40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Reeve
Lying in bed with my fingers gently running through Trix's hair, I glance at her phone on the nightstand and see it's almost midnight.
When I got her back to the room, I helped her shower, then dressed her in the clothes Milo had set out on my bed before helping her get comfortable.
She told me her dad had come after her, looking for the money I didn't give him. When Trix also refused, he went into a blind rage and charged toward her. Her phone was knocked to the ground, then he started raining punches down on her, spitting hurtful words in her face.
When she started fighting back and told him she'd called me, he ran off, leaving her on the floor, bleeding and hurt.
After we talked, I planned to sleep on the sofa to give her space and to make sure I didn't injure her further, but she insisted I cuddle her.
That's how I wound up half-naked, snuggled beneath a fluffy blanket, with my arms loosely wrapped around her frame.
It took her almost an hour to fall asleep, and if the constant tossing and turning was any indication, she was finding it hard to get into a comfortable position.
The whole time, my body was boiling, my anger simmering beneath my skin.
I never should've gone to Vegas. Instead, I should've stayed home and handled her father when he turned up.
I knew he couldn't be trusted, and I had an inkling he'd come back around. I was just foolish enough to think he'd come after me again, not Trix.
If only I'd paid him. Maybe then he would've left and stayed gone.
A light knock on my bedroom door interrupts my thoughts, and a second later, it creaks open, and Milo's large frame fills the doorway.
"Where the fuck have you been?" I whisper angrily.
"Was busy sorting something out," he says, shrugging. "Get dressed and meet me down in the basement."
Frowning at his retreating figure, I glance down at the woman in my arms, who's sleeping soundly.
I don't want to leave her, but Milo wouldn't pull me away unless it was important. With that, I'm carefully slipping out of bed and slinging on a T-shirt before grabbing a pair of shoes.
Making my way down the stairs, I stop in the hallway when Mouse's bedroom door opens.
He glances down the hall, then focuses back on me, swallowing nervously.
"Is she okay?" he asks quietly.
I'm still shocked by the fact that he can talk, but I don't let it show, not wanting to discourage him from finally using his voice.
"She's fine. Sleeping."
His dark brows draw together.
"Where are you going?"
I shrug. "No idea. Milo said he needs me."
He nods, steps out of his room, then locks the door behind him. Side-stepping me, he makes his way up the stairs, likely heading for the living room.
I push open the back door and shiver when the wind whips around me. Milo's standing by the doors to the basement, a lit cigarette between his lips. When he spots me, he grins.
Stubbing out the cigarette, he opens up the doors and motions for me to go down.
"I feel like you're leading me to my death," I mutter, slowly descending into the basement.
He chuckles behind me.
"Not yours…" When I reach the bottom, he flicks the light on, and my gaze immediately homes in on the man dangling from the metal pull-up bar, grunting behind the tape slapped over his mouth. "His."
Trix's father swings back and forth as he struggles against the rope bound around his wrists, strapping him to the pole above. Tears spill down his dirty, bruised cheeks, and muffled shouts ring out around us.
"Mark seems to think pleading with us is going to help," Milo says as he jumps down the last few steps to stand next to me. "But I've already told him it's pointless."
My teeth grind together, and I clench my hands so tightly my fingers click.
"As much as I'd love to watch you beat the shit out of him, I think that would be letting him off too easy after everything he's done to our girl."
"My girl," I snap, glaring at my best friend.
He holds his hands up and takes a step back.
"My bad. Jesus. Don't bite my head off."
Walking toward the man dangling in front of us, I lift my foot and kick him in the stomach, watching in amusement as he tries and fails to curl his body inward.
"I think we should play a little game," I say, glancing at Milo over my shoulder. "Fancy some target practice?"
Milo's eyes light up with glee, and he claps his hands together.
Crossing the basement, I yank my throwing knives out of the wall, glad I hadn't put them away the last time I was down here.
"Take the tape off his mouth. I want to hear the little bitch scream in pain and beg for us to stop."
Moving back in front of where Trix's dad is, I toss the knives up into the air, one by one, catching them as they fall back down.
Milo rips the tape from his mouth, and Mark immediately starts screaming.
Both of us laugh as we watch him fight and struggle.
"No one's going to hear you," Milo says. He stands next to me and holds his hand out.
I pass him two of the knives, twirling the remaining three between my fingers.
"Please! I'm sorry," he cries, kicking his legs out. "I'll leave, and I'll never come near her again."
"You already made that mistake," I tell him as I bounce one of the knives in my hand, then grip the handle and throw it toward him.
A guttural scream escapes him as the sharp point imbeds itself into his left bicep.
"You know, you've left a lot of marks on Trix's body over the years." I hurl another one at him, but this one sinks into his right leg. "Hopefully, by the time I'm done with you, you'll remember every place you ever hurt her."
Milo steps in front of me, grinning like a maniac with a knife in either hand.
"Where else should I hit him?"
"Well, he's bruised her face on multiple occasions, but I think we should save that for last," I tell him, scratching at my beard as I think it over. "Stomach is a good place to hit."
Before the words have left my mouth, Milo's thrown both knives at Trix's dad, one slicing across his abdomen, and the other hitting the wall behind him.
"Ah, shit. I missed one." Milo sighs, moving closer. "I guess I'll have to try again."
He pulls the knife out of the wall behind Mark, then yanks the other out of his stomach.
Blood pours from the wound, quickly seeping into the cotton of his T-shirt and dripping onto the floor beneath him.
I tut, shaking my head. "Looks like this game isn't going to last as long as I wished it would."
Milo glances at me over his shoulder, a bright smile on his face.
"Does that mean we can aim for his face now?"
My lips spread wide, and I nod.
"Get mine for me too, then we can both have a go."
Mark shouts and screams again, but we pay him no mind.
Both of us stand five feet away from him, knives in hand.
Looking at Milo and seeing how eager he is to cause pain, I relax my arm.
"I'll let you go first."
Without hesitation, he throws both knives forward again, whooping and cheering when one slams into Mark's cheek, while the other slices the skin on his arm.
Blood drips rapidly from his open wounds, and from the sickly color of his skin and his droopy eyes, I think he's close to passing out.
Pushing my tongue against my cheek, I twirl the knife in my hand and narrow my eyes as I take aim.
Releasing the blade, I watch it twist through the air, soaring toward him before hitting him square in the eye.
"Bullseye!" I shout, turning to high-five Milo.