Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROC
I wish I could say I do not delight in the destruction of others.
But if you’ve wronged me or mine, I could throw a party dedicated to your dismemberment.
And I would for the Gutter Snakes if I didn’t already have a party planned today, not in the honor of their spilled blood, but in the union of my love.
So I really must be hasty.
Before I took on the Darkland Dark Shadow, I would let my monster do the dirty work. And there was a separation between us that almost allowed me to believe the carnage was not mine to claim.
That is not the case now. And I don’t want it to be.
The Dark Shadow writhes like a beast below dark waters, hungry to destroy.
There is no devouring this time. Just death.
I reach a man wearing a tweed jacket. He’s the slowest, huffing and puffing to keep up with his friends. I yank him back by the scruff of his neck and he yelps as I break his neck.
More shouts sound from the front.
A door is slammed shut and barricaded.
“Let us out! Let us out!” they shout, but clearly Vane, Wendy and Asha and the others have done their work on the outside of the warehouse.
I take up a chunk of hair—man or woman, I don’t know—and spin the person around. Man. I smash his face in. It’s a beautiful blood bouquet.
He tries to scream but his mouth is full of blood so I smash him again and he is dead.
The Dark Shadow says yes, yes, make them pay.
And I gladly will.
Another man and a punch to the gut that breaks several ribs.
A man at the door, beating his fist against it. I kick downward, catching him behind the knee and his bones give like putty.
Someone shoots a gun and the bullet hits me in the back.
It hurts, sure, but the pain is distant and the shadow is fast to push the bullet back out.
I turn.
A blond man stands a few feet off, his hand shaking, holding a pistol.
I am impossible to kill.
But I’m impressed that he had the balls to try.
I dart across the room, tear the gun from his hand and accidentally tear his hand off with it. He howls, stumbles back on his ass while gripping his wrist, blood painting the air.
I take a step.
He scoots backward, whimpering. And when I stand over top of him, he pisses himself.
I disentangle his mutilated hand from the gun and toss it aside, where it flops, heavy and wet, on the stop.
I point it at him.
“Please. Crocodile. Please we made a mistake!”
I pull the trigger. The pop of the bullet seems to fill every hollow corner of the warehouse.
It hits him in the forehead, and he lies back, eyes wide and blank.
Behind me, a whimper.
I light a fresh cigarette with a hand painted red.
I follow the sound of the crying and find a girl cowering behind a stack of boxes.
“Oh god,” she says.
“Not god,” I answer and take another hit from my cigarette. “Your king.”
She swallows, nods. “Your Majesty. I…we…they made a mistake.”
I crouch in front of her. Her gaze takes in the sight of me.
I don’t have a mirror but I can feel the blood dripping from my nose, from my chin.
“Tell them what you saw here. Spare no detail.”
She nods. “I will. I promise. I’ll tell everyone.”
“Open the door,” I shout and the barricade is removed. “Go on,” I tell her.
She scurries to her feet and tears out of the warehouse, the door banging against the wall.
And I make a turn around the room, scanning what I have done.
This carnage? All of this is mine. And I am happy to claim it.