Epilogue #2
“You know what? That’s fine. Forget about Koby. What about Marcus? Marcus Stanley. Can you get me Marcus Stanley?” I say, lolling my head to the side, as if I’m asking a genuine question. I have to say, it’s a shame they killed those boys, but this game… Man, is this game fun.
“Who the hell are you?” Mrs. Bensen snaps, her gaze turning cold at the mention of her victims.
“The real question is, how do you want to die?” Elliot snaps, his once smiling face snapping to one of disgust as he looks at our guest.
“The real question is, how are they going to drink the tea I prepared for them?” I ask Elliot. “Should we untie their hands?”
I can hear their breathing quicken as, once again, another chance to win our little game becomes a possibility.
But even as Elliot glares, I can see the amusement in his eyes, the slight tick in his jaw, and how a corner of his lips is turned upward. He’s just as excited as I am.
“One hand, Diora, one hand only. They are our targets, not our friends,” he says his line well, and I laugh. I get to laugh so much with him it makes my chest tingle.
“Okay, Handsome.” Launching up from my chair, I glide over to Mrs. Bensen’s chair first. My fingers caress her forearm as my hands make their way to her hands, which are bound to the back of the chair.
Loosening the fabric restraints, I let one hand free.
I work at loosening one hand of hers, but leave both of Mr. Bensen’s hands tied.
“You didn’t think I was stupid, did you?” I whisper against Mr. Bensen’s cheek. He trembles in his chair, shouting profanities as I back away from him.
“Help your husband drink his tea,” I command, sitting back in my chair.
“No.”
“No?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. “No? Did you let Koby say no to his punishments, Mrs. Bensen? How about Marcus, or Romeo, or Jules?” She trembles in her seat, the metal wobbling against the concrete floor. “Then help your fucking husband drink his tea.”
“I can’t.”
“I’ll kill him right now—” I yell, showing her the beast she’s facing, but I don’t even have to rise from my chair before she gives in.
“Okay!” she sobs. Her shaking hand grabs the handle of his mug and brings it to his lips. He doesn’t open his lips at first, but Elliot jerks the table, scaring him, and his wife presses the cup to lips. Tipping it and forcing the liquid down his throat.
“How’s that taste, Mr. Benson?” I sweetly ask. Of course, he doesn’t answer me, and I’m fine with that.
“Let us go and maybe we won’t hurt you.” My head snaps to Elliot, and he smiles before he slides to stand.
“You won’t hurt us?” Elliot’s voice sends thrilling chills over my skin as I stare up at him.
He laughs, and his favorite weapon is out from his back pocket before I can blink and around Mr. Bensen’s neck.
His wire cuts a beautiful line of red, bubbling blood.
It digs deeper as he screams, and I smile at his wife, who screams at her husband’s pain.
I guess I can understand her pain. I’m sure it’s the same kind of pain I felt when the Strays stabbed the knife in the back of Elliot’s hand. The thought makes my smile drop, and I look over to Elliot’s hand, which is scarred now.
It’s still there.
So is mine. So is Enyo’s.
Sighing, I swing my gaze back to Mrs. Bensen, whose pleas fall on deaf ears. I can’t hear her, nor do I want to. Our pain can’t be the same. We’re both monsters, in our own rights, but looking at her is not like looking in a mirror.
I’m a good monster.
That’s what Elliot tells me.
I have bounds, limits, morals, and that makes me a good evil.
We’re both good and evil, and that is okay.
Mrs. Bensen is a bad evil. She doesn’t have bounds, limits, or morals. She’ll hurt whoever she pleases because she can. She’ll hurt the innocent, the bad, and the in between.
She is bad.
Swallowing the spit in my mouth, I lean closer to her from across the table. I take her loose hand in both of mine, and I look at her well-manicured fingers. Free of any callouses and scars, unlike mine. Her hands are soft.
I hate it.
Koby and Marcus and so many others are dead, and they don’t carry a single scar? A single memory of the damage, the evil, she’s caused? I take my knife that was taped to the bottom of my chair and stab it through her hand.
Now she’ll scar.
She howls in pain as Mr. Bensen thrashes in his chair, practically sawing his own head off. My eyes stray to Elliot’s. His warm eyes shine over me, and I smile.
I love smiling at him.
He always smiles back.
The chaos in the room sounds like lovely soothing music to my ears as I zero in on my man.
Elliot Jay.
Elliot Moss.
“Marry me,” I say. As soft as the words may have fallen from my lips, over the screams and cries of our captives, he heard me.
“Marry you?” he asks, his tone as low as mine.
“Marry me. Become a Moss, Handsome.”
“Why don’t you marry me, Little Crane?” he asks, but I’m already shaking my head. Confusion fills his brows, but I can’t marry him.
“You’re not a Jay anymore. You have to marry me, Elliot.” At this, he laughs, throwing his head back, and I stare at him, awaiting his answer with my knife still in Mrs. Bensen’s hand and the table.
He stares down at a bloody Mr. Bensen, who is nearly dead, and his hyperventilating wife, who has tears of sorrow and terror streaming down her face.
“Everything I do, with every breath I breathe, I will belong to you as you do to me.” His eyes blaze into mine, as if I had any doubt of being unsure about my ask.
Didn’t he know he was mine?
And that I wasn’t asking.
I was telling him. He will marry me. Legally.
“You will be mine. Legally, illegally, and all the meanings in between, Diora Moss.”
“Yes,” my answer falls on a breathy moan as Mrs. Bensen sobs, staring at the knife holding her hand to the table.
“You’ll give me your last name?” he mumbles, leaning back and cutting Mr. Bensen’s throat for the final time before his head flops onto the table. Blood leaks from his throat and all over my table, but it looks… romantic.
“Of course. I’d give you anything, Elliot,” I say, shaking my head mindlessly.
He thinks as he stares at Mr. Bensen’s head.