Chapter 43 Purge
Purge
Everything is set, and I'm hopping to do this.
This stupid fuck has no idea what’s about to happen.
I can’t wait to Rage Out on a sick pedophile.
This man is the lowest of the low—a real scumbag.
It's almost eight p.m., so we’re preparing to roll out to meet the guy behind the mall. The description he gave me is a man in his fifties, with blond hair, about five foot ten. A short fucker.
He said he’d be wearing a red jacket. The info I uncovered matches his description. Dumbass didn’t even try to give me fake info.
His name is Peter Dolce, married fifteen years to his wife, Brenda. His wife is only thirty-three, so he married her at eighteen. Their son, Terry, is only two years old.
I've already loaded up the car and am waiting next to it for Ghost and Iskra.
“Purge, you ready?” My wife’s voice echoes in the garage, making me smile.
“Yep,” I respond with a smirk.
Ghost has his arm around Iskra, and they share a kiss before she comes to me. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she kisses me too.
We all get in the car and head out. It's only about a fifteen-minute drive. We’re leaving early to scout the location first.
Once we arrive, I slowly drive the perimeter of the mall, searching for any cars or people. It's deserted, so I park behind a bunch of dumpsters in a dark corner. The car we’re driving is dark in color, so hopefully the target won’t see it.
We all get out, moving closer to the location of the meet.
We don’t have to wait long before headlights shine, lighting up the area. The idiot pulls right in, pocketing his keys as he gets out. He’s alone, dressed in a red jacket.
Moving closer, he calls out for the “kid” he thinks he’s meeting.
“Daniel, are you here?” the man whispers loudly.
I give Ghost a shove, so he steps forward enough for the target to see him.
“Ah, there you are! Come on over, son. Let me get a good look at you,” Peter says to Ghost.
Ghost moves slowly, kicking the gravel, like a hesitant young boy would. He’s got his hood up, and head down.
Iskra and I round the dumpsters, putting ourselves directly behind Dolce. He didn’t even notice the movement.
Once Ghost is close enough, Dolce reaches out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. He shoves Ghost’s hood back, looking at his face.
“You are thirteen, right?” Dolce asks with uncertainty.
Before Ghost answers, Iskra and I move. I'm already holding the zip ties and tape, and Iskra has the chloroform.
Dolce doesn’t have a chance as I grab him, and sharply pull his hands behind his back, putting the zip tie on. Simultaneously, Iskra holds a chloroform-covered rag to his face, then I slap a strip of tape across his mouth.
He struggles for a minute, then starts to drop like a sack of potatoes. Ghost is quick to catch him.
The two of us lift and carry him to our car.
“We need to move his car,” Iskra says, biting her lip.
“I’ll do it,” Ghost responds, grabbing his keys once we have him in the trunk.
He goes to move Dolce’s vehicle and we wait. It's about ten minutes before he jogs back to where we’re waiting.
“We’re good. Let's go,” Ghost says, climbing inside, a bit out of breath.
We ride in silence on the way back.
I make sure to drive the speed limit. The last thing we need is to be pulled over.
Once we get home, we pull the fucker from the trunk, who’s thankfully still knocked out. We juggle him through the door, and down to the basement level.
I can already taste the blood as we enter the torture room.
Before we rouse him, I set up my phone to record at the right moment.
We want his confession before he dies.
I look to Iskra. “You’re up, love.”
Phoenyxx
“Wake up, fuckface.” I slap the shit out of the pedo filth in front of me.
He's still zip-tied and attached to the ceiling by a thick chain attached to a cuff around his ankle.
Asshole starts to wake up, clearly disoriented.
“Wha…? Where am I? Daniel?” he slurs.
“Do I look like a Daniel to you?” I say, punching him in the eye.
That gets his full attention. “Who are you people?”
“Grim Reapers. We are your reckoning, filth,” I spit, laughing.
Nodding to Purge, he walks over to hit record on his phone. He moves forward to take over the questioning.
“The only chance you have is to be honest, Peter. We will not ask more than once, understood?” Purge starts. “Now, I need names and ages of every child you’ve raped.”
The pedo opens and closes his mouth, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”
A thudding sound makes me grin. Ghost is holding a metal pipe, and he just swung it at Dolce’s abdomen. Damn, my husband moves fast.
Purge is pacing, a sign he’s barely containing his need to Rage Out. He snarls at Dolce. “Last fucking chance.”
The pitiful fucker starts to cry, and breaks.
He rattles off so many names and ages, my jaw goes slack with shock.
So many innocent children. I count as he goes, adding it up to twenty. Holy fuck.
Purge rushes over to stop recording, his eyes hard as glass.
I don’t just see red—I see black. A roar comes from my throat, and I grab the closest weapon—an axe—rushing forward.
My bloodlust is in full control.
That spurs on my guys. Purge comes closer with just his bare hands, and Ghost is holding a long, jagged blade.
I get to Dolce first.
In a rage, I tear his pants down. Grabbing his tiny little peen, I chop it right the fuck off. Blood sprays, and I dance in it. Dolce screams like a girl when his dick is cut off. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out.
Tossing my head back, I rub it into my skin. Laughing, I twirl in circles, tearing off my clothes. I want to bathe in his blood.
Dolce is still alive. We will fix that.
Purge steps forward, grabbing Dolce’s neck, throttling him.
Ghost comes next, going behind the dying man, thrusting the jagged blade up his ass. He thrusts on repeat, until Dolce’s body goes limp.
We all link hands as we dance, but I know my Ghost isn’t done. “Go,” I say to him.
He hums under his breath, as he makes art from the dead body.
I get chills watching him. I'm holding my breath, getting turned on from watching him desecrate the corpse.
Once he’s done, he steps back. I whistle, impressed as hell.
The guy is cut open, his intestines unraveled and placed in his mouth. Dolce’s balls are in his hand.
Talk about poetic justice.
My guys are naked, right along with me. They approach me, like the predators they are.
I let them come, smiling sadistically.
I'm lifted in the air and deposited in the large pool of blood.
We share a three-way kiss, then paw at each other like animals.
Ghost and Purge take turns fucking the soul out of me. I come so many times, I lose count.
Once we’re all sated, I sit up, looking at my loves. “So... is this our happy ending?”
Purge chuckles low in his throat. “Oh, no, Iskra. We're just getting started.”
Ghost follows up with, “It’s our bloody fucking beginning.”
I guess it is, isn’t it?
I never dreamed I’d be this happy and loved. I fucking deserve this. We all do. Now and forever, I’ll dance in the blood of enemies with all eight of my husbands.
Then, I’ll celebrate with my besties and parents.
I am the luckiest woman on the planet.
I went from being a pissed-off and scared abuse victim, to being a bad-ass mafia wife and heir.
I was successful in taking back the things that traumatized me and no longer have nightmares.
I really did think I’d die alone—either in the Solomon house, or in The Retreat. Instead, I fucking survived and flourished.
My name is Phoenyxx, and I rose up from the fucking flames.
And I will continue to, every fucking time.
With my men, my friends, and my parents at my back.