Chapter 31
Jolie—aged eighteen
Ilimped, following Hell to the door, wrapping a dark towel around my body. The green shade drained me, matching all my fading bruises.
Steam moved into the hallway, trailing behind Hell. I watched the wet patches soaking through his slacks, causing them to stick to him as he moved.
I could hear Ville's voice, and the anxiety it brought had me clutching the towel rail until my fingertips altered in color.
“I told you to come to see me,” he huffed.
Hell didn't know that. Ville had told Woodrow.
Either way, Hell didn't care.
My eager ears took in the sound of bone colliding with skin. And the swearwords that came after it.
I peeked, my eyes carefully glancing around the doorframe.
Ville was on the floor. Hell was straddling his waist, delivering blow after blow to his giant body.
I felt each blast, as phantom aches sent pain through me. I knew Ville would have as many bruises as me tomorrow, and judging by Hell's perfect aim, they'd be in all the same places.
Ville struck a lucky punch, hitting hard and heavy into Hell's throat. The weak spot.
I stepped out, unable to fight the feeling that I should help him, as he dropped to the floor, his ability to breathe, gone.
I took a single step. The devil down the hall didn't notice me. A bloody smile took over his face, making him appear uglier than usual as he stared at his struggling son.
Hell sat up, rising like he was the son of the devil, because, he really fucking was.
Ville spoke quiet words. I couldn't hear them, but Hell's stance changed as they stood face to face. He became a shadow, following his father into the bedroom.
Dread's heavy hands wrapped around me. They pulled me forward. A silent request to Hell fell from my tongue.
But he didn't sense it.
It took me some time to make it down the hallway. I stopped at Nessie's door. It was closed; she wouldn't like that.
My fingers reached for the doorknob, but paused, hearing muffled sounds from the inside.
Fearing it was Wynter, I continued to hobble down the hallway, clutching my towel at my breasts.
I stopped outside the room belonging to Woodrow's parents.
I didn't have the courage to press my ear to the door, just in case it opened.
I shuffled painfully into Woodrow's room and opted to forage his drawers for the clothes he'd promised me earlier.
I'd slipped from the shower without grabbing his t-shirt when fear guided me down the corridor.
I found a clean top and a pair of sweats that were now as baggy on me, as they were on him.
I shimmied to the bed, sitting before realizing I should have grabbed a pair of socks for my cold feet.
Voices went to war across the hall. The closed door did nothing to muffle the aggression each one possessed.
Three different mouths all screamed over one another, preventing me from hearing the details of a conversation I’d be grateful not to hear.
I jumped from the bed to the sound of something smashing across the hall. Ville was screaming. Each word leaving his mouth was laced in equal amounts of anger and pain.
Wynter was no longer screaming. Her whiny voice had been suddenly cut off.
My shambling feet moved, my senses following behind, fully on alert. I loitered in the doorway after opening it wide. My hands clutched the wooden frame, fear holding me back from taking the final step that would put me in the hallway.
My stomach cramped, and my hand instantly shifted from the wood, nursing nothing but my pain. I looked down. A drizzle of blood slowly moved down my leg, but the pants covering my legs hid the painful sight.
The stain got lost in the dirty carpet, finally clawing its way from my foot. I pushed myself forward, not taking a glance back to the memories that haunted the room.
My toes struggled, my weight too heavy for my body's poor condition. I hobbled to the stairs, walking backwards to keep my eyes on the door. I froze, grateful to the banister for its support.
The closed door was yanked open, pulling too deep a breath from my lungs. Hell let go of the knob as it swung into the wall, denting the plaster.
I took a step back, the drop from the top step causing me to wobble.
I regained some purchase, watching as Hell and his violent temper spilled from his parent's room. His father was on his back, literally, causing a strain his legs barely handled.
I trudged towards him. Only a single step closer, when he flipped Ville from his back.
I stopped dead, anger and dread swirling in my stomach as I looked at the mass of evil writhing on the ground.
His stained wife-beater was tucked into his shorts, the baggy kind, still tight around his hairy legs.
He loomed to his feet, and it sent me back a step. He grabbed onto Hell, squeezing at his throat as he grappled to get him to the floor. . . but Hell, like a demon from his namesake, wouldn't stay down.
Ville was screaming. His fury over his injured wife came out in loud words and violent punches.
The first was blocked. Hell's skinny arm turned red as he blocked the impact.
The second hit was blocked, too, caught in his big palm before it ruined his nose.
The third hit came quickly, catching him off guard as it blasted the side of his temple.
His head hit his doorframe, his other temple bruising as he went down.
The hard floor held him in place as Ville drove his yellowing toenails into Hell's stomach.
I jumped, but Hell didn't make a sound. No evidence of pain lay on his blank expression.
Another kick knocked him back. Ville's thick and sharp toenails punctured his skin, creating a gash down his cheekbone that would scar.
I stepped forward again, wanting to help but not sure how to.
I knew Hell would choose me. Save me. So, I used myself as bait, taunting Ville with each step.
His big bug eyes moved to me for only a second. A second that had Hell thrusting him into the wall, the force so hard, they almost fell through. Hell delivered punch after punch to Ville's face. Bruises multiplied beneath his knuckles as Ville's greasy skin broke open.
“He hates you. He fucking hates you. And for that, I'll never let you win. I can feel it, all his fucking anger, and it fucking burns!”
Ville laughed, continuing to find the situation funny as more blows crunched against his bones.
A tooth popped out, pinging somewhere in the darkness of the long hallway.
“That's the delusions talking, kid.”
Ville's hands finally moved from the immobile position at his sides. They landed on Hell's throat, his fingers pushing deep into his tracheal cartilage, where the most prominent and painful part of his tumor resided.
“Stop,” I pleaded, but no one looked my way.
Ville pushed harder. My head shook, noticing Hell's skin change shade, turning duller and less vibrant.
His breath stalled, air not making it through the congestion.
Ville let his grip slide, dropping his son to the floor. Hell stared down, his fingers moving rapidly at his throat.
Slow steps moved me across the landing to Hell.
Ville didn't interject, he waved me on, encouraging me across the meter of space between us.
My eyes didn't leave him until I heard Hell's first wheezing breath.
With a struggle, I crouched over him, unable to bend my leg without tremendous pain.
My shadow landed on his naked back, my skin never touching his.
“Get. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me!” he screamed. He lurched to his feet, his aggressive hands socking into the cramps still assaulting my stomach.
I stumbled backwards, and my back hit the wall as I fell over my own feet. The top step finally delivered its threat. My heel slipped from the ledge, and it all happened too quickly for the banister to save me again as my arm reached out to grip it.
I was falling.
The pain in my stomach promised to kill me if my landing failed. And the ache in my heart vowed to beat them both to it.
I saw Hell raise his hand like he was callously waving goodbye.
And then, with a loud crack, everything went black.
Hell
Fuck, that was her head.
My stomach dropped, forcing sick halfway to my throat before it moved back down, my body realizing it would have no hope to pass.
I hadn't realized it was Jolie when I pushed back. I thought it was the cunt still looming behind me, whispering words into my ears that would hypnotize me into some fucking illusion.
I tried to block him out, focusing on the image in my head—her face as she fell. I'd reached out to save her, but I was too fucking late.
My feet slogged forward, moving slower than I'd ever moved.
Two shadows moved behind me, one darker and more sinister than my own.
There she was, lying on the floor, garnet leaking from beneath her hair.
I could feel Woodrow inside me, like he was pacing, impatiently demanding I step down from the front. He could feel my stress, and I could feel his anxiety, clawing its way to the surface of my skin, and it made me erupt in goosebumps.
“Jolie. . .?” I whispered, but even I'd admit, it sounded more like a whimper.
“She's dead, kid. We'll get you another.”
I ignored the devil in my ear. My long sweats brushed the carpet on the stairs, sweeping at the dust as I dropped down the first three steps.
I froze, noticing her toes curling on the foot of her uninjured leg.
“She's moving.”
“The demons are coming for her. They are taking her unpure soul.”
I didn't say anything, watching the blood leak from her head and more blood leak from between her legs. Her body was crying out red tears, mourning her loss. Clear ones dropped from my eyes, falling to the ground as I took another step.
“You have to kill the demon so she can rest.”
“She's not going anywhere.”
I walked down the rest of the steps, and my father's voice grew distant as he continued to talk.
“They own her now, Hell.” He used my name.
“She's fucking mine,” I struggled, scraping my throat to talk.
My knees hit the ground hard, placing me at her side.