Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
TOBIAS
“Get the fuck off me, man.”
The piece of shit, whose name I neither know nor care to find out, flings his body around, trying to shake me off. Like that’s going to work. I’ve got pure blind rage on my side and enough adrenaline in my veins to keep London in electricity for a month.
Arriving guests stare with wide-eyed shock as I shove past them, beelining for my destination.
“What the fuck are you doing? Jesus Christ, you’re insane.”
“My insanity is the least of your problems.”
Powering across the entrance hall and into the part of the house that’s off limits to all but a select few, I kick open the door at the end of the narrow hallway and shove the rapist inside. He stumbles and falls down the concrete steps, landing with a satisfying thud at the bottom.
“Tobias, wait.”
I spare my brothers a glance, then jog down the stairs. They follow me as I haul our new guest to his feet.
“What’s going on?” Xan demands. “Who’s this?”
“A dead man.” I shove him again. “Move, or I’ll break your fucking legs and make you crawl on the shattered bones.”
Barred from escaping by not just me, but my three brothers, he makes the sensible decision and sets off walking forward. I’m disappointed. I’d have enjoyed breaking both his legs and have him crawl in the dirt like he deserves. Still, he soon will be in the dirt. Permanently.
George is lying on a narrow cot in his cell, his hair long, beard straggly, a shadow of the sophisticated man he once was. Xan emits a low growl as we pass. George cranks an eye, seemingly too exhausted to even sit up.
“Is it time?” he croaks.
“Soon, motherfucker,” Xan grinds out, his jaw locked up tighter than the vault at Fort Knox. “Soon.”
“Who’s that?” the rapist asks.
“None of your fucking business.” I slam the heel of my palm between his shoulder blades. He staggers forward, losing his footing. His knees crash into the unforgiving concrete, and he cries out. If he thinks that’s painful, he’s seen nothing yet.
“Jesus Christ.”
I grab him by the scruff of his neck and hoist him upright, then pitch him through an open door.
Beneath Oakleigh is a rabbit warren of rooms and cells, likely used centuries ago by my ancestors for all kinds of reasons.
Now, it houses my former uncle and, for the next half hour or so, or as long as it takes for him to give up his friends, another rapist bastard.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re making a big mistake.”
I laugh. Seriously. This idiot has no clue who he’s dealing with. No. Fucking. Clue. I take out my phone and open my notes app, then jam it in his face.
“Type out every name and their address.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Whose names?”
“The names of the men who raped my wife on January 3rd.”
My brothers do well not to react, although I sense the shift in their body language.
Annabel’s rape and murder changed our DNA.
As De Vils, we’ve always been ready to scorch the earth to protect what is ours, but the death of our sister altered us on a cellular level.
Now, we root out those who escaped justice and dole out punishment of our own.
Except this cunt and his raping friends won’t face the judicial system.
I want them gone, in the ground. Which they will be. Tonight.
“I didn’t rape anyone.”
I smash my fist into his face and grin at the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. The first of many bones I intend to break until he gives me the name of every single man who violated Rebecca the night before I met her.
“Fuck!” Hands bracket his busted nose, and blood oozes between his fingers.
“For every lie you tell, I’ll break another bone. Names.”
My brothers encircle the man, but they don’t interfere. This is my fight, and they know it.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
I snap his right forearm as easily as I’d break a matchstick. The scream bounces off the walls. It doesn’t matter. Down here, there’s no one to hear him other than us and George, and it’s not as though he’s in any fit state to do anything even if he wanted to.
“Names. Don’t make me ask for a third time.”
He spits blood onto the dusty floor, cradling his broken arm. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a single kick, I shatter his shin bone. He shrieks and slumps to the floor. I drop to a crouch and grip his chin, forcing him to look at me. Pain swims in his eyes.
“There are over two hundred bones in the human body. I’ll break every one of yours if you don’t give me their fucking names.”
The realization I’m serious is the moment he cracks. I see it right there in his face. He holds out for another few seconds, then nods. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Excellent.” I hold up my phone.
He must be right-handed because it takes him a fucking age to tap the details with his left hand. I could help, but I don’t want to. Once finished, he slumps onto the floor, and I check what he’s written, then slide my phone in my pocket.
“Can I go now? Please. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Oh, you definitely won’t tell a soul.” One step is all it takes. My heel crashes down on the side of his neck. A sickening crack, and he stills.
I turn to my brothers, my gaze going to Xan first. “Can you arrange to clean that up?”
He nods. No questions, no recriminations, just solid support. “Where are you going?”
“To kill the rest.”
Nicholas puts his hand on my arm. “This is your fight, brother, but one of us is going with you. Non-negotiable. Who’s it to be?”
I jerk my chin at him. “Thanks for volunteering.”
A small smile curves his lips upward. “Right by your side.”
“I’ll call Mahoney,” Xan says. “Send me the list, and I’ll have him sweep up after you.”
I nod, making my exit, only pausing by Christian. “Can you take care of Rebecca for me? Tell her I’ll be back soon. And let Dad know where we’ve gone.”
“On it.” He claps me on the back and takes off.
Nicholas and I follow.
“Mahoney.” Xan’s voice drifts after us. “Got a job for you.”
It’s after two o’clock in the morning when Nicholas and I stagger through the front door. The house is quiet, the guests having long since left. We trudge up the stairs in silence, pausing on my floor.
“You did good, man.” Nicholas draws me into a hug.
Exhausted, I take a second to lean against him. “Thanks.”
“Always.” He releases me and carries on to the top floor of the house where his apartment is.
I stand there for a few moments, taking in tonight’s events. Didn’t turn out like I expected, but the world has a few less rapists in it, and that counts as a good fucking day.
The floorboards outside my apartment creak—a sound that’s hardly noticeable in the day echoing through the hallway.
Shower, bed, then in the morning, I’ll tell Rebecca everything.
One of our first vows to each other long before our wedding was that we’d always be honest, and I don’t intend to stop just because the subject matter is dark.
She deserves to know what I did tonight, what I’m capable of to avenge and protect the woman I love.
Because I do. I love her. I can’t point to the moment, the day, the week it happened. It sort of crept up on me, slow, steady, and lethal. I’m all in. Gone for her.
I push open the door, feeling around for the light switch. The space illuminates.
“Hi.” Rebecca is sitting on the couch, still dressed in the beautiful gown I never got time to fully appreciate.
“Hey.” I glance down at my bruised hands, my bloodied shirt. Guess I won’t need to tell her much after all. “I didn’t expect to see you. It’s late.”
“It is.” She rises gracefully from the couch and comes toward me. Taking hold of my hands, she brings them to her lips and kisses my scraped knuckles. “Where else would I be?”
My shoulders slump. For a dreaded minute, I worried she’d take one look at me and bolt.
“You look shattered.”
“I am.”
“I’ll heat up the shower.” She turns.
“Wait. I want to explain. I need to explain.”
“You can, after you’ve cleaned up and had some sleep. Christian’s told me enough for now.”
Standing on tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine.
I close my eyes, sinking into the moment.
It’s over too soon. My eyes track her through my living room and into my bedroom.
After a few seconds, I follow. Loosening my tie, I toss it on the bed.
There’s an odd, dark humor in still wearing my tie while I ended the lives of the men who hurt my wife.
“Shower’s ready.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the top button on my shirt.
Rebecca gets to it before me, deft fingers unfastening each one, her eyes locked on mine. As tired as I am, my dick doesn’t get the memo. By the time she unzips my trousers and rolls them over my hips, it’s obvious where ninety percent of my body’s blood has ended up.
“Shower with me.” My voice sounds rugged, drunk with need, despite the fatigue stitched into every cell in my body.
She doesn’t hesitate. Her dress falls to the floor, leaving her in a set of jaw-dropping, midnight-blue lingerie. And when I say jaw dropping, I mean my mouth actually falls open and I stare. And stare. And stare.
“Good God,” I rasp. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
Pivoting, she heads to the bathroom, removing her underwear as she goes.
I yank down my boxers and almost sprint after her.
It’s difficult to believe that a few short months ago, this scenario would’ve made me want to puke and run as far away as possible.
Now, the only direction I want to run is toward her.
Only her.
Steam swirls from the shower cubicle, curling around the spotlights carved into the ceiling.
Rebecca opens the door and takes my hand, leading me inside.
Reaching behind me for the shower gel, she squirts a generous dollop onto a washcloth and proceeds to wash the smell of blood and death off every square inch of my body.
Stopping myself from pushing her up against the wall, dropping to my knees, and worshiping her with my lips and my tongue is testing my resolve, but somehow, I stand still and let her take care of me.
Once my body is clean, she shampoos my hair, digging her fingers into my scalp.
I lower my head and groan. “That feels so good.”
“You have the softest hair,” she murmurs as she rinses off the soap. “I think I forgot to tell you that.”
“You’re telling me now.”
Her eyes find mine with a heat that is my undoing.
Lust slams into me. Our mouths crash together.
All those years of abstinence, of watching others find pleasure and wondering why I couldn’t melt away, washed down the drain.
I push her hands over her head, pinning her to the wall with my hips as my free hand roams over her body, committing to memory the way her skin feels, how her breath hitches, the moans she makes.
The way she makes me feel normal.
My dick nudges her belly, eager to race to the finish line, but this isn’t about me. It’s about her. For the rest of my life, it will always be about her. I drop to my knees and bury my nose in her soft curls, breathing in the smell of her.
Tipping back my head, I look up at her. “I’m glad you don’t shave or wax your pussy.”
She chuckles. “Interesting time for that observation.”
“It’s true. I don’t have in-person experience, but I’ve seen enough bare pussies to know I prefer this.”
I part her lips and slide my tongue inside her with slow, measured strokes.
“Keep going,” she whispers. “Don’t stop.”
Replacing my tongue with two fingers, I nibble her clit. “I have no intention of stopping. Not until you come in my mouth. I want every drop, Wren.”
Her fingers dive into my hair, and she tugs, hard. “More.”
I go at her with my tongue again, hypervigilant, watching for bodily cues, making sure to hit the right spot every time. We’re so new at this, it’d be easy to fuck up, but I’ve always been a keen observer.
“God, Tobias, I’m… I’m… argh.” Her grip on my hair tightens as her climax rushes through her. The sweet taste of her floods my mouth, coating my taste buds. I wait for the tremors to stop, then slowly rise to my feet and kiss her.
“Fuck me,” she murmurs.
“Here?”
“Here. I want to feel you inside me.”
Hooking my hands underneath her, I lift her legs and settle them on my hips.
She crosses them at the ankles, holding on tightly, the angle lining me up perfectly.
I slide home, taking her inch by inch, giving her body time to adjust. Tonight gave me an unwelcome reminder of what Rebecca has suffered at the hands of animals who dare to call themselves men.
With every word, every action, I intend to slowly erase those memories and replace them with ones that make her smile, make her moan, make her dig her fingernails into my back the way she’s doing right now.
“I won’t break. Give it to me, Tobias. Don’t hold back. Don’t rob me of you.”
“Fuck, Wren.” Dropping my head onto her shoulder, I give her what she asked for. It’s fast, hard, sweaty, and my orgasm comes at me far quicker than I would have liked.
I come inside her. Inside my wife. Inside the woman I believed I was saving, but in the end it was her who saved me.