Chapter 41 #3
I put the lighter to the side and started the tedious process of taking off his clothes and putting them on me.
I had to punch a new hole in the belt in order to keep the pants up, and I had to roll up the bottoms several times too.
The hoodie he had been wearing was also a bit big, forcing me to roll up the sleeves, but the hood being big could work in my favor.
If I couldn’t get the muzzle off, the hood could hide it until I figured out a way to do it myself.
I shoved the lighter in my pocket and kept the pick in my hand as I looked over him, trying to steady myself. My mind spun, and the trembling in my hands had gotten worse. I needed food and water. It had to be the main priority as soon as I got out of this place.
“You’ll never get out of this place, you fucking cunt,” he snarled, watching me. “They’ll fucking hang you. They’ll chain you down by your fucking neck and fuck you until you die of internal bleeding. You think a chair leg is bad, I can’t wait until they fuck you with a fucking red hot tire iron.”
They had threatened it a few times, but they hadn’t gotten there yet.
I beamed as I walked to his head and crouched down above him, humming a soft little tune. “Tick tock goes the clock, fuck them all to Hell.”
I lifted the pick just above his eye, his cursing switching to Russian, his eyes widening, his panic growing. He tried to struggle, tried to move, as I lowered the pick to his eye, but it was no use. That was thing about paralyzing someone. They could never escape.
He screamed bloody murder as the pick touched his eye, his face turning red, spit flying from his mouth.
He screamed and screamed and screamed as I pushed the pick through his eye until I felt a little resistance. I paused and lifted my other hand above the handle and smiled brightly as he continued to beg and beg and beg.
I slammed my hand down, and he immediately went silent.
My head tilted to one side as I jerked the pick out, watching the blood ooze from his new wound. I expected the eye to come out with my pick, but nope, it stayed right where it was supposed to be. Maybe I had to scoop it out to—
The trap door sounded again.
I jumped up, grabbed Kat’s gun, and pranced over to the side of the door, shoving the gun into my pants and gripping the pick in my right hand. It was my contingency plan. I preferred hand to hand, but in this state, a gun would be a good weapon to use.
The door opened and the man cursed, reaching for his gun.
Predictable.
I slammed the pick into his arm and kicked his knee as hard as I could.
He cried out, trying to point the gun in my direction as he hit his knee.
I ripped the pick out and kicked his right wrist, the gun falling from his hand.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled as I wrapped my hand into his hair and slammed the pick down.
He snarled, the pick sliding into his shoulder.
He grabbed my left arm and threw me towards the wall.
I managed to grab the pick, ripping it out of his shoulder, and taking it with me. I hit the wall and fell to the ground, my head spinning.
“Collect yourself,” Azrael’s voice ordered.
I blinked hard, the room clearing just in time to see Eckers going for his gun.
I shoved myself to an unsteady stand and kicked his gun further away, which made him angry. He grabbed my ankle and jerked me forward, trying to unbalance me, but rather than falling back, I forced myself to fall forward, wrapping an arm around his head and bringing the pick down into his neck.
I jerked it out, blood streaming from the hole, and stabbed him again and again and again. I kept stabbing him, the blood splattering across me, my head pounding, the rage exploding inside of me.
They took me from my husband.
Kept me here like an animal.
Muzzled me.
Chained me up.
Attacked me.
They needed to pay for what they did, and they would. Each and every single one of them.
I lost count of how many times I stabbed him, but it was enough to turn his neck into hamburger.
Gasping for air, I shoved him away, wiped the pick on my pants and immediately searched his pockets, trying to shake away the dizziness and unfocused vision.
I found a small pocketknife and a few dollars.
I slid the pick into my belt and shoved the money into the pocket with the lighter before flicking out the knife. I held out my hand to it, measuring the blade. Roughly four inches long. Eight inches all together. It was enough.
I rolled my head, took the mag out of Eckers’ gun, and finally turned towards the still cracked door. “Please, Azrael, let them all be gone. Let them not be here yet. Let the service be in session.”
I took a single step towards the door only to stop. I needed Mack or Lady Elise. I couldn’t get out of the house without them.
Fuck.
My grip tightened around the knife. Guess I was attending service today.
With steps as light as a feather, I slowly made my way up the stairs and gently lifted the trapdoor up enough to peek out.
The room was empty, not a sound to be heard other than the distance sound of Pastor Gordan preaching.
Lady Elise usually had two men with her in the Gallows during service, just two. Pastor Gordan, although younger than Pastor Masters, never looked like much of a fighter to me, and even if he was, I held no qualms over killing a pastor.
I stared out towards the bottom of the stairs for a long time, focusing myself.
I could do this. I had a gun. I was a good shot, I proved that time and time again.
Two quick bullets to the two men with her, and a threat to her.
She was weak. All bark, no bite. She was old, weak, and played out. She would be easy to overtake.
After a deep inhale and slow exhale, I pushed into the room. It was chilly, causing a shiver to fall through me, goosebumps erupting across my skin.
I closed it quietly and started for the Gallows, trading the knife for the gun, checking that it was loaded on my way down the hall.
The sermon got louder and louder the closer I got, my heart beating a little faster, a little harder. I could do this. Two bullets, one capture.
Two bullets.
One capture.
If anyone got in the way, I would feel sad for the life that was lost, but it wouldn’t slow me. They would be free too, eventually. I would leave the door open, let them run, but right now, I needed to get home. I needed to find Azrael.
I stopped just outside the closed door and placed my hand on the handle.
Lady Elise and her two men were always sitting in the front row.
Always nearest the door. If I was quick enough, I should be able to kill both men within seconds and point the gun at her.
I couldn’t let her slow me down though. There was no way to tell how long they had been in there, which meant the other men could show up at any time.
If I was going to do this, I needed to do it quickly.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
No forgiveness.
I released a slow breath and jerked open the door, pulling the trigger twice in quick succession.
I barely remembered aiming. I had studied the room so much, spent so much time thinking, I knew exactly where they would be.
They dropped before they even knew what was happening.
Silence filled the room, Lady Elise jumping up from where she had been sitting, spinning on me, her eyes wide.
The men and women imprisoned here were so used to violence, they didn’t even blink. I hoped they understood what I was doing. I hoped they tried to run.
I walked over to her, the pastor dropping behind his podium, and gestured for her to head to the door.
She pursed her lips and straightened. “You think you can—”
I pulled the trigger, the bullet ripping through her shoulder.
She snarled, grabbing her shoulder, panting. “You bitch. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Who you’re going up against?”
I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I could be going up against God Himself, and I wouldn’t fucking care. I just wanted to get home. I wanted my family. I wanted my husband. I wanted the blood that was owed to me.
Not wasting another second, I shoved her towards the door, following after her as she slowly made her way out.
“I hope you realize that your death was promised a long time ago,” she said, her voice thick. “You will never make it back to your precious husband. We’ll kill you before you make it a mile.”
I rolled my eyes. So dramatic. She wouldn’t make it out of this house. She wouldn’t make it past that door.
I exchanged the gun for the knife on our way through the kitchen, looking around the room, straining my hearing as she led us to the front door.
“What do you expect to happen, Scarlett?” Lady Elise asked, glancing over her wounded shoulder.
“You get out and run? Where? We are in the middle of nowhere. You are weak, starving, dehydrated. You won’t make it long without collapsing or being eaten by bears.
Even at full strength, you wouldn’t survive them.
Your best chance at living is to just stay here. ”
I kicked the back of her knee, forcing her to the ground, and grabbed a fistful of hair, earning a cry which quickly turned into a laugh.
Using my knee, I pinned her against the door and reached for her right hand.
“Has he told you what I did to him?” she asked, her voice muffled by the door. “What happened in that asylum?”
I paused for half a second before shoving her hand against the pad.
“Your stay was far worse, the rules written in stone by his dear father, but the asylum was mine. Those scars you’ve seen, that watch, his fear of being touched? That was me.” She laughed as the lock flipped over. “He spent a year with me being trained and programed for me. The ungrateful fucking—”
I pulled her head back and slammed it forward, my mind racing. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to slice her neck down to the spine, but was it mine to take?
My revenge or his?
His revenge or mine?
Could I take this?
Should I?
If I didn’t, would she get away?
I stared at the way my hands wrapped tightly into her hair, my grip tightening, the blood on my fingers staining her scalp.
My revenge or his?
I couldn’t let her escape.
I released her hand and pulled her head back, finding her eyes, the tar so thick in her soul, it seeped into her irises, turning the blue into a darker shade of blue.
I felt nothing as I placed the knife on one side of her neck and dragged it to the other, the blood splattering across the door, leaking down her neck, staining her blouse.
She gaped, trying to gasp, her eyes going wide, the blood going and going and going until the light completely faded from her eyes.
My cunt pulsed for the first time in months at the dopamine this specific death gave me.
Ignoring it, I shoved her to the side and opened the door wide.
There was an old porch, leading down to a dirt driveway with three vehicles, and a dirt road beyond that disappeared into the trees.
I could hear the tires of impending vehicles as the chilling air bit at my cheeks.
Without another second of hesitation, I headed for the trees, the ground chilling under my feet.
Merry goddamn Christmas.