Chapter 26 #2
When he shone the torch on me, looking at the arm with the angriest of bruises forming, that was the hand he decided Morgan would lose first.
I don’t even know if he caused them in particular, but it didn’t seem to matter to Saint. Greg reminded him that removing the fingers meant he could then remove the hand later—double the pain.
Listening to their tone when they discussed Morgan’s torture, it was the same as I imagine you’d conversate with a friend on which flour was best for a recipe.
I’m surrounded by bloodthirsty psychopaths, and yet, I’ve never felt safer in my entire existence.
Though Conrad managed to escape through one of the doors scattered through the tunnel, and it was locked when Holly searched the rest of them.
He doesn’t have anywhere to go, seeing as Saint’s people have moved in on the home above us, but we’re yet to find out the outcome of that.
Saint sets me down on the small half wall before we make the inclined trail up to the top of the cliff, kneeling down whilst Greg drops Morgan’s leg, Holly kicking him somewhere I can’t see as his figure is swallowed behind Saint’s broad shoulders.
“You okay?”
I glance back down at him, and a faint smile tilts at my lips. “Morgan’s getting the shit kicked out of him behind you, so, I’d say I’m feeling a little better.”
His hand comes out to rest against my cheek, stroking along the sensitive skin under my eye.
It hurts like a bitch, but I don’t care.
“You know you can talk to me if they…” His voice travels off, gaze hitting the ground as his jaw works.
My dirt-and blood-caked hands intertwine with his. “I know. It was close, but they didn’t.”
The fact that I’m free is making me feel too wired to even let my mind slip back to my earlier thoughts. I know as soon as I crash again, the aftermath is going to drag me under.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, head dipping between his shoulders. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”
My voice wavers as it tightens. “Why?”
He looks up at me through his lashes, face etched in pain and fury. His entire body is coiled up to the point it’s ready to snap, and I don’t miss how cut his knuckles are, the scabs oozing blood as his fists clench.
“Sainty,” I whisper, and his glassy eyes dart away from me.
I’ve never seen Saint shed a tear, never seen the man be vulnerable like this in his life. I didn’t think he was capable. He’s always got this wall of fire around him; he only lets you see the fight in him.
Right now, I see him laid bare behind its front line. “I told you you’d never experience that again. You almost fucking did.”
My hands palm each side of his face, forcing him to look at me.
His steel eyes have melted as they clog with emotion.
“And I fought them with everything I had left. And it was your voice I heard the entire time.” I drag in a breath, remembering his words to me and repeating them. “It was loud, even when it whispered.”
His throat flexes as he grips my hands into fists, pressing his lips with a harsh kiss against them, his eyes squeezing shut.
Greg calls over Saint’s shoulder, “What are we doing with this pussy? He’s getting on my nerves.”
The insult lands deep to Morgan, because he tries to rise to his feet frantically, but Greg grips him by the scruff of the neck, holding him in place with the end of his rifle jammed into his neck.
Saint rises to his feet, clearing his throat and cracking his neck. His hand holds out for me to take it. “Ladies first,” he says as I’m automatically drawn to a squirming Morgan, whose eyes are similar to a rabid animal, darting at speed as he looks from Saint to me.
My upper lip curls at him.
This man, who fooled his way into my family, who held me down and was going to allow another man to rape me. He pretended he was there to look after me and my mom since my dad died. When all along he was the one we needed protecting from.
Obliterating rage rises in me faster than the oncoming tide.
I bet he put his fucking hands on my mom with Barry.
Seeing as he’s already dead, looks like he’s going to experience this for the both of them.
I stomp over and send my fist ploughing into his face, the right hook so hard he almost plunges into the depths of the water below, Saint and Greg catching him before he does.
That would be too kind of a death for this piece of shit.
Saint rips the tape from his mouth and immediately wishes he didn’t as Morgan screeches like a damn bird. “Fuck you, bitch! You’re fucking worthless. You’re going to regret this day, all of you are. I hope the Montgomerys––”
His ramblings end on a high-pitched scream, a note I’d recognise anywhere. Saint rams a knife into his side, a look of utter boredom written on his face. “Talk to her like that again, and you’ll regret learning to speak.”
The knife is yanked from Morgan’s side, but not without a little pressure before Saint flips and hands it to me.
The shiny metal winks up at me through the gaps of red, my gaze travelling to Morgan’s belt, slowly dragging up until I meet his fearful eyes. His head rears back as he stands paralysed, looking at me.
“Looks like you’re about to learn that regret now.”
If the blood wasn’t already leaving his face, he’d be translucent by now.
He screams incoherent pleas when the blade wedges right in his groin. Both my hands wrap around the handle as I force it upwards with every last shred of strength.
Holly grimaces, Greg chokes on a gasp as he grabs his own manhood, and Saint?
He can’t take his menacing eyes off me as he mutters proudly, “There’s my beautiful little monster.”
Blood leaks from Morgan’s mouth, his stomach, and his chest where the knife jammed against bone. It’s sick and demonic what I’ve just done, but it’s nothing compared to what he and Conrad would have done to me.
A buzz erupts over my skin the moment he silently begs.
I’ve never felt the thrill of a kill, always a relief.
But this?
Fuck, it feels good.
I’ve always toyed with my marks, forcing them to break when they see who’s come for them. Never gone far enough to butcher them.
Yet this feeling? This is what I should have done with each and every one of them.
Leaving the knife impaled, I step away, making sure I hold his eye contact. I want the psychotic look on my face to be the last thing he sees. I hope it haunts him all the way down to hell, making him live in fear until I get there. Making him regret ever stepping into my mom and I’s life.
Conrad was right; there was always one outcome.
It was me surviving, and their world burning to the ground.
Saint leans over to Morgan’s ear. “Now it’s my turn.”
Holly and Greg back away to a safe distance for Saint to start his show. His bloody horror show, might I add.
I should do the same, look away from what’s unfolding before me. I’ve had enough traumatic experiences to last a lifetime; adding on another layer won’t do me any good.
But I can’t.
Saint—quite literally—tears Morgan limb from limb.
His remaining fingers fly; chunks of skin slap off concrete as his knife cuts through it like butter.
And when the blood-curdling screams from Morgan eventually weaken, his decapitated head being thrown into the water, Saint finally turns away from what remains of him.
Blood coats every single inch of him. His white eyes are the only thing not tinged in red.
I should be broken with terror, worried that he’s cracked and gone into a psychosis.
Hell, maybe I should get checked out.
Because when the devil amongst us finally speaks, sparking a cigarette and blowing the toxins into the air, I smile.
“Fuck, I’ve needed that.”