Chapter Forty-Nine #2
There are other men dressed in army uniforms and tactical gear, brandishing guns and barking orders at the partygoers. All of the women are huddled together, fresh t-shirts and loose, baggy sweatpants hanging off their hips as they watch army vets control the beasts who once had all of the power.
Maddox grabs an extra pair of clothes from a passing man who’s decked out in green tactical gear. He’s tall and smiles brightly at me. “Hey, Rose! Huge fan. I’m Callum.”
“Hi, Callum,” I give him a small wave as Maddox holds the blanket over me, shielding me from prying eyes like I’m in my own changing room.
I slip on the clothes, relieved to smell Kairo’s natural scent wafting from them.
I hold the shirt to my nose for a moment, letting serenity wash over me as I prepare myself for the shit storm.
I want blood.
My father’s, to be exact.
Callum posts up in front of the group of women, throwing on a dashing smile as he raises his big hands in a surrendering gesture. “Hello, ladies—”
“Fuck off!” Luna shouts.
He points a finger at her. “Love the enthusiasm, Barbie, but you’re gonna want to hear this.
” He takes a step back, motioning to the group of men and women who look like they’re going to soil themselves with all of the guns pointed at them.
“Behind me are our targets. Now, you have the option of A: Go with my close friend Jeremiah here,” a shorter man with a buzzed head raises his hand.
He doesn’t have a weapon on him and has a calm aura that surrounds him.
Jeremiah offers a cordial smile. “Staff Sergeant Wolfe, at your service.”
“Or…” Callum trails as a deathly calm washes over his eyes, darkening his irises. “Option B: You can exact your revenge. Anything is on the table, ladies.”
“Anything?” Luna perks up, her gaze snapping to Sal across the room.
“Anything,” Callum reiterates.
A few in the group break off to wait outside with Jeremiah, while Luna, Bridget, Silver, and I stay behind. Once the others are safely on the other side of the door, Callum spreads his hands wide in a grand gesture. “Who’s first?”
Luna steps forward, her eyes cutting daggers at Sal. “I’m going to nail your fucking balls to the floor, saw your tiny, shrimp dick off, and spit in the fucking hole!”
Callum winces, covering his crotch with his hands. “Jesus fucking Christ. Knock yourself out, Barbie.” He produces a large, black combat knife with serrated edges, then offers the handle to her. “Make it hurt.”
She snatches it from him quickly, grumbling. “Don’t call me Barbie.”
“Who’s next?” Callum smiles.
Everyone chooses their targets with the help of the veterans, and bloodlust washes over the house. Screams and horrid sobs wrack my spine as people perish at the hands of the women I’ve only known for a day. Each delivers justice and revenge in their own interesting way.
Luna follows through with her promise, a big, quiet man keeping Sal held down as she stabs into his wrinkly ballsack. He screams so loudly that it makes my ears ring as he thrashes and kicks.
The man helping her, whom I learn is named Cain, helps the blonde. “Angle the knife like this. Never go straight down. It won’t cut.”
She breathes deeply, glancing up at him. “Thanks.”
While the whole first floor becomes a blood bath, I’m laser-focused on my father. Waylon is cornered against the wall, his eyes wide as sweat glistens on his temples. He looks like trapped prey, and I’m aching to give him tenfold what he gave me growing up.
Roman steps to my right and Kairo to my left. Maddox takes up the rear, and I feel utterly safe. They’re here. My protectors.
“Give me a knife,” I hold out my hand to Kairo. He slips the handle into my palm, and my fingers close as pure power courses through my veins. Every step I take, my men are with me, lingering like death at my back.
“Rosalie!” Waylon blubbers as he holds his hands up. “Don’t do this! I-I was coming back for you. I swear!”
“Oh?” I tilt my head, the eyes he created, full of love and light, but so haunted by the complete terror he’s put me through time and time again, stare back at him. The eyes that once belonged to my mother.
It’s poetic in a sense. Wherever my mom is, I hope she’s happy, because the man who once hurt her will no longer exist after today.
I’ll vanquish the villain who destroyed our lives—our self-worth.
Waylon Beckett will be nothing but an insignificant footnote in this vast world.
I’ll wash his ‘legacy’ straight down the drain.
Starting with him.
I suck my teeth before squatting down to his level.
I rest my elbows on my knees as I wave the knife in front of his face.
“You were going to come back?” My appreciation is faux and high-pitched as my face falls into a predatory stare.
“I never needed you to save me. You’re nothing more than a fucking drunk who used and abused the only two people who wanted to love him.
And now? You’re getting exactly what you deserve. ”
Fear flickers in his eyes, and it’s surreal to see it from the outside looking in. I was once in his place, cowering from his raised fist and praying I saw daylight. There are a few glaring differences between my father and me, but the most stark one is that I’m walking out of this house alive.
I grab his shirt’s collar, dragging him to me until his putrid sweat seeps into my nostrils. My voice is a quiet whisper that bleeds conviction and pure hatred. “Tell the devil your daughter sent you. He’s waiting for you, Waylon.”
The first nick I make is in the same spot he cut me long ago.
Right below his jaw, but his is deeper and more jagged as I saw into the skin.
His blood gushes as he screams. He tries to push me away, but Roman and Kairo grab his arms, pinning him until I turn him into a fucking canvas.
Every slice I make is long overdue justice, and the tearing of his flesh feels like power.
His body will bear the same scars as mine, but he won’t heal.
There will be no physical reward to this other than the sweet release of death. When I fucking grant it.
I hack until he’s lost about a pint of blood and littered in jagged, rough cuts.
The one on his neck is really bad, and he gasps for air with every gush of his artery.
I’m lost in the bloodlust of it all, craving more of his pain with every pass of my knife.
His eyes are dull, the lids lowering until they’re almost closed.
His bloodied chest rises and falls deeply, as if he’s about to lose consciousness, but I want him awake for this.
“Get him up,” I command, my voice ragged.
Maddox produces something small and cylindrical from his pocket, breaking it in half before shoving it under Waylon’s nose. He sucks in a breath, coughing as he blinks away the smelling salts.
“I want his hands in a fucking box,” I declare. “They’ve done so much harm, and I want them. As trophies.”
Roman nods, producing a knife before snatching one of Waylon’s wrists. As he saws into tissue and bone, my father screams and begs for mercy, but there’s none to be found. Not in this house of horrors.
Kairo slaps Waylon hard, silencing him. “Stop being such a bitch and look at your daughter. Fucking. Apologize.”
My father’s lips tremble as mumbled, low words stutter from him. “I-I’m s-sorry—”
“T-t-today, Junior!” Kairo slaps him again before grabbing his cheeks and forcing him to look at me. “Now say it like you fucking mean it!”
Waylon swallows, trying to steady his voice as his severed hand is tossed to the floor.
He’s beginning to slip again from lack of blood, but not before he delivers the worst apology known to man.
“I’m sorry, kid! I’m sorry…” His head slumps to the side as tears track down his face.
He’s mumbling incoherent words that mean absolutely nothing to me as I squat down in front of him.
“I don’t forgive you,” I smile. “Get his other hand.”
As I watch my sperm donor sob and scream, Callum hums as he douses the whole first floor in gasoline. He pours some directly over Waylon’s head, and I know that has to sting.
“Everyone is about done here,” Callum says as he grabs another gas can. “We’d better get on the road soon.”
Another man, Knox, I think, is having to pry Luna off the mutilated body of her cousin. She’s still trying to shred his unrecognizable face as the veteran wraps an arm around her waist and hoists her up. “He’s dead.”
“Let me go!” She screams. “I wasn’t done!”
“We’re about to light this place up. Do you want to join him in the afterlife?” Knox bites harshly.
Luna breaks free of his grip, stomping towards the front door as she mumbles, “If it’ll get me away from you.”
Knox shakes his head. “God help whoever crosses paths with her.”
Everyone is covered in blood. We look like the killers of a slasher film as we all file out of the home.
We line up as Cain lights a match and tosses it onto the porch.
The fire licks up the home in seconds, destroying everything in its path.
The warm yellow and orange hues dance across our faces, and the heat is comforting.
For the first time in years, I let myself breathe.
He’s gone.
The true monster is no more.
As the aged wood crackles, no one moves an inch. The men who saved us don’t complain as they wait for us to find our peace with what’s before us.
“Eight years,” Silver whispers. “Eight years and I’m finally free.” A single tear streaks down her cheek as her face remains impassive.
Luna wraps her arms around herself before sinking into a crouch.
She shields her face as her shoulders shake with her silent cries.
Bridget stares ahead at the window that leads to her room, waiting for the fire to reach it with a blank expression.
We all have our own reactions, so vastly different, yet connecting and grand.
Kairo slides a hand across my shoulders before kissing the top of my head. “How are you feeling?”
I blink at the carnage. “I need a new last name.”
Roman’s head whips around to me. Maddox’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, and Kairo looks stunned.
“I don’t want to be Rosalie Beckett anymore,” I say quietly, swiping at my own tears.
I’m overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours, and I’m glad I have them by my side.
I need their strength right now. “All my life, I was defined by that name. I don’t want to be the town drunk’s daughter anymore. I want to be me.”
Roman pulls me into his side, embracing me tightly, and I let his warmth and comfort wash over me. “You are you, Siren, but if you want another last name, we can make that happen. Anything for you.”
Kairo spreads his hands in front of me with a wide smile. “Picture it. Rosalie Ridley.”
I give a watery chuckle.
“Rosalie Campbell would sound better,” Maddox mutters.
“You’re both wrong,” Roman interjects. “Rosalie Briggs is the obvious choice. Much more flattering and rolls right off the tongue.”
An hour later, most of the women are on their way back home. Some have already contacted trusted family members who are relieved beyond words as they await their arrival. Others are lingering around to gather housing resources from veterans who are lending a helping hand.
Luna is waiting patiently for her manager to arrive to take her back to Los Angeles, as I saddle up beside her. “Hey.”
“Ugh, don’t get all shy on me now.” She rolls her eyes as a smile plays on her lips.
I nudge her elbow. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Oh, I won’t,” she snorts. “You live ten minutes from me. You’ll have to put a restraining order against me now.”
I laugh. “You’re always welcome in my home.”
“Thanks…” Her voice trails before she turns to me. Her hug is surprising in its intensity as she squishes me to her. “Thank you, Rose. For being a friend when I needed one.”
My hands fist in her shirt as I squeeze her back with equal passion. “Of course. Call me. Text me. Visit, please.”
She pulls away, holding my shoulders. “Of course, but only if you put your dogs away.” Her eyes flicker to Kairo, who lingers nearby as he pretends not to listen in on our conversation. “So…weird question—”
“Yes, I’m with all three of them,” I respond with a proud smile.
Her eyes widen. “I was just going to ask if you put a blanket over their cages at night, but wow. Living the dream, huh?”
I push her shoulder playfully before her manager arrives.
I wave to my new friend as she leaves the burning embers of the past behind.
I hope she can find peace. Recovery is a long road, and the emotional and physical damage this place caused will leave a lasting scar.
But these women are fighters—survivors. And I want to be there for every single one of them in any way I can.
I exchanged my number with everyone, begging them to reach out anytime they wanted to talk or needed something. I’ll be there.
Roman joins me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “What now?”
I smile up at him, heat painting over my cheeks. “Take me home.”
“Yes, ma’am.”