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This time, though, another sound joins it, a loud whimper followed by a cry of pain overshadowing the music.
Fuck no!
Stepfather dearest clearly started his punishment, and that’s why the staff is absent. He probably sent everyone home so he can properly torture Octavius.
As if the scar on his cheek hasn't been enough to serve as a permanent reminder of his hate toward Octavius.
Cowards. My family taught me to respect those who work for us, but I have zero respect when it comes to the Reeds’ household as they all stay deaf to the pain that shakes my friend every single day.
So fuck them all.
“That fucking asshole,” I mutter, kicking the door open. We run inside, only to stop dead in our tracks when we see what’s really going on.
Mr. Reed is on the bed, thrashing while whimpering something incoherently. Or tries to, at least. Octavius clamps his mouth with his hand while the other holds a knife as he stabs him over and over again, his clothes soaking in blood while the white bedsheets turn scarlet.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Octavius screams, raising his hand and stabbing him hard again, probably finding an artery as the blood splashes on him, and the sight of it finally snaps us from our shock.
“Octavius, no. Stop!” I lunge for him, yelling, “Stop!” I try to catch his elbow, but Octavius pushes me to the side, and I lose my balance, dropping on my ass by the bed and groaning. He’s never used his strength in anything but defense. However, he clearly works out hard in the gym. I didn’t even think about using my strength on him.
Remi rushes him next. He wraps his arms around Octavius’s shoulders and pulls him back, trying to separate the bloody bodies, which only results in Octavius spinning around while still kneeling above his stepfather. He swings the knife at Remi, nicking him deep in his arm by the looks of it. Remi hisses, jumping to the side and joining me on the floor.
Fucking hell.
Octavius goes back to stabbing his stepfather over and over again, continuing to chant, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”
“You’re killing him! Fucking stop, Octavius!” I get up swiftly and trap Octavius’s arm between my palms, trying to drag him to the side, but it has zero effect on my friend, who’s already in the zone.
A zone I understand but never allowed myself to indulge in, for it would have meant losing my sanity—and my sanity is the one thing that fuels my revenge and protects those I love.
I land on my ass once again, and I’m about fucking done pretending to be weak. I love Octavius. However, he deserves a punch now to snap him out of his shock.
That’s when Santiago comes from a different angle and catches Octavius’s wrist as he raises it, his knife dripping blood between them. His gaze is glassy with fury. This empty expression will scare everyone encountering it as it shows that rational thinking no longer exists in his head.
He jerks in Santiago’s hold, ready to deliver another hit, when Santiago pulls his arm back and punches him hard in the face.
When a person is in the zone under the effect of this rage, talking to them is of no use, because they don't hear you.
They only hear the voice of their abuser whispering in their ear about how worthless and weak they are, wiping away any self-control or dignity they have.
And the need to kill becomes so unbearable they do it without realizing what’s going on or who stands in front of them.
At least that’s what Uncle Lucian preached to me as we studied various cases and psychological aspects to better understand my purpose.
Octavius stumbles back, dropping to the floor on his knees while the knife slips from his fingers, landing with a loud clatter.
I slide toward him and place my hand on his shoulder, squeezing it roughly, but it brings no reaction from him.
Octavius just stares into space, his chest rising and falling with each breath that’s heavier and heavier, his palms splayed on the marble, leaving bloody prints.
Remi hisses again as he presses his hand on his wound, so Santiago goes to him.
Crouching, he pushes his hand away to examine the wound. Although the tip struck deep and might leave a scar on his shoulder, no major arteries were touched. He should be fine as long as we put stitches in it soon so it doesn't get infected. Considering the knife was in a now dead body just seconds ago, who knows what Remi might catch from that fucker. “You okay?” He nods, glancing over Santiago’s shoulder at us before shifting his focus to the body. “He’s dead,” Santiago tells him, probably hoping he won’t erupt into hysterics since that’s his first time encountering a dead body.
Remi smirks, a cold look settling in his gaze, then he spits to the side. “Good fucking riddance.” He winces again as he studies his wound before he tears off a piece of his shirt and presses it to his shoulder.
Santiago’s brow lifts in surprise, and noticing it, Remi whispers, “You’re not the only one with secrets, amigo.”
If the situation were any different, I’d have laughed at the shocked and slightly scandalized expression on Santiago’s face because he probably thinks we’re still the same seven-year-olds that lived in a bubble all this time while he suffered.
