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"I want him to suffer…” She breathes a little sound that makes me want to pull her against me and keep her safe. But I have work to do. “For Cara Thompson."
I flex my knuckles on the knife handle and then drive it into Giante’s stomach so deep that all that remains outside of him is the inch of handle that my fist is wrapped around.
The monster yells a guttural sound which grows higher as I twist the blade in the wound. It takes some effort to dislodge the knife, but when I do, blood begins to pour out from the gash in his abdomen, and his attempts to scream turn to sobs.
I look at Claire to make sure she’s okay, not about to faint or vomit. But she’s well-acquainted with blood after the last few days, and she’s no shrinking violet. Suddenly, she has a strength about her I haven’t seen before. Her face is set in a mask that betrays nothing of what she’s feeling, and she looks a bit peaked, but I can’t say whether that’s just her post-trauma pallor or if she’s being retraumatized right now. I do see her eyes blazing with hatred, and it lights her up. She’s fucking beautiful, on fire with purpose.
She nods at me, an assurance I no longer need, and then says, "Cindy Jones."
I stab him again, driving the blade between his ribs and eliciting another anguished cry. Tears stream down his face, but his cruel eyes aren’t sorry, aren’t confused… just full of anger. Most of the time, I like to have a conversation with the people on the other end of my blade, but I left him gagged and taped because I couldn’t risk Rhea or Elaine hearing his screams from the house. I’m glad I did, too, because I’m sure by the look in his eyes that he’d be spouting the most despicable, vile things he could in an attempt to hurt Claire one last time.
"Leah Alvarez." I stab him again, quicker this time.
"Amber Smith." Again.
His blood is spilling from him rapidly, covering the plastic-lined floor.
"Tiffany Evans." I plunge the knife in him, overlapping one of the previous wounds I made. The blade slides in easily, and his attempt to scream is renewed with more effort. He knows he’s at the end of his life, and he doesn’t want to give it up yet.
My hand is slick with blood.
"Misty Carter." I wipe it on my shirt and adjust my grip before driving the blade through his already shredded shirt and into flesh once more.
I look up to find Claire watching me, and I’m so focused on her eyes, I don't see her stretch her hand out at first. Once I do, I wipe the blade again and hesitate before giving it to her. "Are you sure?” I ask, giving her one last chance to reconsider getting her hands dirty. I tip her chin up with my fingers so that I can appraise every inch of her beautiful face, looking for any signs of hesitation. “If you do this, there's no going back. Once you let the darkness in, it doesn't let you go.”
“It won’t let me go anyway.” She says softly.
It’s a reminder that I failed her. I brought her here, and I couldn’t even keep her safe. I’ve never been able to protect the people I cared about, so I don’t know what made me think I could protect her. This is my chance to make it up to her, and I want her to take it. I want her to get her revenge. I just want to be sure that she is aware of the consequences. “Murder leaves a stain on your soul. It’s a mark that other people can't see, but you'll know it's there."
I don’t know if she doesn’t hear my words or if she doesn’t care. There’s no hesitation in her when she answers. "I'm sure."
Claire takes the blade from me and stares at the blood that hasn't been wiped clean. And then she waves it in front of the monster and watches as he shakes his head weakly. If we walk away right now, he’ll bleed out on the floor in less than ten minutes. He’s already a dead man, but Claire can hasten his end. It will be a kindness, really, to put him out of his misery. He doesn’t deserve that kindness, but she deserves the chance to get her own revenge.
"The first time you hurt me, I thought it was a fluke.” Her voice only shakes a little as she stands in front of Eric, looking him directly in the eye. “I thought it was my fault. I thought that I did something wrong, said the wrong thing, wore the wrong thing. You told me I tempted you with my dresses… my braids. I stopped braiding my hair after that, but you didn’t stop coming to me. The second time, I begged your wife to help me, but she turned the other cheek. By the third time, I'd grabbed a knife of my own right from your kitchen to defend myself."
The monster attempts to say something, but even if his mouth hadn't been covered, the words wouldn't be intelligible. He’s fading fast, his eyes getting distant under fluttering lashes. "I didn’t tell the police or my social worker what you did to me because I was stupid enough to think that if you used me as your punching bag, that you wouldn’t hurt anyone else. When Kaylee got adopted and it was just me in that room and you kept doing it, I thought that you just hated me for some reason. And I figured if you hated me so badly that you wanted to hurt me over and over again, then there must be something wrong with me. That was when I decided to kill myself. Do you know how much it hurts to give up on the world and decide to do something like that? To bury the rest of your hopes and dreams right alongside what you took from me? That’s when you really ruined my life.”
I notice her voice no longer shakes as she carries on. “And now I know you didn't just do it once... you did it seven times. You ruined seven lives. And now, I'm going to end yours." She twists the knife in her hand, like she’s trying to decide her best angle, and then drives it deep into his stomach, crying out like a warrior running into battle.
His eyes widen as she manipulates the blade, but he isn't making noise anymore. She’s already forced most of the air out of his lungs, and now he holds her gaze as the life slips out of him. When she steps away, she whispers loud enough for me to hear, "That one was for me."
I take a step toward her, but Claire turns just as suddenly as she'd decided to kill him and sprints past Wes, disappearing up the steps.
Chapter thirty-four
Claire
I don’t know where I’m running to, but I couldn't stay in that basement a moment longer. I couldn't look at the man slumped over in the chair, couldn’t see the faces of the other girls he hurt, couldn’t smell his blood. I ran past Wes without giving him a single look and up the stairs, turning into the first room I see.
A bathroom. Thank God, because the way my stomach is roiling, the way my whole body is burning, I’m surely going to be sick.
I suck in as much air as my lungs can hold and then hear Remy's footsteps come to a stop behind me. When I turn, he’s standing in the doorframe, his dark eyes full of concern. I can feel myself vibrating with something... shock, or fear, or need. I don't know exactly what it is, but it doesn't matter, because his gaze is so intense, it sends shockwaves through the pit of my stomach, like he'd reached out and touched me. It’s that intimate.
And suddenly, I don't care about anything in the world beyond him.
I launch myself at him, and he reacts quickly, like his body is already in sync with mine. He catches me under my ass as my legs wrap around his waist and our lips seek each other. His kiss has already been proven to liquify me, but now it sets me on fire. A desperate sound brushes past my lips and is muffled by his as he deepens the kiss, pulling my tongue into his mouth.
I have no time to waste—I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, eagerly pulling it away from his skin. I need to feel him against me, to have him cover me with his darkness, his light. Remy responds in kind, matching my energy beat for beat, our need synching. He slips the straps of my tank top and bra down in one easy motion before reaching around to unclasp it. As it falls away from between us, I groan and hurry with the last button before sliding the fabric down his arms and pressing myself into him, trying to eliminate any space between us.
