Roman shakes his head. “No. The timeline is correct.”
My mood shifts to dangerous when the frame jumps forward several minutes. I can’t see who is clutching Justine’s arm, but their hold is as violent as the fury that thunders through me when she’s shoved through a door at the end of a narrow staircase.
Excluding the spotlight of several camera phones, the room is almost pitch black. The poor lighting can’t take away from the inhumane act occurring. Justine isn’t just being terrorized by a dog trained to kill. She’s being taunted by the numerous spectators watching the event through protective glass.
I can’t see their faces, but I guarantee you every one of them will be dead by the end of the month. Their laughter will switch to howls when I remove their voice boxes from the slit I slash across their throats.
When the beast mauling Justine rips a chunk of flesh off her rib, she falls to her knees. Mercifully, her low position to the ground presents the perfect opportunity for her to protect her face and neck. The wrong strike to the jugular would have killed her—although I’m reasonably sure she would have been begging to die by this stage. Stab wounds with rusty knifes are immensely painful, so I can only imagine what it feels like to have your muscles shredded by the fangs of an animal.
“Who is he pleading to?” I ask Roman while pointing to the side of the screen that shows Justine’s brother, Maddox, kneeling at the heel of a man wearing black polished shoes.
Since there’s no sound, I can’t hear what Maddox is saying, but I’m confident he’s pleading. His eyes are wet, his lips are moving in quick concession, and he has the face of a man who’d murder to save his baby sister.
My jaw tightens when Roman says, “We don’t know. We scoured several angles of footage. It never shows who he is.”
“There’s more than one video?”
“Yes.” He licks his puffy black lips as he fights to ignore the furious tick in my jaw. “This was the less confronting of the half a dozen.”
Hate singes my veins. It is quickly followed by the warmth of vengeance. I told Justine she’d get her revenge. For the first time in my life, I plan to keep my promise.
I double-tap the screen, freezing it on the hand of the person Maddox is pleading to. Even with his face shadowed, I know he is a Petretti. The diamond and ruby ‘P’ ring on his right hand ensures I can’t be mistaken. They’re only given to direct descendants of the Petretti family. I was gifted mine last month. It was the reason for my confrontation with a Petretti crew member yesterday afternoon. Word is getting out about my true birthright quicker than I can silence the preachers, which has me wondering if the snitch is coming from my side of the battlefield.
Needing to end one war before I start another, under Roman’s watchful eye, I recommence the video. The ‘P’ ring is in frame from its owner granting permission for Maddox to enter the cage his sister is being brutalized in. He races to her in a nanosecond, rips the dog off her with the same viciousness the dog instilled to Justine the past ten minutes, then lifts her bloodied body into his arms.
That’s where the video ends. Frozen on the frame of a lifeless Justine being carried out of room coated in her blood. I’ve seen many sickening things in my life. I’ve taken lives—many of them—but this is by far the most horrendous thing I’ve ever seen. A bullet between the eyes is painless. A knife across the jugular causes a few seconds of pain. Justine’s punishment may have only lasted ten minutes, but the pain and humiliation associated with it will never end.
I know this from experience.
Just as I hand the tablet back to Roman, a commotion from the kitchen gains my attention. I could brush it off as Justine being feisty with the dishware like she was earlier, but my gut is cautioning me not to be stupid.
After instructing for Roman to find out who the owner of the ring is, I make my way to the kitchen. My speed increases when I hear three thumps in a row. It sounds like someone stomping their foot on the ground, just more in desperation than impatience.
When I break through the swinging door of the kitchen, the anger I’m barely containing reaches fever pitch. Justine is on her hands and knees crawling my way, and Sergei is holding his gushing nose together with his hand.
Although Justine isn’t injured like she was in the video I just watched, the fear in her eyes sends my blood pressure through the roof.
“Ahren?”
Before she can tell me what the fuck is going on, Sergei stands from his knelt position. “That whore kicked me in the face. I will slit her throat the instant I've finished fucking her.”
He stares Justine down, his gaze threatening. I hope he likes what he is seeing as her angelic face will be the last thing he’ll ever see.
“Or maybe I'll slit your throat first, then I will have another hole to penetrate.”
His words are as worthless as the man standing before her, but Justine doesn’t know that. She scampers behind me so she can use my thighs as a shield. The terrified expression on her face sends rage exploding through me, making me the most unhinged I’ve ever been.
“You’re dead!”
While charging for the man who is going to die a death more painful than a thousand, I remove my trusty knife from my back pocket. Sergei squeals a blood-curling scream when I draw a vibrant red streak across his throat. I could have taken him down with one slice, but I want his wails heard across Vegas, warning others what will happen if they dare to mess with Justine.
The scent of fresh blood streams into my nostrils when I fist Sergei’s sweat-drenched hair to yank his head back. He is on his knees like he was when I entered the kitchen, except now his hands are cradling the thin, yet life-threatening gash sliced from one ear to the next.
“???????? ?? ???,” I sneer, my voice unrecognizable since its seared with revenge. “Her angelic face will be the last you’ll see when I send you to hell for touching what is mine.”
I yank his head back further, wanting him to witness what I’m witnessing, to see the fighter climbing out the trench, the angel set to expand her wings. He may have scared her, but she won’t stay down for long. Her wings will cocoon her until she’s ready to fly again—as will I—then she’ll emerge stronger than she was before. Not even watching me murder a man will hinder her metamorphous, because only cowards stay down when they fall. The strong do whatever it takes to live—even placing their own heads on the chopping block.
When the nib of my blade digs into the vein keeping Sergei’s brain alive, Roman shouts my name. He’s standing just left of Justine. His eyes are as wide and as terrified as they were when he handed me the tablet, but his fear is no longer solely focused on Justine. He’s petrified for me as well, aware of the punishment I’ll face just as much as he knows I’ve already made my decision.
