I reach for the emergency bypass on the IV, flushing a concentrated bonus of pure adrenaline directly into the line. It hits him like a lighting strike. Probably the same feeling I had when I first saw Madeline.
His body slams against the restraints. His spine snaps taut with a sickening crack. His heart is already strained. Surges into a frantic, violent gallop.
This is the final flare of a dying star.
I reach up and rip the headphones away. The sudden rush of silence in the room must be deafening to him. Then, I tear off the blindfold. His eyes are bloodshot. The pupils are blown. Struggling to focus through the haze of hallucinations.
I lean close. My face inches from his. Forcing my image to be the only thing in his shattering universe.
“I needed you to wake up. I want the last thing you see to be the face of the man who owns your ending,” I whisper, my voice chillingly clear now that the barrier is gone.
Recognition flickers in that dark, haunted stare. A final dawning spark of terror. It’s the most honest look he’s given to me.
“Good,” I murmur.
“You are free now.”
A long pause follows. I stand there, savouring the sight of an abuser finally receiving the only justice he truly deserves.
My hand closes around the heavy hilt of the blade.
I don’t make it quick. I don’t make it clean.
I use the hyper-sensitivity against him one last time, ensuring that every agonizing inch of the cold steel parting his skin, muscle, and the last thread of his soul is felt with absolute clarity. His final scream isn’t a sound. It’s a vibration that travels through the knife, humming straight into my own bones.
The adrenaline finally burns out. The light in his eyes doesn’t just fade, it’s snuffed out. Like a candle caught in a sudden, cold draft. I step back, taking a slow, steady breath of the copper tang of the air.
The room grows quiet again. The air is thick with chemicals and the heavy aftermath of a storm that only one of us was meant to survive. I watch him for a moment longer. Still. Empty.
My pulse is steady now, the violence already draining from my system the same way it always does. Controlled. Contained. Like it never happened. The task is completed. Not a task. Revenge.
I remove the IV lines with practiced precision, wiping away the remaining blood. The equipment disappears back into its sterile order, every tool returned to its place like instruments after surgery.
What remains of him… just a body. No rage left in it. No arrogance. No voice to lie to her again. Just silence.
I clean the blade and slip it back into its sheath before pulling a thick plastic sheet from the cabinet. Wrapping the body methodically, almost carefully. Not out of respect. Out of purpose. Because this part matters.
When the last fold is sealed, I drag the package across the floor and into the trunk of my car. The night outside is cold and damp. Soon, the sun will rise. We were there for a long time.
The forest breathes quietly around the building like a living thing. The drive takes twenty minutes. I choose the spot with intention. A quiet service road that cuts behind the private mortuary facility where Madeline works.
Police patrol this area often enough that the body won’t stay hidden long. Close enough that it will end up exactly where it needs to go. Exactly where she will see it.
I lift him from the trunk and leave him where the shadows thin near the treeline. No symbol. No message carved into flesh. None is necessary this time.
Madeline is intelligent. She’ll understand. And when she looks down at what remains of the man who once hurt her… She’ll know someone answered for it.
I close the trunk softly and lean against the car, staring at the distant glow of the city. Somewhere in that maze of streets, she’s asleep now. Probably curled into her sheets. Still warm from the alcohol. Still thinking about the dance. About the way my hands felt on her waist.
She is completely unaware that the man who once touched her will arrive at her morgue in a body bag by morning. Unaware that the man who replaced him is already imagining the way her body will feel when she finally stops resisting what’s between us.
The thought alone sends a shiver straight into my cock. My pants are tightening painfully. A slow, dark smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.
“You want to know what I am, little storm,” I murmur into the night.
My gaze drifts back toward the silent shape lying in the dark.
“You’re about to find out.”
