His lips twitch. Both eye sockets are nothing but hollow red pits, leaking and twitching.
I straighten up and look at her like we’re deciding what to eat for dinner.
“So, what do you wanna do with him?”
Brooke doesn’t even blink.
“Cut him up. Leave the pieces for Grant.”
God, I fucking love her.
My hand finds her waist. She leans into it like muscle memory, like this is just another day, like mutilating the bastard who ruined our lives is as routine as brushing our teeth. The music in the background is upbeat and disgustingly cheerful, which makes it even better.
I glance back at Elliot. His face is a mess of blood, snot, and swelling. I flash him a wide grin, all teeth and malice.
“You hear that, Ellie?” I taunt. “We’re going to turn you into a fucking puzzle.”
He gurgles something. Might’ve been “please,” might’ve been “fuck you.” Hard to tell with no eyes and a jaw that barely hinges.
I saunter to the corner of the room, where the chainsaw is waiting. I grip the handle. I squeeze the starter. It coughs, then growls, then roars to life with a violent purr. I turn back toward him, stepping into his line of what used to be vision. He is slumped in the chair, twitching, broken, drenched in his own fear.
“Welcome to the last few minutes of your miserable fucking life.”
I lift the saw, letting the roar fill the silence between us.
“This is gonna hurt,” I say, dragging it out slow. “Really, really bad.”
I grin down at him.
“Let’s make some noise.”
Chapter 52
Brooke
We left Elliot and Sophie in pieces in the warehouse.
The building disappears behind us, swallowed by trees and distance, and I don’t look back. The smell clings anyway. It sticks to my clothes, my hair, the inside of my lungs.
Beau doesn’t ride back with us.
Right after we finished, he wiped the blood from his hands and said he had somewhere to be. A contract he already took before all of this. Another hit.
He said it wouldn’t take long and he’d meet us back in Washington.
Then he grabbed his gear and disappeared into the dark like he always does.
Seth and I packed up our things, took the car, and got back on the road.
Seth drives the way he always does after something like this. Fast enough to put space between us and what we’ve done. Careful enough not to draw attention.
The road rumbles beneath the tires, a low vibration that settles into my bones. Oregon stretches out in long, dark seams of highway, broken by trees and the occasional porch light flickering in the distance.
My adrenaline drains slowly. What’s left behind feels heavy and dull, sinking into my shoulders and down my spine. I watch Seth’s hands on the wheel. His knuckles are split and swollen, streaked with dried blood that has turned nearly black.
The highway blurs past the window, but my mind stays behind in Oregon.
Miles’ voice comes back to me without warning. The promise I made to him in that goddamn manor.
