The second anger removes all sound.
It does not rush in; it settles. My body goes still, as if someone has reached inside and turned a dial down to its lowest setting. The world narrows until there is only one point of focus, a pinprick that captures my attention. My thoughts stop racing and begin to line up. No gestures. No excess words. This anger is glacial and precise. It is not interested in theatrics, only outcome.
It’s the second anger I feel now.
Aria has taken my woman, and I’ll stop at nothing to get her back.
The three of us, a broken, bleeding trio fueled by pure fury, plunge into the fleeing crowd. We shove, we punch, we carve a path through the terrified masses. The world is a blur of screaming faces and flailing limbs. All that matters is reaching her. All that matters is getting her back. We push forward, a single-minded force of destruction, our eyes locked on the woman we love and the monster who stole her.
39
RYKER
The sting is a familiar song. A sharp, high note, followed by the dull, throbbing chorus of blood welling to the surface.
I’m strapped to an X-shaped cross in the center of a room that smells of bleach and fear, my shirt in tatters on the floor. Four men in the pristine black cloaks of the Paragons of Piss-ory circle me like vultures, their faces alight with a sickly delight, having removed their masks shortly after entering.
It’s obvious they don’t expect me to live long enough to identify them after the fact.
Dumb, arrogant fucks.
One of them, a man with weasel-like features and nervous hands, drags the tip of his blade across my ribs, not deep enough to kill, just deep enough to make it interesting.
I laugh. It’s a wet, ragged sound, but it’s genuine. The weasel flinches, his hand stilling.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I rasp, grinning through the pain. “This isn’t the first time someone’s tried to carve their initials into me. You’ll have to be more creative.”
Another one, a brute with a neck thicker than his head, backhands me across the face. My head snaps to the side, and I taste fresh blood. “Shut your mouth,” he snarls.
But I won’t. I’ve had worse. I’ve had bullets, beatings, and betrayals that cut deeper than any blade. Pain is an old friend. Fear, however, is a stranger I have no intention of meeting.
Somehow, some way, I’ll find a way to free myself. Then I’ll kill each and every one of these fucks before leaving to find Ellie. I don’t know where I am or what’s going on, but it’s obvious Aria has been made aware of our deception.
Ellie is in danger, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get to her. Fuck subterfuge.
The door to the room opens, and the four vultures immediately straighten, their playful cruelty replaced by rigid deference.
A man steps in.
He’s older than me, maybe mid-thirties, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that looks out of place in this dungeon of a room. He smells of expensive cologne and entitlement.
I know him, and the sight has rage whipping through me, clouding all rational thought.
Mr. Moreau.
I haven’t seen the pervy asshole since I beat the shit out of him and he skipped town.
I should’ve killed him. Would’ve, too, if we hadn’t been worried about the murder being traced back to us.
He circles me, his gaze clinical, appraising. He ignores the POP members, his eyes only for me, or rather, for what I represent.
“She’s a beautiful thing, isn’t she?” he says, his voice a smooth, cultured purr. “Ellie. I remember when I first saw her. Fire in her eyes. A spirit just waiting to be broken.”
He stops in front of me, and cold dread, far worse than the sting of the blades, seeps into my bones. “I’m her newest buyer,” he confesses, a small, proud smile on his lips. “And I’ve been waiting a damn long time to collect what I’m owed.”
Rage like I’ve never felt before streaks through me, crystallizing my blood. It descends across my vision in a red haze.
He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that fills the room. “I have a very particular evening planned for her. First, I’ll start with her hands. I want to see those pretty fingers wrapped around a blade as I teach her the price of defiance. Then I’ll move on to that mouth. I’ll fuck it until she can’t scream, and then I’ll fuck what’s left of her spirit until she’s just a hollow, trembling thing, begging for the mercy I’ll never give.”
