Page 124 of A New Days Don

Visions of Vicek’s terrorized face tether me to this reality as I slip the knife Massimo gave me from my calf. He’s too distracted with the prospect of seeking out his ritual of rape and murder that he doesn’t realize I have a weapon in my hand. Even as his hands pull my pants, trying to shred them from my body, my hand, trapped at his side, firmly grips the sheath and plunges it into him.

The first stab is weak, barely cutting through his shirt, skin, and bone, but psychosis fuels Vicek while adrenaline fuels me. I stab again, this time lower, puncturing the tender tissue near his kidneys and intestines.

The squelch is almost as satisfying as the shout of pain that rasps from Vicek. Almost as satisfying as the shock. Almost as satisfying as the fear as I roll us over, straddling his body, and plunging the knife into his abdomen.

Almost as satisfying as every last strike.

With each stab, his white shirt stains with red blotches. With each stab, the screaming of my younger self silences. With each stab, I think of Jazzy, Cleo, Maeve, Samiera, and all the other victims.

As the peace washes over me, Vicek’s long-dead eyes are fixed in fear of what he saw waiting for him on the other side.

“Well, well, well,” The strange voice makes me pounce from Vicek, my hands now coated in his blood, I aim the knife at the new face sauntering into the room. His skin is a beautiful golden colour, a deep tan that makes his green eyes shine almost vibrantly. He isn’t wearing anything flashy, but something about the way he carries himself tells me I have skirted danger only to walk straight into the lion’s den.

The golden man smiles, his teeth are almost blindingly white, “Mila,”

The way he sighs on my name tells me everything I need to know. Vicek was never the real threat in this house. He may be a rapist and killer, but the golden man before me is an apex predator. Someone far more calculated than the sloppy acts of a narcissistic sociopath like Vicek.

“Has Massimo shown up yet?” the man muses, slowly making his way through the room with calculated steps.

Mas.

I don’t take my eyes off him as his eyes slowly trails down then back up my body, leaving a trail of awareness in their wake. I don’t answer his question. Instead, I ask one of my own, “Who are you?”

“You are so much prettier up close in person. No wonder you have Massimo wrapped around your finger.” I shudder as he brushes some of my hair that has fallen loose from the braid I am wearing. When I don’t respond, he walks away, “No matter, he will be here soon. Don’t do anything rash, Mila. You don’t want to miss the fun.”

His back is still to me, yet he called me out before I could even reach for my knife, “Oh,” he looks over his shoulder, “And my name is Thiago.”

Thiago.

As in T, from the unknown notes?

Thiago pushes a curtain to the side, and in that same moment, Massimo’s Audi and an SUV pull up. Thiago huffs, clearly not impressed, before putting a phone to his ear.

“He’s here with friends. Make sure Ren and the others don’t join us.” Thiago snaps. Through the window, I watch as several men wrap around the house. Massimo, Ren, Raphael, Adriano, and Caleb all pull out their guns before Massimo begins to snap at them. He looks feral, as if he is ready to rip their throats out with his bare hands, but Thiago doesn’t give him time.

“I believe I have the woman you’re looking for,” Thiago muses once the door is open. Thiago looks over his shoulder, his forest eyes meeting mine, “C’mon, Raven, call for your man.”

The muscle in my jaw flicks from how hard I am clenching my teeth, but I step forward as he has requested, if anything, to lay my eyes on Massimo. The second I see the fury in his dark eyes is the second I feel a blanket of peace cover me.

He’s here.

“Let her go!” Massimo snaps. Sand bursts around him as a large gust of wind blows toward us. As soon as his eyes land on me, his face pales.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, stepping into the house, and looking me up and down.

“It’s not my blood,” I whisper, my head starting to spin with the reality of my actions. Massimo’s eyes drift behind me to see the mess I left, and nausea churns in my stomach.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Massimo says without missing a beat, his eyes shining and my cheeks warm.

The last thing you ever expect your boyfriend to say is how proud he is of you for killing someone, but then again, Massimo is the furthest thing from normal.

“I’m over here.” Thiago growls as he pulls me closer, so I am pressed firmly to his chest. That breaks the spell between Massimo and I.

Massimo’s glare fixes on the current threat, “Get your fucking hands off my woman.”

Thiago tsks, his eyes dancing with intrigue, “Just how far will you go to ensure she lives? Would you trade your life for hers?”

The taunt is not lost on me. Massimo meets my gaze with the same calm of the man I saw torture and kill someone, and in this moment, as I stare into his unbreaking gaze, I understand him and the lengths he goes to. There is a war to maintain composure, to not let me see the depraved man that lives under his handsome exterior. I melt a little bit at the sight of him fighting his demons for me.