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My gaze travels over the face that looks so much like my mother’s, but as I look at her, all I see are the seven children who she kidnapped and tortured. I see the two little girls who scream in the middle of the night when the nightmares overwhelm them. I see Cruz’s brothers who have lost the youthful spark in their eyes, and I see King’s little brother and sister who haven’t dared step out of their home, locking themselves in the safety of their bedrooms because they’re too afraid of the monsters who lurk outside. Hell, Grayson’s brother is the only one who looks remotely okay, but it’s all an act. When nobody is around, I can see him shrinking back, the fears circling his mind on repeat.
My fingers curl around the hilt of my knife, freeing it from the holster at my thigh. For those seven children and for the lives that Paris has destroyed along the way, I’m going to take my sweet time.
I step over her, and in one quick movement, I drop down to my knees, straddling her hips as I stare down at her. She curses, the sudden weight of my body tearing at her open wound. I press my finger to the tip of the knife and spin it before lowering the edge to the bullet wound at her waist.
Inching my blade into the bullethole, a twisted smile spreads across my lips as she screams. “I bet this hurts, huh?”
She doesn’t respond, but I didn’t expect her to, so instead of bothering with conversation, I dig the knife a little deeper and listen to the sweet sounds of the gunshots above fading to nothing.
“ELLIE?” Grayson calls out. “YOU OKAY?”
“More than okay,” I say, my stare lingering on Paris.
The boys thunder down the stairs and my gaze shifts over each of them, seeing they’re all perfectly fine as they do exactly the same to me, picking up their pace as they see the blood trickling down my arm.
“You’re hurt,” King rushes out.
“It’s fine,” I tell them, turning back to Paris and yanking out the knife. “It’s nothing a few stitches won’t fix.”
They reach the bottom step and make their way toward me, but before they can even ask my plan of attack, I slam the knife down hard against her stomach, plunging the knife deep until I feel the tip digging into the floorboards beneath. “THIS,” I cry, “IS FOR MY FATHER.”
The knife is yanked out and blood spurts from the wound, but I’m only just getting started. “AND THIS,” I yell, “IS FOR MY MOTHER.”
The knife comes down again, closer to her chest and I revel in the feel of the blade sinking lower and lower. Nothing has ever felt so good.
The guys stand back and watch, Carver and Grayson both with sick smirks on their faces, loving it more than any sane-minded person should. King looks chill with the situation while my precious Cruz looks as though he’s about to call the therapist on my behalf, but he’d never dream of taking this moment away from me.
The instant satisfaction that tears through me at the thought of getting retribution for my parents makes me feel like they’re here in the room with me, guiding my hand as I take from Paris what she took from them, but I’m not nearly done.
I bring the knife down seven more times, one for each of the boys’ siblings that suffered at her hands and just when life begins to fade from her eyes I look up at King and indicate for him to come closer.
His brows furrow, unsure of why I would need him when I clearly have the situation handled, and as I reach to his belt and take a grenade from him, understanding dawns. The guys move back, caution spreading through their gazes, but I keep my resolve strong, determined to end this the best way I know how.
Glancing back down at Paris, she follows my movements as she sees the grenade in my hand, she knows she’s fucked. “No, no,” she whispers, her voice breaking in despair.
My knife clatters to the ground beside me and I don’t miss the way that King presses his foot over it and slides it back across the ground to the guys, making sure that when we make a run for it, we’re not leaving anything behind.
The cops are bound to be here soon, along with the whole Ravenwood Heights Fire Department. There’s no way that the gunshots, explosions, and the body falling from the window would go unnoticed by the public. We only have a matter of minutes to get this done and I’m going to make them count.
Keeping my stare on Paris, a soft laugh bubbles out of me. “You never had a shot at Dynasty. You were never going to win and look at you now. It was all for nothing. You killed your own flesh and blood for nothing, you beat your daughter and tortured your niece. You could have come forward as my mother’s twin sister and I would have made sure that you never wanted for anything, but you don’t deserve to live. You deserve the most painful, excruciating end, and I’m more than happy to make it happen.”
