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I flex my hands and welcome the burn from the cuts covering them. The pain is the main reason I use my fists. It’s the only time I feel something. It’s an odd sensation living your life in the abyss, unsure if you’re there or not. I float in the world, existing, not able to forget or move forward because the reality is I never rose from the ashes like a phoenix. Instead, I withered in the flames.
She looks fuckin’ scared. It’s what I wanted, to make Bella Lombardi suffer along with her daughter.
Then why didn’t you kill her
I was going to kill her. Leave her lifeless body in a heap beside her useless mother. But seeing the terror in this girl’s eyes does something to me—not enough to allow me to let her go, but enough for me to know I’m an asshole for it. Acknowledging myself as a piece of shit isn’t anything new. I kill for a living; I take for a living, but this is the first time I’m going to take from someone that doesn’t deserve it.
Anissa Lombardi. She’s got Bella’s eyes, same almond shape, long lashes, but where Bella’s hair was gold and gray, Anissa’s is a warm chocolate brown. She doesn’t appear to be a ruthless piece of trash. I hoped I’d see Bella staring back at me in her dark eyes, but all I saw was genuine horror. It’s funny because that’s the same way I used to glare at her mother.
She probably doesn’t even know who or what her mother was. By the looks of her, Bella sheltered the shit out of her, keeping her locked safe and sound in her tower while she took advantage of other people’s kids.
Pressure builds in my hands and my knuckles turn white from their death grip on the steering wheel. I can hear the wild beating of my heart in my ear like the loud melody of hand drums, heavy, hypnotic, and consuming. There’s blood covering my body from the lives taken by my cracked and bloodied hands. My heart feels relief from finally shedding myself of Bella and the torture she inflicted on not just me but on many. I wanted to scream my name at her as she died in a bloodbath, but the moment she said my name, I just wanted it over. All my plans went out the window. All I wanted was for her to die. I should have made it slow and torturous, but the idea of being in a room with her longer than necessary was nauseating.
The bitch sold her own kid down the river to save her ass. They gave her a choice to lose her position of power or put her kid up on the auction block. Apparently, power had more value than her own flesh and blood. The only problem is that we got to her first. I’m sure the little princess back there thinks her mother is this beacon of virtue, but she’s a treacherous, vile, abusive bitch. The world is better without her breathing in it.
A soft whimper escapes from the backseat. I glance in the rearview mirror, but only the road behind me is visible. She hasn’t tried to move, still huddled in the backseat, hoping it’s a vivid nightmare. She’s too scared to breathe right now, her brain working on all cylinders, paralyzed by fear and dread. I have firsthand knowledge of fear, knowing you’re trapped with a monster, uncertain what they will do to you. I’ve had those same nightmares. Positive if I made myself small, if I stayed quiet, they wouldn’t find me, couldn’t hurt me. But monsters always find you.
I pull up to my cabin and turn off the ignition. A log home that I built with my own hands. My brother Ciaran thought it was crazy when I took on the project. I lived in a tent for the first two weeks.
I think for Ciaran, the beauty of solitude is nonsensical. He likes people. At least he knows how to interact with them, mask his true nature and hide his darkness from prying eyes. He’s carved out a persona for himself, the charmer, the lovable lunatic. I can’t put on an act. Perhaps they forced me to for so long that now I just want to bask in the silence and live in the quiet. The less I’m around people, the better because trying to act sane when you’re anything but is exhausting.
So my house is secluded, someplace away from the world and the bustle of noise. I don’t have to pretend with anyone here. I can be calm, alone with my thoughts. Here, I don’t examine why I’m deranged, why violence and pain soothe me. Here, I’m free.
I shouldn’t have brought her here, to my home, my refuge, but I need to think, and this is the only place where I can do that without distractions. Whatever her outcome, I will make sure that Anissa suffers, too.
