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I take a look around to see Xavier rising off the ground where the guy that was supposed to be Baseball Cap’s backup lies unconscious. Xav has the guy’s gun in his hands. I didn’t even hear them fight. My arm hurts like a bitch, but I try and ignore it, watching as the pathetic piece of shit beneath me chokes on blood, red staining his yellow teeth.
I can see everything I lost in his eyes.
Lexie.
Possibly Dia.
“Finn.” There’s a hint of worry in my best friend’s voice.
“Which one was it, huh? Which one of your disgusting fucking hands touched her?” I lob the knife away and flip the bastard around, blood dripping down my wrists. I straddle his back, pinning both of his arms to each side of his body.
He starts to beg, choking down apologies, the blood in his mouth muffling every word.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I take pleasure in his misery.
“Dude, he’s had enough,” Xavier intervenes.
I ignore him.
“Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to take them both.”
He’s twisting beneath me, trying to escape his fate, but I have him helpless and vulnerable—just like she was. I scan my surroundings and spot a heavy-ass brick coming apart from the crumbling building just inches to my left.
Score.
“This is for Lexie.”
The grown man screams like a little girl when I smash his knuckles with the brick. I can’t stop myself, eating up his agony, his whimpers, the sound of his bones breaking.
“This is for touching her,” I add, and repeat my actions until all of his fingers are fucked-up. I feel myself fade with each passing second.
It’s the blood.
I’ve lost too much.
Still, I keep going. I’m about to divert my focus to his other hand when I feel Xavier pulling me off the guy’s body.
I’m too weak to fight him.
Just like I was too weak to fight for her.
But not anymore.
“You touch her again, I’ll cut them off. Do you fucking hear me?” I shout as Xavier drags me to the car against my will.
Xavier throws my ass into the back seat of my car and plops down onto the driver’s seat before charging out of there at maximum speed. My leather seats are immediately covered in blood, and I fall onto my back to avoid looking at the wound.
“Did you get it?” I ask.
“Yes, I got it, you fucking psycho.” Xavier sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, his other hand on the wheel.
Then he stops the recording. His disapproval of my methods makes me laugh, but it doesn’t dim my relief in the slightest.
Because I won.
I got my revenge.
I got my confession.
And now?
Now I get my girl back.
