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I’m not going to rush and fuck it up now that I’m at the finish line.
I go in the bathroom and pull out my makeup, doing it carefully. I take care with every line, every smear of powder and swipe of color on my face. It has to be perfect. I’ve been waiting for too long for this not to be perfect.
And then, when I’m finally ready, I go down to the basement.
All of the men are gathered there, and they turn to look at me as my heels clatter on the stairs. They do a collective double-take when they see what I’ve done with my makeup.
A perfect skeletal skull on my face, grim and as realistic as I could make it.
Knox grins, taking it in and looking almost proud. “You look like an angel of death.”
I grin back at him, but then my gaze slides away from Knox to Ivan, and it’s like he’s the only one in the room I can see.
He’s chained up on the wall, like all the people who have the misfortune of ending up down here. Like that guy Knox and I tortured together. LikeIwas, what feels like forever ago. But unlike both of us, Ivan’s not leaving this basement alive.
He’s awake now, red in the face and clearly pissed off.
“You’ll regret this,” he snarls. “You must not know who I am. Or else you’re just dumb fucks who think you can get one over by kidnapping one of the most powerful men in the city. What do you want? Money? Power? You think snatching me will get you anything but a slow death? My people will have me out of here in no time. And then you’ll wish you never fucked with me.”
Ash rolls his eyes. “He’s been going on like that since he woke up,” he says. “Can you just kill him so he’ll shut the fuck up?”
“That’s the plan,” I say.
“You can’t kill me,” Ivan snaps. “I’m Ivan St. James. I own you.”
That specific wording strikes a chord with me, and I approach him, keeping my pace even. Leisurely.
He stares at me, yanking on the chains that hold him to the wall, anger in every movement and every line of his body.
“I know you don’t remember me,” I tell him, surprised by how calm and pleasant my voice sounds. The anger, the hatred, they’re still there, but none of it registers in this moment for some reason. “But I remember you.”
Ivan scoffs. “I don’t remember every whore I’ve ever fucked. Even if I didn’t get to fuck you.” The look on his face says that even though I kicked his ass, he might still want to fuck me.
Fucking disgusting.
“I’m not a whore,” I reply. “And treating women like shit is what got you in this mess in the first place. Do you want to know who I am?”
“Why would I care?” he snaps.
“My name is River,” I continue as if he didn’t say anything. “River Simone. My sister’s name was Hannah Simone. She’s dead now, but you know all about that, don’t you?”
There’s a moment where he looks confused, but then there’s a flicker of recognition on his face as he pieces it together. It’s been years, but I know he hasn’t forgotten.
The anger drains from him, leaving his eyes full of fear and his skin pale with the realization.
I fucking love it. It feeds the blackness in me. That little ball of anger and hate and thirst for revenge that’s been sitting in the pit of my stomach since the day I got away from Ivan and his fucking friends. I want him afraid. I want him desperate. I want him to know even just a taste of the misery and pain he put me and my sister through.
“That’s right,” I tell him. “You remember now, don’t you? You know, you’re down here talking shit about what a big man you are, but you’re really just a fucking coward. A spineless creep who has to live out sick fantasies to this day. As if you can’t get enough of it.”
“Y-you bitch,” he says, going for bravado, but just sounding like he’s going to piss himself any second. “You won’t get away with this. You’ll wish you’d died before when I’m done with you!”
I barely hear him.
Knox has already laid out the tools on the counter for me, but I ignore them. I’ve got my knife on me, like I always do, and I pull it from the little sheath, lifting it so Ivan can see it.
His eyes go wide, and before he can open his mouth, I start cutting him. I cut from ear to ear, slashing at the corners of his mouth, giving him a Glasgow smile and making sure he feels every slice.
Ivan screams in pain, blood pouring down his face.
