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“Storm, take her,” Brax calls over to us.
“I need to find Riley,” Storm answers back, rushing to free the final knot from around my wrists.
“Brax?” Grace shakes her head at him in confusion.
“I said, get her out of here. If your sister is here, I’ll find her.” Brax ignores Grace and moves his stern eyes to Storm, daring him to argue.
I look back over to Screwy. He has my trainer on his knees now, and he drags him by his hair across the floor like a disobedient dog until he lands him at my feet.
“Is this the man who hurt you?” he asks, and I look down at the man on his knees. The man who I used to fear so greatly. Screwy’s knuckles are white from where he clings so tight to his hair.
“Yes.” I look my trainer straight in the eyes as I answer because I know what his sentence will be. This man will never hurt me, ever again, not even while I sleep.
“Get Lydia out of here too,” Squealer calls over to Storm, who’s busy trying to drag Grace out the door.
“Brax!” She’s calling out her man’s name desperately, struggling to get free, but Brax ignores her. He’s too busy laying into a wounded guard who’s attempting to get up from the floor.
“Don’t worry. I got her.” I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder and automatically flinch until I realize it’s Troj. He has Shaniya sheltered under his other arm, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyes blank. This must be so traumatic for her.
“No, Lydia stays,” Screwy shocks me when he speaks to the others. His eyes remaining fixed on the man who, for so many years, caused me pain.
“She’s gonna watch this.”
“Come on, I got ya, darlin’.” Troj turns to his wife, scooping her up in his arms, and carrying her out the door that they came through to join Storm and a very unwilling Grace.
“Me and Brax got things covered here,” Screwy tells his brother. “You and Grimm go look for Storm’s sister.”
“Ummm. I think Grimm’s kinda busy.” Squealer’s head nods toward the corner of the room where Grimm has Rogue pinned in the corner. His jeans rest under his ass, and her legs are wrapped around his hips. She has a bloody knife in one hand and digs the nails of her other into his bare ass cheek as he thrusts in and out of her.
“You know how they get,” Squealer shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Where’s Clara?” I look around the room, starting to panic when I don’t see her anywhere.
“Clara?” Squealer looks confused.
“She helped me when I was here before. She tried to help all of us.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find your friend,” Squealer promises. Another gun goes off, and when I follow its sound, I see Brax tucking it back into his holster and walking away from another dead body on the floor.
“Got what I needed outta him.” He casually drops three bloody fingers on the floor in front of my trainer.
“Verretti left and took any girls he had here with him. Come on, Squeal, let’s go find Jess.”
They leave together through the doors into the hall, and when I look to the corner where Grimm and Rogue were, I notice they’ve gone too. The only people left in the room are me, Screwy, five dead guards, and my trainer.
“Lydia,” Screwy’s voice commands my attention. “Look at him.” His eyes direct mine to look at the man on the floor. “You see how scared he is? What a wreck of a human being he really is.”
I nod my head as tears fill my eyes, and I take in the overwhelming situation.
“I made a bad decision today, and I’ll do everything I can to make it right.” Screwy takes out his knife and presses the tip of his blade against my trainer's neck. “This man will never hurt you or anyone else ever again,” he promises, his forearm tensing as he forces the dagger down through my trainer’s clavicle.
I gasp, not out of horror, but at the relief, I get from seeing the pain on his face. I watch the upper half of his body drop to the ground as Screwy presses his boot into his shoulder and draws the knife back out, and offers it to me.
“I can finish him. Or you can,” Screwy tells me, ignoring the loud noises of pain that are coming from my trainer as he tries to slide away from us.
He flaps like a fish out of water, his blood draining onto the floor, and my hands shake as I take the handle of the knife from Screwy. I’ve never seen myself as a hateful person or one that would wish to hurt another. But as a montage of all the times he hurt me reels out in my head, I have no hesitation in plunging the knife deep into the heart of the man who caused all my misery. It feels good to break through his flesh and hear his pain. So I do it again, then again, and again until the screams don’t come from him anymore.
The knife slips out of my bloody hands, and I spit at the body beneath me as Screwy helps me back to my feet. He holds me tight to his chest, and his hands smooth through my hair as he kisses the top of my head.
