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“He whipped her. Welts two inches thick across her thighs.”
Odin’s face looks pained. He turns from me to his father. “Why? Why hurt her?”
“Why not? Isn’t she the one who broke us?”
“Mom decided to jump. She was sick. You know that. It had nothing to do with Madelena.”
“Like hell it didn’t.”
Odin’s jaw tenses. This is clearly an argument they’ve had before.
“For your part, you didn’t protect her,” I tell Odin, because he didn’t.
“I didn’t know,” he says, hanging his head and something in his stance, in the way he looks, it’s almost broken, like this was a step too far. It gets to me.
“Get him out of here,” I tell a soldier.
“No,” Odin says, straightening. He then turns to his father. “I will stand witness.”
“Interesting,” Caius says, picking up the hammer and weighing it.
I stalk toward the older man who, to his credit, doesn’t back away. “I asked you a question earlier. Is that the belt you used?”
He nods once.
“Take it off.”
His eyes narrow. I guess he thinks it’ll be an eye for an eye, that he’ll get off with a belt whipping.
That’s not how I operate. He will learn that tonight.
With an almost victorious grin, he unbuckles his belt, slips it from the loops, and dangles it out in front of me.
But I’m going to need my hands free. I gesture to a soldier, who takes it and remains standing directly behind him.
“You do not touch what is mine. You’re going to learn that tonight. Put your hands on the block.”
“If you’re going to whip me, go ahead. I won’t move. I’m no coward.”
“Put your hands on the block.”
“Fine, asshole,” he says with a shake of his head and a grin toward Odin. “Good opportunity to teach you how to take a fucking whipping like a man.”
I turn to Odin, whose eyes are locked on his father. Given what his father just said, it’s not the first time he’s hit them, like I had already guessed. I wonder if Odin stood between him and Madelena, but tonight isn’t the time for that. Tonight is to teach. “Just know that if I ever have to punish you for going against me, this will look like child’s play. You hear me?” I ask Odin.
Odin’s eyes are narrowed and still locked on his father, but he nods. Turning my back on them, I walk toward my brother, who grins and hands me the hammer.
“What the hell?” Marnix De Léon says when I turn back around. He draws his hands from the board just as I give a nod to the soldier, who hooks the belt around his throat and crosses it at the back of his neck. He tugs but not too tight—don’t want him getting off too easily. But it forces Marnix to clutch at it.
“I told you to put your fucking hands on the block!” I say, rage amplifying my voice. I grab hold of his right arm, force it onto the block, and drive a nail through the back of his hand, pinning it.
Marnix De Léon stills—then, a split second later, he screams.
Did she scream when he beat her? His own daughter, a woman half his size. Did she scream?
I raise the hammer and drive the nail in farther, then raise it again to bring it down on his hand once, twice, three times. I meant to aim for his thumb, but to be honest, I’m not that critical. He just keeps on screaming as I shatter the bones in his hand.
As abruptly as I began, as quickly, it’s over.
