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“Yes.”
Anger fueled the flames inside me again, and any fury that had been extinguished was reignited. I thought about Jonas, my sweet Jonas, in a conversion camp, and I curled my hand into a fist, storming over to him and smashing my knuckles into his cheek. His head went flying backward and he shrieked in pain, but I did it again and again until my skin was splattered with his blood. The violence didn’t help my mood and neither did his yells of agony.
“Where. Is. Jonas?” My chest rose and fell with exertion, and I curled my hands into fists again, fingers sticky with his blood. “Tell me and I won’t make it hurt.”
John managed to raise his head and glare. “I won’t let you corrupt my son.”
I shook my head and thrust my knuckles into his jaw, which I heard crack under the force.
Undertaker laughed somewhere behind me. “Well, you could do it that way. I guess with your bare hands issatisfying.”
Blood spurted from John’s mouth, splattering across the wooden floor, and he whimpered.
“Tell me,” I yelled.
“No.No!” He started to recite some prayer, and I growled in frustration.
I held out my hand in Undertaker’s direction without looking at him. “Give me something.”
Undertaker cackled and cold metal touched my palm. I glanced at the tool—a hammer. “Start by breaking his fingers. Put each one on the chair’s arm and bring that bad boy down on his knuckles.”
John’s eyes widened and he struggled against his bonds. “No.”
“See if God can help you get out of this,” I snarled. I didn’t get near him before he was crying out.
“Wait. Wait. It’s down near the border, across from Del Rio in Texas. I’ll give you the address. Please. It’s called Mercy’s Christian Rehabilitation Camp.” And he gave me exactly what I wanted with the location, right down to instructions on how to get there. It was crazy how fast he broke, but I wasn’t surprised. He was a coward.
I smirked and swung the hammer in my hand. “Oh, this isn’t over yet,John. You and God are going to meet.” I stepped forward. I would start with his fingers like Undertaker had suggested.
By the time I was done, John’s head hung backward. His fingers were broken and bent, his teeth shattered, face bruised and battered, and neck sliced open. Blood flooded the front of his pajama shirt and pants, and it was a mess across my clothes and skin, too.
Scar whistled. “Nothing better than a sliced neck.”
Undertaker rolled his eyes. “It would’ve been more fun my way. I had all the tools to remove his heart.”
“Not everything is about you, Timmy,” King said from where he leaned against the doorjamb. “All right. We got a location, so let’s get ready. Tim, can you deal with the body?”
Undertaker winked. “Of course.” He blew a kiss at King, then fluttered the tips of his fingers.
King pointed at me with a grimace. “You need a shower. The one upstairs works. Get out of those clothes and give them to Tim. Then wash off the blood. Scar will get you something to wear. Then we’ll get our shit together and head out.”
I stared down at the dead body, as content as I expected to be after killing the man who had emotionally tortured Jonas. Maybe I should’ve ended his mother, too. If she pushed Jonas, she would be next.
“How long will it take us to get there and bust him out?” I asked.
King shrugged. “Few days to get there by bike, and then we need to watch them, figure out their weak points and ways to get in.”
“We should burn the entire camp down,” I whispered, unemotionally.
King stared at me and the corner of his lip quirked. “That’s not such a bad idea, Prospect. Those camps deserve to be destroyed.”
I turned my head and the feeling of blood was sticky on my skin. “Let’s fucking light it up.”
Undertaker laughed. “Ah, yes, I like him.” He walked over and booped me on the nose with a grin, and I had no fucking clue what to do with that because it was cute but also deeply creepy. He looked at the tip of his finger, and I realized it was bloody. “Let’s go. We have things to do,” he said crisply. “No rest for the wicked.”
12
JONAS
