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His grin deepens when his eyes lift to mine.
My eyes squint around smoke. “Ever heard of a blood eagle?”
His smirk falls as fast as his son’s ass did over that pole.
Someone whistles from behind me. “Damn.”
“Jesus. You’re right. They’re worse.” I hear Dad shuffle back in his chair.
“Flip him to his stomach.”
I grab my hoodie from the back collar, pulling it over my head. I turn around to toss it onto the patio, when Halen’s hand comes to mine.
She blinks up at me, taking it and folding it over her arm before slowly placing it onto the step. I think I hold my breath, waiting to follow her lead and afraid I’ll do something to fuck it up.
Her fingers flex at the hem of my white T-shirt, tugging it over my body until my arms fall to my sides. She places a gentle kiss over my chest, before lowering down onto the step that meets the grass. I don’t know if I want her this close, but I know she’s not to be argued with.
All noise in the background ceases to exist as I stare at Callihan’s bare back. Hair sprouts from his skin, and I tap the wooden pump with my foot, lowering his body to my level.
He tugs on the chains again around his wrists, lifting his face from the wood, but I press the sharp end of my blade against the nape of his neck, just enough to break the skin.
Blood trickles over my arm as I continue with the incision, trailing all the way down until I hit the bottom of his tailbone.
Show. Fucking. Time.
Using the knife, I make a four-point cut from across his shoulders, and to the lower level of his back. When it looks like a capital I, I bite down on the bloody handle of my knife as I bury my fingers beneath his skin. Lumps of fat get in the way, but I manage to separate his skin enough to start.
Once I’m sure I have enough of a grip, I give one forceful tug, and the skin on his back rips open, tearing away from the meat of his muscles.
His head bends at an unnatural angle, as the convulses start vibrating through him and his pale body goes limp.
I stagger backward, sucking in a deep breath as the adrenaline bounces around inside my body like a damn ping-pong ball. I can feel the erratic beating of my heart slow to an exhausted thud. As if all of the rage and anger that I harnessed over time has finally beaten down a door and used it as an outlet.
“Bravo! Just—” Belial stands from his chair, clapping his hands loudly with a wide grin. “That’s—” He gestures to the display. “Art! Both of them!”
“Jesus,” Bishop cusses, standing to his full height. I still haven’t leveled back out when he pulls me into his arms, slapping my back.
“You good?” I don’t miss the worry lines between his brows, but there’s something more there.
Pride.
We’ve killed people before. Many times. Most of them personally, enemies of ours. I don’t take a life lightly, it’s always personal. If you’ve touched, tried to claim, or threatened what’s mine, I’d put a bullet between your eyes faster than your neurons can signal your next thought process. But this is different. The weight of emotion hardens on my shoulders the more time passes.
This kill wasn’t senseless.
It wasn’t because of some dumb shit our enemies had done, or wandered into in the middle of a game that no one should know about.
This was personal. Not because they touched what’s mine, but because they fucking touchedher.The weight of her tormentis heavy, but I’ll fucking carry it for the rest of my life if it means that she never has to.
Dad ruffles my hair playfully, but I can’t find it in me to smile. I don’t feel fucking proud. I don’t even feel good. Because this doesn’t take away the fact that they did this to her. They hurt her.
My jaw tenses as I feel that same anger temper down my arms and fizzle through my fingertips. This isn’t good. I need to collect myself.
Before I can conjure up a plan, Hector pulls me in by the back of my neck until my forehead rests against his. “Proud of you, son. You took care of family. You did what needed to be done.” I did everything but what mattered. Protect her at the time.
My chest swells and my skin dampens from the beads of sweat, but I nod, before dipping out from beneath him without being obvious. I don’t want anyone, much less her, to see how fucked up I am. This is a weakness. I hate hard, fuck hard, love hard, but rage? Pain? I feel that shit just as hard.
Champagne corks pop off in the background and the backs of my eyes turn hot. Every second that I’m here, I feel the penetration of those parting words sink further and further into my flesh. It’s only a matter of time before they get all the way in. Then I’ll detonate.
