by S. Nelson
“I can’t,” she cried, clutching the covers beneath her chin. “I don’t…” She shook her head, her fingers gently brushing over the bandage on her cheek.
“Please, baby. I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me who did this.”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you describe any of them?”
Repeated breaths left her body before she spoke again, her voice breaking with every word. “The one who cut… he was bald, no facial hair, forties or fifties and had…” She cleared her throat on a cough. “Had a red mark here.” Zoe pointed to her right temple. “It looked like a Z.”
“That’s good. That’s good,” I repeated. “Anyone else?”
“There were a few of them.”
“Did they… did they all….” I couldn’t finish my question.
“No.” She spoke swiftly, her answer paining her. “The other guy who… he was thin, had short dark hair.” Her hand shook when she raised it to her forehead. “He had a receding hairline.” Then her fingers trailed over her cheek, then down to her neck. “He had tattoos all over. Skulls and daggers.” Griller. She took a breath, then another. “There was another one, but I didn’t see his face. It was dark. He didn’t smell…” Her lips pressed together, trapping her words in her throat, her nostrils flaring slightly with the release of air. “He didn’t smell like the other two.”
I stared at her for the longest minute, willing myself not to react, counting to ten over and over to calm myself to the point I could speak without shouting. Every muscle in my body spasmed with the need to hurt someone, my hands twitching as I forced my lungs to expand and deflate.
Zoe lowered her head. “Please don’t look at me.” Her tears spilled over and it took everything not to draw her into my arms and hold her close. “He said you wouldn’t want… want me now. He made sure of it.” Hiccups followed her mini outburst, her sadness streaming down her cheeks in rivers.
“What are you talkin’ about?” My heart pumped furiously, the air in my lungs punched from my body.
Zoe closed her eyes, flinching when I touched her arm. On top of everything she endured, now she was worried about me not wanting her?
Her lids popped open, and while she’d been hunkered down in bed, timid and unsure, exhausted, and scared, she tossed the covers off her and moved toward the other end of the mattress, hissing and grimacing. She moved so fast I was unable to stop her. When she planted her feet on the ground, she held on to the poster of the bedframe, wobbling a little on her feet. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if she realized she was naked, but when she looked down at herself, then back up at me, her lower lip trembling in realization or remembrance, all I could do was wait.
For her to move.
For her to say something else.
For her to fall to the ground in defeat.
There was no more waiting on my end when a sob tore from her lips, her body folding into itself. She hung on to the wooden column for dear life, but soon her fingers slipped away, and she stumbled backward. I never moved so fast in my entire life, catching her as she was about to crash into the wall.
I cradled her body, pressing her into me as best I could without hurting her. “Let me help you.” She mumbled something against my shirt, but I couldn’t understand her. “What?” I pulled back a fraction so I could see her face. Pushing back the strands of hair shielding her from me, I repeated my one-word question.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” Desperation and confusion battled behind her pale green eyes. “Why… why didn’t you tell me what they’d do if they got me?”
“I couldn’t tell you the specifics, but I tried to—”
“You should’ve told me,” she shouted as best she could, her voice raspy. She pulled back before I could stop her, her hands flying, catching my cheek before they balled into fists and crashed against my chest. Over and over, she pounded on me and I stood there and took it. She needed to expel everything, and I absorbed each blow of her unbridled anguish.
Zoe crumbled to the floor in exhaustion, crying harder than before. She pulled her knees into her chest and locked them to her body, her face buried, hidden from me.
My knees hit the carpet next to her, my arm suspended in the air because I wasn’t sure what to do next.
“I hate you,” she whispered. Those three words pierced my ear, loud and fucking clear.
It’d been decades since I cried, the tear drifting down my face foreign yet poignant. I lowered my arm, another tear escaping to join the first. Sadness filled my heart, while rage filled my soul.
“Zoe.” I struggled to find the words, or the air to produce them.
“Just leave.” I wanted so badly to see her eyes, but she never picked her head up from between her knees. “Leave.”
The sound that escaped her mouth tore me apart. Pure and unadulterated agony. She was in so much pain, physically as well as emotionally, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help her, other than try and be there for her in any way she needed.
But she hated me, she said so herself. She blamed me for what happened to her, but she wasn’t alone. I blamed myself for allowing them the opportunity to get their hands on her.
Right then, all my reservations fell away at the thought of traveling back to the farm, and while I didn’t want to leave her side, even after she told me to, I needed to eradicate Dutch from the face of this earth.
And I’d make sure he suffered until his last breath.
45
I’d never been so lost inside my own head before, every emotion I’d ever experienced battling with the next. My attempts to surrender to the darkness didn’t work, and I drifted in and out of sleep, the line separating my nightmares from my foggy reality blurred until I barely recognized what was real.
I heard Addy before I saw her, my eyes shut tightly until I couldn’t stand the void any longer.
“I need you to eat something, honey.” She perched on the edge of the bed; a bowl cradled in her hands. The aroma made my stomach rumble, but devouring whatever contents were inside was the last thing on my mind. All I wanted to do was close my eyes again and try to forget, at least for a little while. Even as the wish formed, I realized I’d never be able to escape what happened to me in that place. The marks on my body and my soul tethering me forever to those men in the worst way possible.
My stomach flipped and I covered my mouth quickly before pushing Addy out of the way, rushing to the bathroom as best I could without tripping over my feet. Crashing to my knees, I gathered as much of my hair as I could to one side, bracing myself over the toilet with my free hand. My body wanted to flush out the contents of my stomach, but dry heaves were the only expulsion I could manage. I pressed my cheek to the cool floor tile after I was sure nothing was coming back up.
Addy had found an oversized T-shirt in one of the bedroom’s closets, the soft material hiding my nakedness.
“Come on,” Addy urged softly, hoisting my limp body from the bathroom floor. I wanted to fight her, to beg her to leave me alone, but my exertion had been depleted.
As I passed the large vanity mirror, I refused to look at myself for fear I’d see one of them behind me.
In front of me.
On top of me.
Inside me.
The soft thick carpet cushioned my feet on my trek back to the king-sized bed, my body folding under the covers Addy held open for me. I welcomed every slice of physical pain because it forced my brain to refocus. She retook her seat next to me and reached for the bowl once more.
“I’m not hungry.” I rolled onto my side, looking out the large window, nothing but black night staring back at me.
“You have to eat something.”
I shook my head even though I didn’t think she saw the motion. Minutes of silence passed before she stroked my arm, but instead of accepting her gesture of comfort, I flinched. Would I ever allow another soul to touch me without fear?
“Okay. I’ll leave this here in case you change your min
d.”
The soft click of the door closing was the next sound I heard. My eyes fluttered closed, needing the solace of sleep to soothe me, even though my heart thrashed against my rib cage at the thought of not being able to control my mind from drifting back to that place.
46
On the ride back to the farmhouse, I managed to calm myself down enough to focus on what needed to be done. What happened when I was eighteen couldn’t be classified as an accident, per se, but beating a man to death certainly hadn’t been planned. But this time was gonna be different.
My encounter with the piece of shit who dared to put his hands on Zoe would be purposeful. I’d look him in the eyes when I tortured him. I’d hear him beg me to stop. But I wouldn’t, not until his heart ceased to beat.
After killing the engine, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, images of Zoe bombarding me. While I didn’t want to picture what they’d done to her, I needed the full impact of my rage to resurface. Without it, I feared I’d end up killing Dutch quickly, and I couldn’t let that happen. He needed to pay dearly. I wanted him to experience the horror, the pain, and the despair he inflicted on her.
A knock on my window startled me, my eyes locking on Marek, who stood outside the driver side door. He stepped back so I could exit, his gray shirt covered in blood.
“You hurt?” He didn’t look injured, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t.
“No.” He looked down at himself quickly. “Not mine.” His attention was then on my injured leg. “You good?”
“Yeah. Clean exit. Addy patched me up.” I looked toward the house, then the barn, noticing the dead Reapers that had been on the ground before I left weren’t here anymore. “Where are the bodies?”
“In there.” He pointed toward the barn before giving me his back and walking toward the large doors. “Come on. Someone’s waitin’ for you.”
Apprehension coursed through my veins, not because I was hesitant on whether I wanted to kill Dutch, but because I wasn’t sure ending him would dissolve the fury burning me up inside.
As soon as I entered, I saw Stone and Ford standing off to the right, thankful the both of them were okay. But when I got closer, I noticed that half of the VP’s white shirt was painted red.
He saw me looking and the bastard smirked. “Lucky shot one of ’em got.” He lifted the material and I saw a small hole in his side, the blood trickling out slowly. I was about to ask him how he wasn’t clutching his side, but then remembered the lucky bastard didn’t feel pain.
“You tell your wife about that?” I gestured up and down the side of him.
“Not yet.” The faintest smirk danced across his face before his expression hardened, He stepped aside and jerked his chin to the other side of the barn. “Let’s get to work.” His words were casual, like we weren’t here to torture and kill another human being.
Scratch that, referring to Dutch as such was an insult to humanity. The man was an animal. No, even that reference was an insult to that species.
He was garbage, through and through.
A waste of cells and skin.
I followed him and the others behind the van, stopping in my tracks when everything came into view. There was a pile of dead Reapers in the corner, six to be exact.
Ford answered my unspoken question. “There’s four more in the house and two in the woods, about fifty yards out.”
I couldn’t think of a response, my only focus now on the bloodied man tied to one of the posts. The same man I shot when I entered the room where the women were being kept. Had I obtained the information then as to who he was, I would’ve put a bullet in his brain before leaving. Although, part of me was thankful things turned out as they had, because now I could exact a slow and painful justice for Zoe.
“Dutch,” I said, simply verifying his identity from the description Zoe gave me of the man who cut her. Marek nodded, adding another level of confirmation.
The Reaper’s arms were tied behind his back, his feet free, his body limp and his head hanging forward. Blood coated his tan shirt near his right shoulder, and when I glanced down his body, there was red painting his left leg, both places where I’d shot him.
My feet propelled me forward until I was directly in front of him. His skin was pale, no doubt from blood loss, and at first I thought he was unconscious, but when he made a noise, then spit at my feet, a glob of red hitting the tip of my brown boot, I knew he was awake.
Too bad for him.
Dutch raised his head and locked eyes with me. A shiver raced down my back, and it was then I realized I was looking into the face of true evil. His eyes were black, the smirk lifting the corners of his mouth an indication I was surely going to hear some shit I didn’t want to.
“I can see why you like that redhead.” He fell into a coughing fit before continuing, his features contorting in pain when he tried to move his injured arm. “She’s a sweet fuck.” I watched his lips move with the words, but it took my brain several seconds to register what he’d said.
His head snapped to the side from the brute force of my hit. A string of bloody spit hung from his lip, his body convulsing with another bout of coughing. Between the air he sucked into his lungs, he laughed, the sound sinister, bolstering my anger to morph into an emotion more powerful than rage.
“Keep talkin’ and he’s gonna draw this out for as long as possible.” Stone stepped forward and glared at the strung-up man. “Not that any of us are opposed.” Dutch could’ve remained silent and I still would’ve prolonged his death. Our VP turned toward me. “Too bad Cutter’s not here. I’m sure he’d love to show you how it’s done.” The mention of the ol’ man distracted me briefly, but my focus was brought back a moment later when Dutch decided to taunt me once more.
“Did you like my handiwork?” More blood spilled from his mouth, the dirt turning crimson from the droplets. “Every time you look at the bitch, you’ll think of me.”
My arms swung forward at full force, knocking his head back from the swift upper cut, then another blow landed on his ribs, his grunts cascading over the tip of my temper with ease. While he dangled there, waiting for my next bout of anger, I frantically looked around the space. I didn’t know what I was in search of, but I’d know it when I saw it.
Pressing my thumb into the bullet wound on his shoulder, Dutch howled in pain. “Don’t you fuckin’ mention her.” I walked away, rifling through the heaps of garbage strewn all over, an old wrench tossed aside when I decided it was useless.
Then a wooden handle caught my eye, and as I drew the tool out from underneath a stack of old newspapers, I smiled.
Tapping the flat side of the machete against my leg, I made the short journey back to Dutch, his eyes opening and closing rapidly, his stare bouncing from me to the weapon I held at my side.
“I like when they fight.” Heavy breaths fell from his mouth. “And she didn’t disappoint.”
I thought I heard Stone say something behind me, but I couldn’t be sure.
Don’t let him get in your head. Zoe is safe now. I repeated those eleven words over and over, bringing the blade up to meet his chest. With a bit of pressure, not so much as I’d end him right here, right now, I sliced his skin apart. He twitched, glaring at me, as if he couldn’t believe I’d done it. A second swipe to his other side caused him to gasp, narrowing his eyes even more.
“I’m gonna do to you what you did to her.” Three additional swings of the machete, this time to above his waist, spilled more blood.
“You’re gonna stick your dick in my ass,” he garbled, laughing maniacally right before I brought my arm back, my anger overriding my barely controlled calm. The blade was buried in his side two seconds later, stuck so deep I had to tug on the weapon to free it. “Fuck you!” Dutch screamed as loud as he could manage, breathing hard and jolting against the rope holding him upright. “Untie me. Or are you not man enough to give me a fightin’ chance?” His words were choppy, but I heard most of them. Even without the weapon in my hand
, Dutch was no match for me. For starters he was at least twenty years my senior, not to mention I had a good six inches and about fifty pounds of muscle on him. In no world would a fight between us be fair, not that he ever deserved such a thing. The only thing he deserved was exactly what was happening to him right now.
But then I had a thought, one which might work to our advantage if he fell for it. “I’ll tell you what. If you tell us where your buddy Griller is, I’ll untie you. Let you try and defend yourself.” Surprise didn’t cover the emotion I felt at managing to keep my tone calm and even keeled.
“Untie me first.”
“No. You tell us what we wanna know, then I’ll do it.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t care.”
I could see the cogs turning in his evil mind, weighing the options, as if he had many to begin with. He was losing a lot of blood, and if he didn’t speak up soon, I feared he was gonna perish before I had my fill of payback.
“There’s a cab… cabin about five miles east. He stays there sometimes.”
“We’re on it,” Stone said, Ford falling in step until they disappeared from the barn.
“We’ll wait to see if you’re tellin’ the truth.” Marek’s words mirrored the ones in my head. He pulled me aside, out of earshot from Dutch. “You sure you can handle this?” He looked down at my hand holding the blade. It was shaking. “I can do it if you want, but I don’t wanna take this from you if you’re okay to continue.”
There was no way I was letting anyone kill Dutch other than me, and if the guys found Griller, I’d ask to do those honors as well. Although Linc might be pissed he didn’t get a chance to fuck him up a bit before ending him.
The time it took for Stone and Ford to contact us as to whether Dutch told the truth were the longest minutes of my life, twenty to be exact. Our VP texted Marek that they had him in their sights and asked if he wanted him to kill him outright or bring him back here. Prez went with the second option. And since there was a good chance Griller was still in the dark about the attacks since we hit all three locations at the same time, barely allowing anyone time to react, let alone call someone, his takedown might be relatively easy.
