Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Did this asshole hand Dracos the iron used to hurt my wife?" I ask through gritted teeth.
Marco's sadness is apparent as he shakes his head once. "I don't know. I wasn't here. I only got back in time to see to it she got medical care. If I had been here, that would've never happened to her."
I look at Dracos, but he stubbornly says nothing, arms crossed. He’s waiting for his death.
"Did you help mar my wife’s skin?"
"I didn't want to," Daniel cries. "Dracos made me."
"A real man would never have helped torture a child or a woman," I tell him. I look back at Marco. “Finish this or I will,” I growl.
Marco takes his gun out of the back of his slacks. He pops his neck and just as I thought he was going to shoot the asshole between the eyes. He lowers his gun and shoots him in the balls, three times. Daniel’s high-pitched scream rings out for mere seconds before the bastard slumps to the ground. He may not be dead yet, but with that wound and the way he’s bleeding, he will be soon.
"Get Dracos done, you have a fiancée to track down and I need to get back to my wife," I demand. I’m hoping to remind Marco that he has something better waiting for him. When there’s a black abyss this deep inside of someone’s soul, it is easy to get lost. I saw that recently with Niko. Emilia pulled him out of it. I hope Helena and Marco manage to form a similar bond. Lord knows my Melina has grounded me.
Marco grunts as he goes to the fireplace. He leans down and snags a glove off the hearth, pulling it onto his right hand. He grabs the smallest of the pokers while looking at Lodi and Gordon.
"Hold his face still and do not let him move."
He stands in front of his father—taunting him. "Let's start small, shall we, Father?"
I watch as he carefully brings the brand to his father's forehead. He’s being remarkably slow, probably wanting the pig to dread every small second. When it connects, however, the smell of burning flesh permeates the air, mingling with Dracos' cry of pain.
Marco puts the iron on the table, takes a knife out of his pocket, and walks around to his father’s back and slices open his shirt. He's not careful. Blood oozes out everywhere because he sliced the skin as well as the fabric.
Dracos is whimpering as sweat dots his body. There are beads of it dripping from his forehead and into the angry brand. I smile, enjoying the show more than I should probably. Marco returns, grabbing up the larger iron before standing in front of his father.
"Do you know what I always wondered? What this would do if it was over a man's heart. That'd be a lot of pain for an old man with a heart condition to withstand, wouldn't it? Let's see if having it on your back does you in first. If not, we'll just heat it back up. Does that sound good? Besides, it wouldn't be right if you didn't have marks matching all of your living children.”
“Fuck you,” the old man hisses. He’s trembling though. He might try to be tough, but the bastard is scared and it’s bleeding through.
Marco looks at Lodi and Gordon. "You two better hold tight to him this time. This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch and the bastard never could stand pain. He just likes inflicting it."
A second later, he slams the iron between Dracos’ shoulder as the man wails in pain like a wounded animal, begging to be put down. He seems to pass out, going completely limp. Gordon and Lodi struggle to keep him upright.
Marco goes to heat the iron back up, moving past me. I walk up, holding the old man's hair. Melina’s brother must hear me because he pins me with his stare. “You said I could have this.” His eyes are glowing with misery and anger. It’s a black cloud that surrounds him.
"You’ve had time to make the bastard suffer. You might not thank me for this," I reply as he growls at me, but I shake my head. "There is some blood a man shouldn't have on his hands. He may not have been any kind of a father, but he is still your own blood." I shoot the fucker between his eyes, making sure he never wakes up—never hurts my wife again.
“Son of a bitch,” Marco hisses, not happy I took over.
I probably wouldn’t be either. I also know that further down the road this would have festered inside of him. He wants revenge, justice for the hell he was forced to live. Killing Dracos won’t give him that. Living without the chains of his past holding him down will. Hopefully he will have a taste of that one day. I lean over, grabbing part of Dracos’ shirt, wiping the blood splatter off my hands before stripping out of my own jacket and shirt. I don't want this blood anywhere near my wife.