Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“I like little girls with fire in them.” His face contorts into a sneer. “Makes snuffing it out all the more fun.”
“You’re the one dying today, asshole,” Callan informs him.
Bending, I unsheathe the knife Callan keeps on his ankle and rise to plunge the blade into the bastard’s hip. It takes more effort than I expect. I throw all my weight down on the blade, ripping into his skin and muscle, hitting bone. Blood blooms around the knife’s edge.
“Bitch!” he screeches, the veins in his head almost bursting as he recoils, shaking the bindings, spittle spraying his own face.
“You have no idea,” I taunt, tugging on the blade. I wiggle it to get it free as he grunts and spits vile words into the ether. “I know every part of the body that can withstand injury without killing you,” I whisper, walking around his body, stabbing into his other hip.
“I’m glad we get to keep her,” Monster pipes in. Dragging a chair from the corner of the room, he takes a seat.
“And that she’s on our team,” Dodger adds, folding his arms. He jerks his chin at me, a silent request to keep going.
“I had a sister.” Energy vibrates through me. Adrenaline ignites in my blood.
“Does she look like you? Because I’d love to open her up,” the bastard grits out. Callan pinches the bastard’s already broken nose, the cartilage grinding beneath his fingers.
“Would you?” I push the blade’s tip into his sternum, nicking the flesh and dragging the edge down to his groin. Anguished cries pierce the air, urging me on. I want him to hurt, to bleed.
“She had a tattoo on her thigh.” A stone lodges in my throat. “That you cut away,” I choke out.
“Tattoos are for sluts.” He bares his teeth, and Callan punches him in the jaw, whipping his face to the side. Spitting blood, the evil fuck chuckles, gurgling on the liquid filling his mouth, his glasses hanging crooked across his nose.
“Pure.” He clenches as I drag the blade back up his torso. “I only take them if they’re pure!” he hollers, the pain weakening him. “You have the wrong guy, little girl.”
“He’s a lying piece of shit,” Dodger grinds out. “Let me at him, Rogue.” He steps up to the table, pushing his finger into the knife wound on the bastards hip, making him buck.
“I didn’t kill no whore with a tattoo,” he bellows.
Monster gets to his feet and comes to stand by the animal’s head. “You’re going to kill me either way. Why the fuck would I lie? My girls are pure.”
“I believe him,” Monster declares. My gaze whips to his.
“Really?”
“Just fucking kill me. It wasn’t me.”
“All those other girls he killed, though.” Monster cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders, and walks over to a row of cabinets. Opening one up, he pulls out a tray of tools. Knives, pliers, a drill, something that looks like a bone saw…
“I’ve heard enough,” I tell Callan, handing him the blade. I turn on my heel, leaving them to take him apart.
“Take your time,” Callan instructs, handing Dodger his knife. Then he takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall to a shower room. This torture building has everything. It’s well thought out. How much blood stains the drains here?
Shower stalls line the back wall. Every inch of this room boasts tiles, floor to ceiling. There are a couple urinals and shelves holding towels. A large cabinet is the only thing wooden in here.
“Do you think it was him?” I ask as he leads me to one of the stalls.
“If it was, they’ll get it out of him.” He rubs down my arms, coaxing me to lift so he can remove my blood-splattered top.
“And if it’s not?” Tears are in my eyes as I look up at my savior, hope growing like a seed in my chest for the first time since finding out about Harley’s death.
“Then we just rid the world of a piece of shit. And we’ll keep doing it until we find the one who is responsible.” He unbuttons my jeans, shoving them down my legs.
I kick out of them and whisper, “Thank you.” Wiping my hand across my nose, I drop my gaze. “For helping me—for doing this for her,” I weep, all my strength fleeing. The crimson stains are sticky on my hands. I want to hold them toward the sky and scream her name.
“I gave Monster one of Harley’s bullets to finish him with.” He slips off his cut and places it on a hook behind my head.
I think that’s the first time he’s said her name. If he’s been looking into her death, he would have seen her report, her autopsy, and images of her on record. We look a lot alike. I wonder the toll that would have taken on him. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done here, Callan.”