“Rella?” I rumble thickly.
Her frown deepens, but then her amazing green eyes slit open.
“Aziah?” she croaks, sounding like her throat is filled with sandpaper.
“I’m here.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she blinks several times, like she’s trying to focus.
I lift my eyes to Trouble. “Take her back to your place. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here.”
He nods and opens his mouth to reply, but Rella’s firm “No” has his mouth snapping closed. We both look down at her.
“You need to go with your brother. You did what you needed to do. You don’t need to be here for the rest of it.”
She tries to sit up, but I hold her to my chest, not letting her move. She huffs out a breath.
“I want to be here for the rest, Aziah. I need to watch with my own eyes as he dies.” She lifts her hand and cups my cheek. “I’m fine.”
“Please, Rella,” Trouble implores, gaining her attention. “It’s only going to get worse from here. You think this is bad?” He juts his chin toward my father’s unconscious form. His eyes bounce to me, then back to Rella. “That will be nothing in comparison.”
“I know, and I promise I’m fine. I think it was just the adrenaline dump after….” She trails off.
He sighs, drops his head, and grips the back of his neck. She reaches out and lays a hand on his thigh. His eyes meet hers.
“I know I should probably be bothered by what I did and what I know is to come, but all I feel is the pain he’s caused Aziah and me, and even you and JW and Judge. That man deserves every single bloody and painful thing coming to him, and I want to see it through.”
The pleading in her tone has my stomach clenching. I look to Trouble, about to tell him to fuck off—he may be my brother in every sense that matters, but there’s no way I’ll let him take this away from her—when he lets of out a long breath and nods.
He grabs her hands, and we both help her to her feet. I’m glad to see the color back in her cheeks. Trouble grabs one of the only chairs that’s not smashed and sets it to the side.
“If you’re going to stay, will you at least sit down so we don’t have to worry about you falling again?”
I walk her over to the chair in case she becomes dizzy again, but more so because I don’t want to let go of her hand yet. She gives mine a squeeze before letting go. I tear my eyes away from her and turn back to my father. JW’s standing beside the chair, the handheld propane torch in his hand.
“I figured we’d better cauterize it before he bleeds out prematurely.”
Trouble grabs the torch from him, turns the dial, and a high-pressure flame shoots out of the nozzle. An evil gleam lights his eyes as he approaches my father.
Rella isn’t the only one who deserves to exact their own form of torture. We’ve all been hurt by my father’s actions in some way or another.
When Deacon begins to scream behind the tape, my heart thumps heavily in my chest. I fucking love the sound and wish I thought to bring a recorder so I can hear it over and over. The smell of burned flesh hits the air, and I breathe in deep, sucking that shit into my lungs.
Once he’s done, he tosses the tank to the side and steps back, looking satisfied.
I move forward, pulling my favorite knife from the sheath on my hip. Rella and Trouble have had their turn.
Now he’s mine.
I’ve never seen my father scared before. Seeing it now is immensely gratifying. For years I’ve dreamed about all the ways I could kill him. Now that I’m in the moment, I’m not sure how I want to end his miserable life. There are so many possibilities.
Stopping in front of him, my boots squishing in the puddle of blood, I tilt my head to the side and regard the piece of shit. Sweat pours down his face, his eyes are wide, and his complexion is ghastly pale. His breathing is erratic and unsteady.
I set the edge of the blade against the second knuckles of his left hand. Deacon grunts, his hands twitching against the arms of the chair.
“I’ve come up with many different ways to kill you over the years,” I state calmly. “But none of them come close to the pain you put Rella and me through.
I press down, hearing the crunch of bone as the knife cuts through his fingers, severing them. His muffled screams are like listening to a calming symphony.