“I suggest you take a seat, Mr. Dalca,” she says against his ear. His back bows awkwardly as he tries to relieve the pressure of the wire. Una forces him to the floor at the head of the bed before wrapping the wire around the bedpost, imprisoning him by the neck. Just like he did to that girl. If he tries to move, he’ll slice his own throat. The blood continues to run, a fresh wave coming with each tiny movement. The sight of it brings a small sense of satisfaction.
Una moves in front of him, her body uncharacteristically tense. His eyes trace over her before shifting to me. “I thought you would be dead by now,” he says, his body language and voice betraying none of the discomfort I know he must feel. He knows what he did to me. He has to know he’s going to die.
“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not.”
A smile quirks the corner of his lips. “So, what is it you want?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Una moves, lightning fast, gripping a handful of his hair and wrenching his head back and bringing her face only inches from his. “There is no want here. This is simple justice.” She flicks her eyes over him, a sneer pulling at her lips. “I’ve dealt with some monsters in my time, but you, Mr. Dalca… fucking and hurting little girls…there’s a special place in hell for men like you.” Gripping his chin, she places her lips to his forehead and the image is so strange that I can’t quite process it until he starts screaming that is. I drop my gaze to her free hand, which is planted between his legs, beneath his towel. A red stain blossoms across the pristine white material, growing bigger by the second. When my sister pulls her hand away, I see the bloodied knife clutched in her fingers. Did she just…castrate him? She pats his cheek and stands. “He’s all yours, Anna.” This isn’t like her. She doesn’t do uncontrolled or messy. Her gaze meets mine, and I see the turmoil swirling in those violet irises. She’s fighting demons every bit as much as I am right now. “You only get to take revenge once. Make it good.” She isn’t going to do this for me. She made that clear when we agreed to come here. This is my past, my vendetta, and my demon to slay.
My emotions are all over the place because although I should be in a position of power right now, I feel weak, fragile, and broken. And angry. I’m so angry because he renders me powerless. Years of the most manipulative abuse have ingrained this fear of him into me. Tell me you love me, Amado. The memory of those words has bile rising in my throat.
I have nothing to say to him, and yet I think I want him to say something to me. I need…something. “You ruined my life,” I tell him because I want this monster to know.
“No, I saved your life.” His head rolls to the side, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again. “You’d be dead if I’d left you with the Russians.”
“I’d rather have died,” I choke unable to hold back tears as I recall every disgusting, degrading thing he used to do to me. I remember the face of every girl I watched die within these walls. The memories are branded on my soul: permanent and irreversible. And yet, here he is, just doing it to another girl.
“Yet here you stand, alive, and trying to kill me.”
The disgust festers in my gut until it turns to hatred, and hatred turns into a rage so hot, I can barely contain it. “There’s no trying about it.”
I lift the gun, flicking the safety off. My emotions swirl together in a chaotic tornado, spinning faster and faster until everything is a messy blur inside me. The last thing I see is that smug smile on his lips before I pull the trigger, waiting for the bang that never comes. Instead, a distinct pop greets my ears before a perfect red dot appears on his forehead. His eyes go wide and glassy before he topples forward, slicing his own throat wide open. Blood splatters against his thighs like a waterfall cascading over the edge of a cliff. I release the breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. I don’t know what I expected to feel—a sense of relief maybe? Instead, I’m even angrier because in that final moment, he didn’t regret it. There was no remorse, no fear. Nothing. Whatever I hoped to achieve from this is absent, and the disappointment is a tough pill to swallow.
“You did what you came to do,” Una steps in front of me and takes the gun, sliding it back into its holster. I did, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Opening the bedside drawer, I feel around for the key that he always used to keep in here. Finally, my fingers brush over the tiny object, and I take it out, rushing to the young girl’s side. The key slides easily into the small padlock at the back of her neck, and the solid gold collar releases. She blinks at me, big blue eyes glassy with unshed tears and yet completely devoid of anything.