Souls Unfractured (Hades Hangmen 3)

Fighting back tears, I whispered, “Then this is what we will hope for. Happiness... Because Flame?”

“What?” he pushed, voice barely registering a whisper.

“You are my happiness.”

Flame held me even tighter, then just as I began to drift off, draped over his chest, he said, “I gotta kill him, Maddie. I gotta kill him for what he did to us all. That cunt has to fucking die.”

I did not respond, I just shut my eyes and tried to understand that he had to kill to be free.

Understand that this was who he was.

And that would never change.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Flame

It looked exactly the same.

Exactly. The. Fucking. Same.

The old gray wooden house still looked like the piece of shit it was. The grass and weeds surrounding the house were still too high. Old burned out cars littered the dirt driveway, and there were no fucking neighbors for miles and miles.

Yeah. Exactly the fucking same.

I glided the bike to a stop. And I just stared. My hands were tight on the handlebars and I couldn’t fucking move. I was fucking frozen to the spot. My eyes closed, and I remembered being pulled out of the house¸ after he’d abandoned us. Then my eyes snapped open when I pictured the face, in my head, of the person that found us—Pastor Hughes. It was fucking Pastor Hughes who found us. And he’d taken Isaiah. He’d taken my baby brother away, and dumped me at some kid’s home.

Hands around my waist snapped me back to the house sitting before me and I lurched forward. “Flame. Shh, it is me.” I exhaled and relaxed my body on hearing Maddie’s voice behind me. Then her hands moved again and I sucked in a deep breath.

I looked to my left. AK was sitting back on his bike, arms folded across his chest. “It’s on you, brother. We go in when you do.”

I nodded, then looked to my right. Viking was watching me closely. “What ‘K said, man. This is your fucking show. We follow your lead. Whatever goes down, we got your back.”

My head dropped. Maddie shifted behind me, then jumped off the bike. She moved to me and held out her hand. “You are not alone.”

Feeling my chest fucking crack, I got off my bike. I found Maddie’s hand. Pulling her to my chest, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then letting her go, I let the fucking flames now permanently burning low fucking rise. Fucking take this shit down.

Facing Maddie, I ordered. “You stay out here.”

Maddie nodded her head. Then I turned to AK. “You fucking stay at the door. You watch her, yeah? Don’t let her get hurt.”

AK slid off his bike and walked next to Maddie. “You got it, brother.” AK pulled his 9mm from his cut and held it his hands. “The fucker won’t be going nowhere if he’s in there.” I knew that. AK was an ex-sniper. The brother was fucking unparalleled with a gun.

Instantly, Viking was by my side. I met my brother’s eyes. “You stay up front with me.” Viking winked, holding his favorite Berettas in his hands, and dropped back behind me.

Then I faced that fucking wooden door. The same wooden door I was hauled out of by the scruff of my neck as a fucking kid, and dragged screaming to that fucked up church, day in, day out.

Without thinking, I found my feet moving forward, the blade that belonged in this fucking hellhole gripped tightly in my hand.

And I couldn’t hold it back. The flames that had been quiet for days flared brighter, surging through my fucking veins. My head twitched, my hands clenched. I let loose every bit of fucking rage I had for this shithole and for the cunt who might be inside.

And I fucking embraced it. I let that shit burn.

Reaching the old door, I raised my foot and smashed the hell mouth wide open. Storming inside, I sensed Viking right behind me, guarding my back. I stopped dead.

Nothing had changed. The place was dirtier, more rundown. It was a fucking shithole. But everything looked the same—same stained floor, faded curtains, even the old furniture. My heart lunged into a sprint as I scanned the room.  My body shook with rage, so much fucking rage at being back in this place that I could barely fucking think.

Then I heard it: movement from the bedroom.

I smelled the stench of alcohol.

Then he staggered out.

All the air rushed out of my lungs as he entered the living room, a fucking long sharp blade in his hands. His dark eyes landed on me and his teeth gritted together.

“Get the fuck out!” he snarled, clothes dripping with sweat, skin yellow and pale. “Get the fuck out before I call the cops. I got nothing for you here!”

“Fuck,” I heard from beside me, but I was rooted to the fucking spot. “That’s the cunt?”

I watched as my poppa’s eyes darted to each of us. He held up the blade in his old shaking hands. “I said, get the fuck out!”

But we didn’t move, and somehow, his eyes kept returning to me. Then one time, they stayed. They examined my body, flicked to the blade in my hand, then snapped back to lock on my face.

His mouth hooked at the corner, as if in realization. “Well I’ll be fucking damned. Wondered if I’d ever see your expressionless face again one day, Josiah. And here you are. Looking as evil as I always knew you were.”

I stared at my old man, heard that fucking name dripping with venom from his stupid fucking mouth. And I could feel myself shaking. I could feel every fiber of my body fucking shaking. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move.

I was trapped.

“I got nothing for you here, Josiah. So you and your sinner friends can just turn the fuck around. I ain’t got no money, so you can get the fuck out. Don’t want you bringing your demons into this house again.”