Chased (Savage Men 3)

“C’mon,” I say, holding out my hand. “You’re safe now.”

But he refuses to come out from underneath.

So I bring my hands behind my head and start untying the mask.

“What are you doing?” Brandon hisses.

“He needs to see we aren’t the biggest monsters in here.”

When I take off the mask, the look on the boy’s face softens. Tears stain his face as he sticks out his neck while I hold out my hand. “I promise we won’t hurt you. We came to help you. You’re free now.”

After a while, he takes my hand and lets me pull him out from underneath.

I smile and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Kid,” he says.

“Really?” I ask.

“That’s what Master called me.”

“He is not your master,” I say sternly. “Not anymore.”

“But who then? Is it you?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “You are your own master now.”

He frowns. “My own master …” Repeating my words doesn’t seem to make him understand.

How far gone are these kids? How badly were they treated that they cling to whatever security they have, even if it destroys them?

My fist balls. “Graham …”

Just uttering his name makes me want to punch a hole in the wall. But I have to compose myself for the boy. Looking at him doesn’t make it any better, though, because bruises cover his skin. He’s dirty and malnourished … and I can only guess as to how this man used him.

“Did he hurt you?” I ask, a fire blazing inside me.

The boy nods.

“How many times? Where?”

The boy points at every spot on his body. Literally … every piece of skin.

Everything goes dark inside me.

I can’t look at him.

Not when I’m like this.

“Take him,” I say.

Brandon immediately grabs him from my arms and gets up, cradling him. “Back to the car?”

I nod.

“What about you?” he asks as I get up too.

I can’t even look him in the eye.

I don’t want either of them to see my unending rage.

“Go,” I say, putting my mask back on. “Pick me up later.”

“But we agreed that I could—”

“Next time.”

He frowns.

“I promise. You can do whatever you want with them. Just let me have this one,” I say, almost unable to properly form the words without wanting to scream.

“What are you going to do?” he asks as he puts the boy down on the floor and pushes away the barricade.

“Just go!” I yell, and I leave the room we were just in and come face to face with the man who took everything away from this boy.

Brandon picks up the boy and hurries outside without glancing over his shoulder.

Good.

He shouldn’t want to watch this.

Even though I know he likes to stick it out till the end. He’s always enjoyed the fireworks.

Not this time, however.

This one’s mine.

All mine.

Chapter Fifteen

Accompanying Song: “Bad Moon Rising” by Mourning Ritual ft. Peter Dreimanis

Chase

Six years ago

In the middle of the night, a crackling fire lights the skies. Soot and the scent of gas fill the air. With my bag in my hand and my mask firmly on, I approach. On the docks, a car is engulfed in flames, and screams emanate from the warehouse up ahead.

I wonder what’s going on.

I came here to kill a man who evaded a conviction. The judge let him go because there was no proof, but this wasn’t the only time he took advantage of a woman. There were multiple victims, but none of them were heard. I’m here to set the record straight.

This warehouse belongs to him, and I knew he would be here tonight. Only, I didn’t expect someone else to be here too.

Or that there’d be a burning car.

I go inside with caution. I have to find out what’s happening in there. Besides, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve killed this motherfucker.

However, the moment I spot a man sitting on a chair in the middle of the hall, I stop in my tracks. He’s bound with ropes and screaming his lungs out. Blood spats litter the floor.

And a man with a knife stands right in front of him.

I frown, watching as I place my bag on the floor.

The man turns around when he hears me. I pause.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply.

He points the knife at me while the man in the seat continues to scream into the cloth stuffed in his mouth. “Get out!”

“No.”

“What do you want?” he yells.

“Well,” I say, licking my lips, “for one, you’re killing my victim, and two, you’re not going about it very smart, now are you?”

He makes a face, the knife still firmly in his hand. I doubt he’s going to throw it at me. If he does, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll avoid it, and then what weapon does he have left? Nothing.

“What?” he mutters.

I point at my face. “No mask?”

He touches his skin, and then his eyes widen. “I told you to get the fuck out. Or do you want me to kill you too?”