One look at him would send a normal person running. Crazed didn’t even begin to cover it. Sick, twisted, sadistic were a few words that came to mind. His force came straight from hell itself. Somehow the both of us being trapped in this dungeon-style room seemed fitting. It was a gateway to one world or another.
“I assume you will not offer yourself to my…desires? Before we make each other bleed? Cutting is my thing.” He shivered in what seemed like pleasure. “Ah well, afterward I will take my pleasure.” He sucked in air and hissed it out. “I will regret having to do this.” He laughed. “No, perhaps not. It will be a delight to see your wife’s face when your entrails make it to her. I wonder if she will crythen? She is a hard one to crack.”
He wanted to kill me and then take my body.Sick fucker.
He wiped his eyes, sighed long and hard. “It will take a couple of days before the news of the ill-fated Calogero finds his father. It will take a couple of days after that before I bring Spataro the heart. Then I take your wife and kill her. First, I will show her proof ofyourdeath. Shall we begin? I do not like to draw out the inevitable. Now you shall meet the monster inside.”
He looked down, dug in his pockets, slid two white gloves over his long fingers, and then with a devilish grin, lifted his eyes to meet mine. As insane as it sounded, he was right. His eyes had changed. They were consumed by madness, a thirst to murder.
He was going to be difficult to kill. Crackpots always are. This one seemed to have a survivability rate close to a cockroach’s.
“I do hope you kissed your wife goodbye,Dragon.”
He lunged at me. I dodged. He carried no weapons, only his two white-gloved hands. We circled each other.
“Hehehehe!” he laughed, high pitched. “That is it. I like to work for the kill. Shall I cut you in the same spot I cut her? Above her luscious breast.”
He talked too much, being too confident in his skills. I might have to take a blow, but it was a blow worth taking. Finishing him off quick was the key. He enjoyed inflicting pain. Even more, he enjoyed being on the receiving end of it. The longer the dance continued, the stronger and more fired up he’d get.
I hadn’t made an attempt for my knife yet. The blade was tucked into the straps behind my back. And I had another slipped into a holder on my right ankle. Strapped against my left side was a gun in its holster. Time was iffy. They might have to stay where they were. He seemed swift.
A flash of silver sliced through the air, enough force that the blade made awhooshof noise. I barely had time to move. The tail end of the knife caught the robe but didn’t connect with flesh. He had no bulk, but what he lacked, he made up for in agility.
One. Two. Three more strikes. The last one skimmed the edge of my skin. If he made deep contact, I wasn’t aware. I only knew that one minute I dodged his attempts and the next I lunged at him.
He sidestepped, and once again, we danced. He lunged once more, this time the knife cut through the fabric of the robe, and an immediate burn lit up my stomach. Before he could pull back and try again, I knocked the knife from his hand and it flew in the air, landing on the ground closer to the door leading outside. He was quick, but not quick enough to end it yet.
Grabbing him by the neck, I slammed his back against the wall, pinning him there with an arm to his throat. He clawed at me, but a sick smile was plastered on his face. He was choking, but at the same time, moaning.
“You’re a sick fuck,” I said. The twisted desire in his eyes was so apparent that it made my stomach roll. The harder I pressed, the more he seemed to enjoy it, even with his eyes turning red and his lip blue. He stopped clawing, his hands dropping, but then he came up with a small dagger that must’ve been hidden in his pocket. He swiped it through the air, catching me in the face, right above my eyebrow. Not wanting him to stab me in the kidney, or any other vital area, I stepped back, releasing him. The area was small, and neither of us had much room to maneuver.
He jumped on me, truly crazed, and we both went to the floor. He was on top of me, the knife aimed at my throat. He was going to slice my jugular. I was right—he wasn’t that big, but what he lacked in weight he made up for in madness. He was possessed by something that seemed to give him superhuman strength. Maybe he was high on the act of killing, or some kind of drug. He kept muttering weird shit in French, still moaning, licking his lips. The way we were, my arm trembling from the restraint of keeping him from killing me, was like ecstasy to him.
Having enough, even if it meant taking a blow to another part of the body again, I flipped him over, sending him flying against the wall. I jumped up before he even had the chance to rise, but he rose before I could take him by the hair and slam his head against the wall. That was my intent. If I couldn’t pull a weapon on him, I wanted to smash his skull to pieces. And then like a fucking snake, chop it off so he couldn’t slither around until dusk.
When he had hit the wall, he had hit his face. Blood ran from his mouth, and when he smiled, his teeth were stained with it. Except for his two front ones, which were missing. It made him look even more sadistic.
“This is like heaven.” He licked his lips and winked at me. “You smell even better, Dragon, when you fight.” He sniffed the air, and then laughed and laughed, until he lunged at me, harder and quicker this time. His knife plunged deep into my arm. Before he had the chance to rip down, I flipped him around and rammed his head into the wall again. The noise reverberated like a melon being cracked in two. I pulled him back by his hair, looking him in the eye. “I’ll meet you in hell one day,” I said in Italian.
His eyes rolled, and even though his head had just been smashed, he tried to smile again. Without hesitation, I slipped the knife out and slit his throat. The sight of his blood fed something deep inside of me, the beast, still rattling his chains.
When voices invaded the room and hands tugged at my arms, I was barely aware of the breaths coming in and out of my mouth. It took Rocco’s face coming into focus to let go. All I could think of was my wife coming face to face with this demon once more. The urge to rid the world of his evil, even his body, still surged strong. I wanted to cremate him so there was no chance of him coming back.
My men were all there—Rocco, Romeo, Dario, Donato, Marco, Tito, Guido, and Vincenzo—and were all sans masks. Tito took the bastard’s pulse, and then let the limp, rubbery hand fall to the puddle on the floor.
My brothers started speaking at once. Asking me questions. No words would come.
Tito came into view, shining a soft light in my eyes. Underneath his glasses his eyes were as small as dark pebbles that seemed to roll from left to right with his prodding. He started to ask me questions.
I couldn’t answer.
Scarlett. My baby. My wife.Mine.She was gone. Again. The wall took my weight as I slipped down next to the devil, wondering if I was truly in hell’s chamber.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Scarlett
God, when I open my eyes, I would like to wake up to a new world. A world where my husband is beside me, and no one wants to kill us. Or worse. Amen.
