I put the gag back in and press the taser back to his cock.
“Let me hear you, Brent. No means no.”
Brent’s head thrashes around the pillow as he repeats “no means no” like song lyrics into the gag. I tap the taser on for a few quick seconds.
Brent trembles as his thrashing slows to a stop.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Brent nods, with muffled cries of “please,” ripping fromhis throat.
“You didn’t stop for Daphne. No, in fact, you made sure to finish inside her. Without a condom, you sick fuck.” A burst of anger takes over.
I lower the taser to his balls and turn it on. And keep it on. More singed hair and, god, the smell of fried hair mingled with shit is nauseating, but I don’t care. Brent deserves this—every second of it.
His chest heaves in heavy pants, his eyes bloodshot. Snot dribbles down his nose, and after a minute, vomit erupts from the sides of the gag.
He chokes, his head thrashing as he tries to clear it.
And I do fucking nothing. Seconds tick by as screams mingle with the gagging noise of this rapist choking on his own vomit.
I stop the taser and grab the knife. This scum of the Earth isn’t going to die like this. No, I told Daphne he would die on this knife. Onourknife.
I glide the razor-sharp edge across Brent’s throat as crimson spurts across his chest and up his chin.
In less than a minute, the noises cease, and his eyes gloss over as his entire body goes limp.
And just like that, I fulfilled my promise to Daphne. I’m as good as a hitman—a hired hand.
But for my woman, I’d do it a thousand times over. Finally, Daphne will have her answers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DAPHNE
My shouldersand hamstrings ache as I tread down the stairs. There are slight red marks where the knots bit into my skin last night, but they should fade quickly. With Hawkeye at my heels, we check the living room. Empty. No bag. No shoes. No sign of Tristan.
He didn’t come back.
My heart plummets to my stomach.Did something happen to him?He said he would be gone for a few hours, but he’d be home by the time I woke up. And I’m not an early bird. No worms for me. I squeeze in every second of sleep I can.
Hawkeye bounds past me and into the kitchen when I hear Tristan’s voice. “Hey, fluff butt.”
Relief settles into my muscles like a drug, making my limbs weak. Tristan is crouched on the floor, his large hand splayed over Hawkeye’s belly as he gives our puppy belly rubs.
“Aren’t you a good boy? Yes, you are.” The cooing in Tristan’s voice melts me.
Tristan’s multicolored eyes snap up, and he grins. “Morning, Princess.”
“You’re home.” I can’t hide the relief in my voice, which only makes him smile wider as he scoops up Hawkeye from the floor.
“Of course. I made a promise.” Something silent exchanges between us. A comfort. A change.
Without a word, I close the distance and fling my arms around him, careful not to dislodge Hawkeye.
Tristan presses a kiss to my lips, but retreats when Hawkeye tries to join in.
“Not you, buddy.” Tristan settles Hawkeye back on the floor.
