Maddox grabs an extra pair of clothes from a passing man who’s decked out in green tactical gear. He’s tall and smiles brightly at me. “Hey, Rose! Huge fan. I’m Callum.”
“Hi, Callum,” I give him a small wave as Maddox holds the blanket over me, shielding me from prying eyes like I’m in my own changing room. I slip on the clothes, relieved to smell Kairo’s natural scent wafting from them. I hold the shirt to my nose for a moment, letting serenity wash over me as I prepare myself for the shit storm.
I want blood.
My father’s, to be exact.
Callum posts up in front of the group of women, throwing on a dashing smile as he raises his big hands in a surrendering gesture. “Hello, ladies—”
“Fuck off!” Luna shouts.
He points a finger at her. “Love the enthusiasm, Barbie, but you’re gonna want to hear this.” He takes a step back,motioning to the group of men and women who look like they’re going to soil themselves with all of the guns pointed at them. “Behind me are our targets. Now, you have the option of A: Go with my close friend Jeremiah here,” a shorter man with a buzzed head raises his hand. He doesn’t have a weapon on him and has a calm aura that surrounds him.
Jeremiah offers a cordial smile. “Staff Sergeant Wolfe, at your service.”
“Or…” Callum trails as a deathly calm washes over his eyes, darkening his irises. “Option B: You can exact your revenge. Anything is on the table, ladies.”
“Anything?” Luna perks up, her gaze snapping to Sal across the room.
“Anything,” Callum reiterates.
A few in the group break off to wait outside with Jeremiah, while Luna, Bridget, Silver, and I stay behind. Once the others are safely on the other side of the door, Callum spreads his hands wide in a grand gesture. “Who’s first?”
Luna steps forward, her eyes cutting daggers at Sal. “I’m going to nail your fucking balls to the floor, saw your tiny, shrimp dick off, and spit in the fucking hole!”
Callum winces, covering his crotch with his hands. “Jesus fucking Christ. Knock yourself out, Barbie.” He produces a large, black combat knife with serrated edges, then offers the handle to her. “Make it hurt.”
She snatches it from him quickly, grumbling. “Don’t call me Barbie.”
“Who’s next?” Callum smiles.
Everyone chooses their targets with the help of the veterans, and bloodlust washes over the house. Screams and horrid sobs wrack my spine as people perish at the hands of the women I’ve only known for a day. Each delivers justice and revenge in their own interesting way.
Luna follows through with her promise, a big, quiet man keeping Sal held down as she stabs into his wrinkly ballsack. He screams so loudly that it makes my ears ring as he thrashesand kicks.
The man helping her, whom I learn is named Cain, helps the blonde. “Angle the knife like this. Never go straight down. It won’t cut.”
She breathes deeply, glancing up at him. “Thanks.”
While the whole first floor becomes a blood bath, I’m laser-focused on my father. Waylon is cornered against the wall, his eyes wide as sweat glistens on his temples. He looks like trapped prey, and I’m aching to give him tenfold what he gave me growing up.
Roman steps to my right and Kairo to my left. Maddox takes up the rear, and I feel utterly safe. They’re here. My protectors.
“Give me a knife,” I hold out my hand to Kairo. He slips the handle into my palm, and my fingers close as pure power courses through my veins. Every step I take, my men are with me, lingering like death at my back.
“Rosalie!” Waylon blubbers as he holds his hands up. “Don’t do this! I-I was coming back for you. I swear!”
“Oh?” I tilt my head, the eyes he created, full of love and light, but so haunted by the complete terror he’s put me through time and time again, stare back at him. The eyes that once belonged to my mother.
It’s poetic in a sense. Wherever my mom is, I hope she’s happy, because the man who once hurt her will no longer exist after today. I’ll vanquish the villain who destroyed our lives—our self-worth. Waylon Beckett will be nothing but an insignificant footnote in this vast world. I’ll wash his ‘legacy’ straight down the drain.
Starting with him.
I suck my teeth before squatting down to his level. I rest my elbows on my knees as I wave the knife in front of his face. “You were going to come back?” My appreciation is faux and high-pitched as my face falls into a predatory stare. “I never needed you to save me. You’re nothing more than a fucking drunk who used and abused the only two people whowanted to love him. And now? You’re getting exactly what you deserve.”
Fear flickers in his eyes, and it’s surreal to see it from the outside looking in. I was once in his place, cowering from his raised fist and praying I saw daylight. There are a few glaring differences between my father and me, but the most stark one is that I’m walking out of this housealive.
I grab his shirt’s collar, dragging him to me until his putrid sweat seeps into my nostrils. My voice is a quiet whisper that bleeds conviction and pure hatred. “Tell the devil your daughter sent you. He’s waiting for you, Waylon.”
