The first nick I make is in the same spot he cut me long ago. Right below his jaw, but his is deeper and more jagged as I saw into the skin. His blood gushes as he screams. He tries to push me away, but Roman and Kairo grab his arms, pinning him until I turn him into a fucking canvas. Every slice I make is long overdue justice, and the tearing of his flesh feels like power. His body will bear the same scars as mine, but he won’t heal. There will be no physical reward to this other than the sweet release of death. When I fucking grant it.
I hack until he’s lost about a pint of blood and littered in jagged, rough cuts. The one on his neck is really bad, and he gasps for air with every gush of his artery. I’m lost in the bloodlust of it all, craving more of his pain with every pass of my knife. His eyes are dull, the lids lowering until they’re almost closed. His bloodied chest rises and falls deeply, as if he’s about to lose consciousness, but I want him awake for this.
“Get him up,” I command, my voice ragged.
Maddox produces something small and cylindrical from his pocket, breaking it in half before shoving it under Waylon’s nose. He sucks in a breath, coughing as he blinks away the smelling salts.
“I want his hands in a fucking box,” I declare. “They’ve done so much harm, and I want them. As trophies.”
Roman nods, producing a knife before snatching one of Waylon’s wrists. As he saws into tissue and bone, my fatherscreams and begs for mercy, but there’s none to be found. Not in this house of horrors.
Kairo slaps Waylon hard, silencing him. “Stop being such a bitch andlookat your daughter.Fucking.Apologize.”
My father’s lips tremble as mumbled, low words stutter from him. “I-I’m s-sorry—”
“T-t-today, Junior!” Kairo slaps him again before grabbing his cheeks and forcing him to look at me. “Now say it like you fucking mean it!”
Waylon swallows, trying to steady his voice as his severed hand is tossed to the floor. He’s beginning to slip again from lack of blood, but not before he delivers the worst apology known to man. “I’m sorry, kid! I’m sorry…” His head slumps to the side as tears track down his face. He’s mumbling incoherent words that mean absolutely nothing to me as I squat down in front of him.
“I don’t forgive you,” I smile. “Get his other hand.”
As I watch my sperm donor sob and scream, Callum hums as he douses the whole first floor in gasoline. He pours some directly over Waylon’s head, and I know that has to sting.
“Everyone is about done here,” Callum says as he grabs another gas can. “We’d better get on the road soon.”
Another man, Knox, I think, is having to pry Luna off the mutilated body of her cousin. She’s still trying to shred his unrecognizable face as the veteran wraps an arm around her waist and hoists her up. “He’s dead.”
“Let me go!” She screams. “I wasn’t done!”
“We’re about to light this place up. Do you want to join him in the afterlife?” Knox bites harshly.
Luna breaks free of his grip, stomping towards the front door as she mumbles, “If it’ll get me away fromyou.”
Knox shakes his head. “God help whoever crosses paths with her.”
Everyone is covered in blood. We look like the killers of a slasher film as we all file out of the home. We line up as Cain lights a match and tosses it onto the porch. The fire licks up thehome in seconds, destroying everything in its path. The warm yellow and orange hues dance across our faces, and the heat is comforting. For the first time in years, I let myself breathe.
He’s gone.
The true monster is no more.
As the aged wood crackles, no one moves an inch. The men who saved us don’t complain as they wait for us to find our peace with what’s before us.
“Eight years,” Silver whispers. “Eight years and I’m finally free.” A single tear streaks down her cheek as her face remains impassive.
Luna wraps her arms around herself before sinking into a crouch. She shields her face as her shoulders shake with her silent cries. Bridget stares ahead at the window that leads to her room, waiting for the fire to reach it with a blank expression. We all have our own reactions, so vastly different, yet connecting and grand.
Kairo slides a hand across my shoulders before kissing the top of my head. “How are you feeling?”
I blink at the carnage. “I need a new last name.”
Roman’s head whips around to me. Maddox’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, and Kairo looks stunned.
“I don’t want to be Rosalie Beckett anymore,” I say quietly, swiping at my own tears. I’m overwhelmed by the last twenty-four hours, and I’m glad I have them by my side. I need their strength right now. “All my life, I was defined by that name. I don’t want to be the town drunk’s daughter anymore. I want to be me.”
Roman pulls me into his side, embracing me tightly, and I let his warmth and comfort wash over me. “You areyou, Siren, but if you want another last name, we can make that happen. Anything for you.”
Kairo spreads his hands in front of me with a wide smile. “Picture it. Rosalie Ridley.”
