“I did nothing to you,” he rasps out.
My jaw clenches, and one hand wraps around his throat tightly. Effectively, I cut off his oxygen. It’s not enough to kill him, but it’s enough to fucking scare him.
“Hm, let’s talk about something. Remember Zoe?”
“Nelson’s wife?” He croaks.
“Yes, she’s dead.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, something akin to relief is in his eyes, and it angers me further. My body starts trembling in pure rage, my nails digging into the sides of his neck.
“Who cares?” He manages to utter out. “She was a liability.”
“A liability?” I repeat my words, a dark, dangerous whisper. “She was a fucking child when Nelson kidnapped her. She was barely eighteen when he married her. She was just a fucking child, you rotten, sick motherfucker.” I slam him against the wall again, his gasping for air only fueling my anger. “And more than that, she was my cousin. My flesh and blood. She was someone’s daughter. She was someone’s cousin, friend. She was someone, you sick fuck.”
“It’s not—”
That’s the last thing I let him utter. My rage wins, and with my free hand, I take out the small pocket knife I have a habit of carrying around. It was a gift for my fourth birthday from Aunt Jane. It’s always been one of the items I cherished the most, and somehow, it’s fitting to use it.
My hand drops from his throat, his mouth opening to take a deep intake of breath. However, I don’t let him have it. I plunge my fingers into his mouth, pulling his tongue out.
His eyes widen almost comically when he realizes what’s about to happen — but it’s too late. The sharp knife slices through the flesh, his severed tongue falling down to his feet.
Blood starts gushing out, but I can’t find it in me. He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. His eyes are filled with tearsstreaming down his cheeks, and it doesn’t help erase all the anger I’ve been feeling for years.
He slumps to the floor, his body shaking pathetically in pain. That’s when I use the knife and start slicing every inch of his flesh I possibly can. From the skin on his cheeks to the shoulders, thighs, and stomach. The pieces of clothes come off alongside his skin until the motherfucker passes out.
I’m not done just yet, though.
My hand tightens around the handle of the pocketknife, and I make an example out of the bastard, engraving my family’s symbol into the bastard’s forehead. More specifically, the symbol that comes from the Campbell’s side — Mom’s side.
“Arlo,” Blair breathes out, and I turn to look at her. “He’s dead.”
“Not yet,” I mutter, taking my gun and shooting him in the chest, just to ensure he won’t be able to stay alive. Vigor splashes all over my face, and when I see that he no longer has a heartbeat, the anger slowly starts disappearing.
“Now,” I breathe out, taking Blair’s hand in mine, not looking back.
She’s silent, letting me soak in the moment. My phone buzzes, and I pause to read the text. A smirk tugs on my lips when I turn the screen to Blair, her brows lifting to her hairline.
“Is that a smart idea?”
Arlo shrugs. “Who knows?”
Two of our men pass by, and I stop them. I take them a couple of steps away, whispering, giving instructions. They both nod, and I motion with my head toward Blair to follow me.
Our people have finished their task in here, and all of his men are dead. Kaya sent the text earlier, telling me the entire place has gasoline poured all over.
When we step outside, the crisp air feels liberating, in a way. This is definitely the best possible outcome this night could’vehad, and I’m more than happy that the motherfucker died by my hand.
Everyone else left, leaving Blair and me by the front gates. The two men who passed us leave the house shortly after, carrying Woods’ dead body. They position him outside of his property, leaning him against the metal gates.
“You can have the honors,” I say, taking out a pack of cigarettes. I light one, taking in a deep drag of the nicotine, feeling it hit my lungs. Blair takes the lighter out of my hands and tosses it onto the property.
Within minutes, everything’s in a pretty, blazing shade. The flowers, the trees, the house itself, and even the swing that’s been on the property for generations burst into flames.
My eyes find the side of Blair’s face, the spark from the fire making her features even prettier than before.
“Two down, three more to go.”
