Shiloh grunts in agreement as he adds a squirt of lighter fluid to the papers he shoved up in the enlarged hole he made after we cut off Clyde’s cock.
“Did your mama never teach you not to touch things that don’t belong to you?” he asks. “It doesn’t matter if they’re being explicitly sold to you, if the girl is crying, that doesn’t imply consent.”
Bellamy comes back with a bat and a fitted gas mask, his eyes pinched in anger. He was holding back for Winter, but the gloves are coming off. The smoke isn’t terrible, but Bellamy doesn’t need that shit in his lungs.
Pulling the aluminum bat back, he swings hard, perfectly catching Clyde’s head. He is careful to make sure all the blows land on the alpha’s head, shoulders, and upper body, while Shikeeps Clyde from moving. I step back and watch as Bellamy works that out of his system.
We all feel the importance of making this asshole pay, regardless of our unhinged comments. That’s simply how we cope. Cassidy blinks rapidly in a way that has nothing to do with the smoke, watching as Bellamy screams out his grief and anger.
He’s Winter’s protector, and I have a feeling there’s been a lot he couldn’t save her from. This dickhead hanging from our ceiling is just one of many things. Clyde is a human candle, burning for his sins, while Bellamy beats the fuck out of him.
This feels karmic.
It also leaves me concerned. Glancing at Shi, he nods as he holds Clyde still. The burning alpha will die at some point, but I think dying with crispy insides is poetic in a sense. It’s the ultimate form of fuck around and find out.
We’re going to need to pull the list of people who have frequented The Hug Project. I bet Cassidy is one of the only people who went there who didn’t buy into the thought that one sin would lead them down the slippery slope of bad decisions.
I need to consult with Abbott. Maybe the frequent flyers will need to be cleansed from the city. I don’t even feel bad about it. If you go back to a place like that, you already know it’s a shady business.
You don’t deserve a second chance. Cassidy never would have gone back there, nor would she have entered if she fully understood the situation.
Thank god she did, or Bellamy and Winter would still be in that hell hole.
Our men will gladly accept the challenge of being our executioners. Cassidy mentioned to me that it’s been too damn quiet and she’s right. I don’t fucking want anyone who’s ever hurt my omegas to live another moment.
Who lives or dies is completely up to Abbott.
Bellamy screams as he throws the bat across the room, and Cassidy sighs as we realize that Clyde has given up the ghost.
There’s blood speckled on Bellamy’s shirt and neck, and he drops his hands to his sides as he stares at the dead alpha. Clyde is missing fingers, toes, his dick, knot, and dignity. Tape is still keeping his mouth shut, but only because we used tape from his upper lip to his chin. There was no way that was coming loose.
He’s going to finish burning, and then we’ll take the charred remains to a pig farm we slide money to for the use of it. Our problems disappear, and the swine are well fed.
It’s the perfect partnership.
“Are you upset he’s dead?” I ask.
Sometimes, that happens. It’s never enough, the pain is simply too large to bear.
“Kind of,” Bellamy admits, his voice muffled by the mask. “I’m a little worried this will keep happening.”
“I’m going to discuss that with Abbott. The Hug Project didn’t have an obscenely large client list,” I say. “We’re going to send our men to kill them all. I never want to have our time interrupted by some knuckle dragging cavemen who believes you’re free game.”
“So they’re all going to die?” he asks.
“Maybe not as spectacularly as Clyde, but yes,” I say, smirking at the smoking body in front of me. “We should back up, or we’ll smell like human barbecue.”
“That’s disgusting,” Bellamy says, though there’s amusement in his voice.
“It really is,” I snort. “Our men are loyal, and they despise people like this. They’ll make sure to do the job right. If we weren’t pretending to be good people, I’d send a calling card to all sex traffickers thinking about moving into our city. Alas, it sucks to be in hiding.”
“I think you’re good people,” Bellamy mumbles, far enough away to pull off the mask. The fire has banked, and the smoke isn’t as bad as it was. “There are plenty of people who think they’re good and allow horrible things to happen. Good is relative. Um. Where’s Winter?”
“Upstairs probably with Abbott,” Cassidy says. “She looked sleepy.”
“She’s making me yawn,” Bellamy says, rolling his eyes.
“Go take a shower and nap with them?” I suggest. “First, we need a selfie. Can we call this our official bid to court you?”
