Page 112 of The Devil’s Lair

George is lying on a narrow cot in his cell, his hair long, beard straggly, a shadow of the sophisticated man he once was. Xan emits a low growl as we pass. George cranks an eye, seemingly too exhausted to even sit up.

“Is it time?” he croaks.

“Soon, motherfucker,” Xan grinds out, his jaw locked up tighter than the vault at Fort Knox. “Soon.”

“Who’s that?” the rapist asks.

“None of your fucking business.” I slam the heel of my palm between his shoulder blades. He staggers forward, losing his footing. His knees crash into the unforgiving concrete, and he cries out. If he thinks that’s painful, he’s seen nothing yet.

“Jesus Christ.”

I grab him by the scruff of his neck and hoist him upright, then pitch him through an open door. Beneath Oakleigh is a rabbit warren of rooms and cells, likely used centuries ago by my ancestors for all kinds of reasons. Now, it houses my former uncle and, for the next half hour or so, or as long as it takes for him to give up his friends, another rapist bastard.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re making a big mistake.”

I laugh. Seriously. This idiot has no clue who he’s dealing with. No. Fucking. Clue. I take out my phone and open my notes app, then jam it in his face.

“Type out every name and their address.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Whose names?”

“The names of the men who raped my wife on January 3rd.”

My brothers do well not to react, although I sense the shift in their body language. Annabel’s rape and murder changed our DNA. As De Vils, we’ve always been ready to scorch the earth to protect what is ours, but the death of our sister altered us on a cellular level. Now, we root out those who escaped justice and dole out punishment of our own. Except this cunt and his raping friends won’t face the judicial system. I want them gone, in the ground. Which they will be. Tonight.

“I didn’t rape anyone.”

I smash my fist into his face and grin at the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. The first of many bones I intend to break until he gives me the name of every single man who violated Rebecca the night before I met her.

“Fuck!” Hands bracket his busted nose, and blood oozes between his fingers.

“For every lie you tell, I’ll break another bone. Names.”

My brothers encircle the man, but they don’t interfere. This is my fight, and they know it.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

I snap his right forearm as easily as I’d break a matchstick. The scream bounces off the walls. It doesn’t matter. Down here, there’s no one to hear him other than us and George, and it’s not as though he’s in any fit state to do anything even if he wanted to.

“Names. Don’t make me ask for a third time.”

He spits blood onto the dusty floor, cradling his broken arm. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

With a single kick, I shatter his shin bone. He shrieks and slumps to the floor. I drop to a crouch and grip his chin, forcing him to look at me. Pain swims in his eyes.

“There are over two hundred bones in the human body. I’ll break every one of yours if you don’t give me their fucking names.”

The realization I’m serious is the moment he cracks. I see it right there in his face. He holds out for another few seconds, then nods. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Excellent.” I hold up my phone.

He must be right-handed because it takes him a fucking age to tap the details with his left hand. I could help, but I don’t want to. Once finished, he slumps onto the floor, and I check what he’s written, then slide my phone in my pocket.

“Can I go now? Please. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Oh, you definitely won’t tell a soul.” One step is all it takes. My heel crashes down on the side of his neck. A sickening crack, and he stills.

I turn to my brothers, my gaze going to Xan first. “Can you arrange to clean that up?”