Page 72 of The Devil of Hollywood

“It’s done. I don’t care. I want…” A sound tore itself from me as the unbearable fire lingered. “I want this finished. I want Marian. I want... my wife.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Saying that? I want to say that someday, too. Unfortunately, Penelope is not ready for marriage. She’s—” His face hardened, and his mouth twisted. “She’s proving to be difficult. Her blood is right; her attitude is not. That damn defiance.”

“You killed her parents, not to mention, you didn’t give her a choice. You took her against her will.”

The Unavowed twisted the knife in a circle with his thumb. “Her father abused her. He deserved to die. Were you not in the process of kidnapping your own wife when I took Marian?”

“I had reason to make her pay. I lost everything. How the hell am I supposed to⁠—”

“Don’t.”

I narrowed my lids. “What do you mean, don’t? Don’t hurt her like she hurt me?”

“You don’t think her mother hurt her enough?” My eyes cut over to Marian while The Unavowed continued. “Melissa LaRoe had the ability to completely wipe the memory of men I knew, of me, without any of us even knowing. Had I not had video and proof—” He stopped, fury infiltrating only a moment before he managed to get control. “She was dangerous, Drayton. Why do you think I asked Marian if she could remember what her mother did to the two of you? Marian could, which means her pain is greater than yours. Betrayal outweighs abandonment. She had no one to believe her, nor did she have a safe person to confide in. How much do you want to bet your wife has never had anyone truly love her but you?”

He was right. I knew that as I looked between her and The Unavowed, not able to speak. Not able to do anything but process his words as I went back to watching her stab a knife into the gut of the older guard who I knew had raped her.

“What I did was a gift, Drayton. This,” he said, stepping closer, “although horrible, is a gift. You won’t see it now—she never will, but someday when you look back, you’ll understand why it had to be this way.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this. For hurting her like you have.

“You don’t have to forgive me. You only have to do what you’re supposed to. I’ve taken care of the rest. I’m the bad guy. Every great story has one.”

My gaze finally went to him. “I could have been the villain in my own story, and I would have been fine with that. What if I didn’t want to forgive or understand her side?”

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought. She’s innocent, and you know it. What if I don’t want to tie my line to a couple with someone as unforgiving as you? Perhaps I let my knife slip and find Marian a new husband. He stepped in closer, his eyes so low in slits, I could feel his threats were truth. “Maybe I kill you and take the next best thing in your circle? I hate him, but he’d fucking give me what I want. He’d follow his duties, and he has more reason to hate her than you. After all… he killed her mother.”

I jerked against the cuffs, watching a smile tug at his lips.

“Elec won’t marry her. He’d kill her. He already said as much.”

“What a man says and does are two different things. He’d do what he must. He’d marry Marian. He’d be a very cold but respectful husband. They’d have children. Their marriage would turn out exactly how he wants one anyway. I know all about Mr. Wexler. He lost the only woman he’ll ever love. He’s not looking for another. Besides, why shouldn’t I want a direct connection to The Gardens? Do you know how convenient that would be for me? How easy it would make my return? Two Main Masters with connections to The Council?” I braced and gritted my teeth as the blade pushed into the skin on my side. I could feel a trickle of blood begin to leave the small puncture wound. “Me and my damn romantic gestures. How could I think you’d be like me? Guarded but hopeful? Hard but bending? You’re nothing like me. You don’t deserve her.”

“Maybe I don’t.” A sound pushed free from me as he eased the knife in a little more. “Maybe she doesn’t deserve me. I’ll never know because no one let me get to the truth like I wanted. On my own. By myself.”

“While you hurt her⁠—”

“As is my right. I own her. That was given to me. That was meant to give me time. To… process. To accept. To kill her, if that’s what I chose. She’s innocent. Fine. I know that. Do you think that makes any of this okay? It makes it worse. It’s one more thing I have to try to accept. What if I can’t? Where’s my closure? Everyone is so focused on her being the victim. What about me? It was me who was accused. Me who lost everything. It was me who was shamed and had to move. It was my parents—it was—” I stopped. “Yes, that all happened to her too. I know that. I just…I fucking need to process. Dammit.”

The Unavowed looked over to her as she pulled the knife free of the younger guard.

“Process this.” He lifted, displaying his weapon and turning it back and forth. “If Marian so much as hints to Penelope that you’re hurting her, harming her, are being mean to her, resentful to her…I’ll come for you. What we’re doing here will be nothing. I will heat up this blade until it glows, and with every burning tear I make, I’ll drag out your death so painfully, your voice will be gone from the amount of times you begged for mercy. I will give you none. You get one chance, Drayton Pennington. One. You better think of this as a blessing and process like you need, because if you don’t, I will bring you back. If I have to do that, you will regret it.

Marian

What was classified as a traumatic situation? What damage or benefit could come out of experiencing it? Was this justice worth the consequences of what was happening to me? Was I making my own mind worse by enjoying the blood and screaming a little too much?

So many questions.

I barely heard Drayton anymore. I was on autopilot. My surroundings aside from my assailants and the guard giving me permission to start didn’t exist. Sadness and impatience were on overdrive. I was feeling too much, yet… oddly not absorbing the feeling at all. Nothing was right. I kept questioning whether I was savoring this enough. I wasn’t skilled in torture. I was all over the place randomly stabbing, cutting, and hacking. Where the attentive part of me craved some sort of order or craft, I was left spinning in the details. There wasn’t enough time. This was rushed. I wanted more. I needed to make them pay even more.

Two more acts... and then I had to kill them.

How had this gone so quickly? Why couldn’t I come up with a more befitting revenge? I’d cut off David’s dick. I’d stabbed, removed, and even turned the wounds where his dick rested to mush with what looked to be a metal meat tenderizer. I’d swung until I could swing no more. It. Wasn’t. Enough. Not when I knew my other rapists were watching. They had to know. They had to see. I wasn’t some slave they could hurt. I had power. I was someone. I wasn’t ever going to let them forget it.

I paced between my two victims, doing nothing but waiting for the guard’s gesture for me to continue. Drayton was growling and making deep guttural sounds. Somewhere inside I was crying for him. I’d felt it so much more earlier, but now… I was lost in my vengeance. I was lost to finishing this the right way. But was there a right way? If there was, it wasn’t coming to me, and that only made me more panicked. This time was mine. I had to end it in a way that was satisfying. But what was that? Was it even possible?

Drayton yelled behind me again, and I felt myself mimic his cry. I cut back around, pacing and seething as I took in the two guards. David was barely even conscious anymore. His head kept bobbing between groans. Simon was pure cries and slurred curses. He wasn’t much better than David. They were fading, and so was my time.