Page 98 of Skin Deep

“No, no! It was the left! I remember! I swear! Please…” Sergei choked on a sob and hung his head, snot, blood, and spit leaking everywhere. It was the most disgusting sight I’d ever seen.

“Guess I’ll have to get ‘em both to make sure again,” Pax said, lifting the bat. “Hold still. This is going to hurt.”

Sergei’s screams filled the tiny cabin, echoing loud enough that they’d probably be heard for miles. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t a single sympathetic ear around to hear.

Breaking Sergei’s feet took a lot longer, mostly because they weren’t as secure. He kept trying to jerk them away and Pax hit his ankles instead. Boone and I eventually came forward, turning the chair on its back, but even then the chair legs gave way after only the second strike.

When it was over, Pax tossed the bat aside. Sergei was still alive, but barely conscious, and I doubted he’d be getting away, despite Pax’s promise. Just the same, Pax was a man of his word. He cut Sergei free of the chair and tossed him to the floor.

“Fifty-nine,” Pax said, panting. “Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven…”

Sergei groaned and lifted his head, peering at the open door. At freedom he didn’t deserve. As Pax continued to count down, he even mustered enough strength from somewhere to propel himself toward it using his elbows, dragging his swollen, fractured limbs behind him.

My stomach turned at the sight of Sergei crawling along. It was too much.

“Fuck this.” I switched the safety off my gun and stepped forward. Sergei looked up at me, his face swollen and bloodstained. I let him because I wanted to look the fucker in the eyes when he died.

I pulled the trigger, and he jerked, but I wanted to be sure so I pulled it again… and again until it clicked. It was only when Pax’s hand closed over mine that I realized it was clicking because it was empty. I threw it aside. What good was an empty gun?

A beat of silence passed before Pax said, “It’s done.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. Was that me? Had I spoken? It must’ve happened automatically. I looked back at him. “Simeon needs to die so this ends.”

“But not tonight,” Pax said and put his arms around me.

We were covered in blood and sweat, and we both desperately needed a shower, but there was no one in the world I’d rather kill a man alongside than Paxton.

Boone interrupted the moment with a whistle. “Remind me not to get on you boys’ bad sides. All right, Church. Let’s get this show on the road. Gentlemen, if you’d kindly step outside, we’re about to have one hell of a bonfire.”

Theheatofthefire licked at my face. Flames climbed higher into the night, reaching for a distant starry sky. Twenty-one men lay dead, their bodies piled in the center of the hunting cabin and set alight.

And still one more to go, I thought.

War was right; Simeon needed to die, but he wasn’t mine to kill. My part in the hostile takeover was over.

I should’ve been relieved. Instead, all I could think about were Shepherd’s words of warning: there is no catharsis in vengeance.

Was he right? Was that why I suddenly felt so empty? So lost?

For almost two years, thoughts of vengeance had consumed me. Even when I was looking after Lettie and Charlie, it was in the back of my mind. It was the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last thing before I slept. I dreamt of it, wanted it so bad I could taste it. Now that I had done what I set out to do, what else was there?

I looked over at War, watching the firelight dance across his face, and felt the first flicker of something other than emptiness since Sergei had died. Tomorrow, when the sun came up, we’d still have each other. We’d have a life to build, a future bought with the blood that had been shed that night.

It was still dark when the cabin was a smoking pile of cinders. War wanted to stay to verify all the cleanup was done, but he looked exhausted. Thankfully, River stepped in and said he’d stay so we could leave with the first group. War laid his head against my shoulder and fell asleep on the ride home, but I couldn’t rest. There were too many ghosts in my mind, too many thoughts and feelings. I wanted to scream, to punch something, to get what’d been growing on the inside of me out, but I didn’t know how. Screaming or throwing a punch didn’t feel like enough, and there was nothing to scream at or punch anyway. I had saved every ounce of my rage for the ripper, and he was dead now, so why was I feeling so damnemotional?

It all came to a head when we arrived at the house in Liar’s Corner and trudged inside. Given the late hour, I had expected everyone to be asleep. It was three thirty in the morning. My kids certainly should’ve been in bed like I’d told them to be.

Instead, they were on the couch downstairs, watching cartoons with Theo. Scarlett was fast asleep with a blanket pulled over her, but Charlie got right up and toddled over to me. She lifted her arms like she wanted me to pick her up and I panicked.

I was still wearing Sergei’s blood. I was more than filthy; I was tainted, and I didn’t want to pass that on to my daughter. I couldn’t infect her with my life of violence. She let out a heartbroken wail when I turned away without picking her up. I’d never rejected her before, and my heart ached to do it, but Icouldn’t.

“Sorry!” Theo shuffled over and picked Charlie up, struggling to hold her while she fought to get to me. “I thought she was asleep!”

“Keep her away from me!” I shouted and backed away.

War’s hand closed around mine and I flinched, trying to pull away. He shouldn’t touch me either. I knew how he liked to be clean, how he couldn’t stand to be messy, and I was such a fucking mess… Yet he didn’t let me go, and he didn’t seem to mind it at all as he cupped my cheek and led me toward the stairs.

I followed, because what else was there to do? I thought I knew, but I was suddenly adrift again, lost in a sea of strange emotion that I didn’t know how to process. The only thing that kept me from losing it completely was War’s hand in mine. He seemed to know exactly what to do, so I trusted him.

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