Page 40 of Broken Princess

“Fuck you, whore,” he grinds out before I backhand him. My collarbone screams at the exertion, but it’s well worth it.

“You brought this on yourself, Carlo.” My breathing is heavy, punching through the air that hangs heavily between us. My eyes are wide as they bore into his. “I won’t stop until you answer, and I sure as shit won’t let you pussy out and die before I allow it.”

Marching to Nico’s table, I grab his nail gun first. With no ceremony or preamble, I shoot a nail through each thigh, mostly guessing which area will cause the most pain but is least likely to nick an artery. Carlo squeals like a stuck pig, hurling endless vulgarities and insults my way.

I don’t even register the words. I’m too busy selecting my next toy. Fuck it, time to channel my inner Harley Quinn. I snatch up the baseball bat at the back of the workbench and chaotically swing it around. I have to use both hands to get the balance right, but once it feels like a natural extension of my body, I return to Carlo and a feeling of peace descends over me as the first swing connects with his corpulent flesh. First the stomach, then the chest, the collarbones, the good leg, and not to forget the bad leg, of course. I cycle through the same areas a few times, all the while singing Don’t Stop Me Now in my head. By the time I reach the chorus for a second time, I cock the bat out to the side and lean on it like a crutch, making sure I cock my hip out as playfully as possible, looking as unhinged as I feel. My collarbone and torso are howling in protest at this exertion, but I refuse to buckle.

It appears Carlo has finally learned some manners and has stopped spewing his vitriol in my direction. He looks ruined. And I feel glorious.

“I will ask you one last time, Carlo.” I punctuate my threat by pulling the bat back up and jabbing him square in the dick. “How did you get access to my father?”

His wheezes offend me and turn my stomach. They’re wet, and each hitch in his breath causes a gurgle that expels a mist of blood towards me. Everything about this man disgusts me. He can’t even die right. Using the fat end of the bat to maintain a distance from the mess he’s creating, I force him to tip his head back and meet my stare. He’s done, he’s got nothing left.

Using what remains of his dwindling strength, he croaks out, “The graveyard. Your father would visit your sister’s grave once a month.” A ragged hacking cough interrupts him as the heartbreaking reality barrels through me.

As he mourned his eldest daughter, my father’s most trusted men sacrificed him to a psychopath. An unrelenting flurry of emotion assaults me and nothing can quell it. Garden-variety violence will not sate it. All rational thought leaves me, and only vengeance remains.

I remember nothing after picking up the machete.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SINCLAIR

As I enter the interrogation room, I am staggered by the carnage that greets me. I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t watching on the monitors. We all were, but I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before. Even Nico usually stops before things reach this level of… gore.

Dibs on not cleaning this shit up. Fuck no.

There’s not much left of Carlo. She picked up the machete and hacked him to pieces. She even started on the limbs, so he was alive for at least the first onslaught. At some point, she nicked a femoral artery, and he was gone pretty quickly after that, but it didn’t stop her. Hacking and slashing with the blade, carving him up in chunks, she took her literal pound of flesh.

Right now, Aurora’s sitting back on the chair that faces Carlo’s carcass, staring vacantly at the aftermath of her wrath. She’s out of breath, swallowing the air in large gulps, grappling against the adrenaline that’s thrumming through every inch of the body. Frozen in place, Nico stares at her with awe and wonder.

I don’t fucking blame him, though. That was… something. The power she wielded—the raw, unhinged strength. It was spectacular. However, right now she looks like she’s on another plane of existence—while still holding a foot-long machete.

I crouch down in front of her, close enough to get in her line of sight, but far enough away that I stand a chance of dodging if she takes a swing at me. “Drop the blade,” I whisper.

Her eyes remain glazed over, but my words must register because she drops the machete.

“Come with me, Aurora,” I command in an unwavering tone. Holding out my hand, she takes it and I help her stand. Stepping forward, I lean into her personal space and place my forehead against hers. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I scoop her into my arms, sweeping her off the floor.

As we’re about to pass through the door, she calls back to Nico and I pause, turning her to face him. With a disturbingly monotonous tone and an empty expression, she instructs him, “Make sure you salvage his head and keep it on ice. When the time is right, I will serve it on a fucking platter to Max.”

A Machiavellian grin creeps over Nico’s face and I know it’s euphoria at finding another person with a deviance to match his own. He nods, obviously happy to carry out her command, and I retreat from the room.

Aurora hasn’t retreated into herself like before. She’s not broken—she’s not devastated. She’s apoplectic—incandescent with rage. No words can mollify her, but there’s something I can do.

I can take care of her—for at least the next few hours—I can shoulder the burdens and give her a break from… everything.

As I watched the feed, I was in awe of her. Her cunning, her strength, and her power. She owned that interrogation room, and she brought one of the most powerful capos in the Bianchi family to his knees. And even when she had defeated him, she did not stop. She showed him the mercy he deserved. Absolutely none.

It took my breath away.

Every second I spend with her makes me feel things I haven’t allowed myself to in years. Anything I can do to help her, fulfils me. When she lets me support her, I feel… complete.

Bringing her upstairs to my room, I place her on the mattress. We don’t speak and she doesn’t question me as I head towards the attached bathroom to fill the tub. I make sure it’s not scalding before returning to her.

“Stand,” I say, and she obeys, staring vacantly behind me like she can’t focus on anything directly in front of her with her pupils as wide as saucers. I can barely make out the emerald halo circling them. She hasn’t dissociated from reality, but it’s like she’s in some kind of violence-induced subspace.

Taking her hand, I lead her into the bathroom and position her in front of the bathtub. Moving to stand at her back, I lean in, basking in the warmth of her before bringing my lips to the shell of her ear. “I’m going to take care of you. If you want me to stop at any point, say red.”

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