Page 42 of Forbidden

The door rattled in the night as I pulled it open. The scent of blood and construction assaulted my nose. I was used to it.

Angelo had recently rebuilt the barn on his property after an enemy burnt it. Luckily, they hadn’t touched the Gothic-style house he loved. His and Isla’s home was outside the city, but they liked their privacy. On days like these, it was necessary.

I followed the sounds of whimpers to the second stall. The new doors were cheap steel instead of wood. We still wanted the noise to travel. Nothing broke a person faster than hearing what would soon happen to him.

When I yanked the door open, the sight of a man on his knees greeted me. His wrists were bound, attached to chains bolted in to the floor. Angelo had already pulled in the cart before I arrived, and it sat in the corner, covered with any tool I could want. But he wasn’t here yet, just leaving the weapons out so our captive’s mind could wander.

“I have nothing to say.” His shaggy blonde hair was sticking to the sweat on his face, surprising since it was winter and colder than the North Pole in here. He was more nervous than his tone let on.

“I didn’t ask a question.“ I spoke calmly as I removed my leather jacket. He tracked my movement as I set it on the table. His throat bobbed as I rolled up my sleeves. His fear permeated the air. Sunk under my skin, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

He was maybe Grace’s age; late twenties. He had some kind of bug tattoo on the back of his neck and wore a collared shirt and jeans.

He had the arrogance of youth. Where you took risks and acted like a bastard because you could. Where you still believed the world couldn’t touch you. I was going to disabuse him of that notion.

The hit came fast, his nose cracking under my knuckles. I could’ve used any of the tools Angelo had set out for me, but tonight, I needed the pain. The simplicity. I wanted the blood on my hands.

“Fuck!” He cursed as his head whipped to the side. The metal chains rattled as he pulled himself straight again. “What the hell was that for?”

My next blow landed on his jaw. The bruise was already forming as he spit blood on the floor. That might have been enough, except he was too stupid to stay silent. “She was just a whore.”

I hit him again and again. My knuckles burned, and my arms grew heavy. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Because it wasn’t Crystal’s face, I was seeing bruised and hurt. It was Grace’s. Her delicate, creamy skin discolored with bruises. Her blood coating the floor.

“Is that what you called her when you hurt her?” I screamed as I jammed my hand into his stomach. “When you tried to break her?” I fisted his hair, yanking it back until his swollen eyes looked into mine. “How does it feel to know you failed?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He grumbled, but I was past mercy. In his distorted features, I saw my brother. My chance for revenge.

“She’s mine now!” I brought his face down onto my knee. Blood splattered my clothes and hands, but I barely felt it. The calm that comes with torture was absent. The guilt inside was eating it all away. I had to keep going until it was gone. “You’re never going to hurt her again. She’s mine!”

A red haze coated my vision, and I didn’t know if I had blood in my eyes or if it was anger. It didn’t matter. I kept hitting him. Each crack of bone tore away a piece of my regret. Each grunt of pain healed my tattered promises.

I kept screaming at him. Cursing what he’d done until my throat was raw. Until neither of us was recognizable as humans.

Suddenly, I was being ripped back. I struggled against it. I wasn’t finished. He needed to hurt more. He deserved punishment. I needed to do everything he’d done to her. I hadn’t even gotten to the knives and burns yet.

“Vander.” Angelo’s stern voice cut through the fog.

He released me as I went limp. The fight bleeding from my veins. I smacked my palm into the cold stone walls as I caught my breath. When I glanced up, Angelo’s empty, dark eyes stared into mine, questioning.

“Got carried away.” I huffed as I straightened. He raised a brow but didn’t push.

“Learn anything?”

“I haven’t started asking questions.”

He shook his head as we both turned back to our captive. The kid was bent over, blood pouring from the various places my knuckles had broken skin. He looked like he had been in a fight, but nothing that couldn’t be patched up. At least not yet.

I cracked the tension from my neck, putting aside my rage and focusing on my job. Being the leader. Getting answers. Protecting what’s mine.

“Did you know who we were?”

“Psychopaths.” He chuckled, but the sound was wet as it turned into a cough.

“I’m Vander Kent, and this is my cousin Angelo.”

His one eye that wasn’t swollen rounded as he looked at us. “The Angel of Death.” His voice held a hint of awe and fear. “I didn’t know, man. I didn’t know she was yours when I tried to take her.”

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