Page 228 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

Arabella made a harsh noise and said, “Let him go.” She’d pushed past me and from the sound of her ragged gasps, she was staring down at the man at our feet.

“No, sweetheart,” Orion whispered. Crunch. He slammed his foot into the bloody body to punctuate his point. “He touched you, and you’re drunk.” He stomped viciously.

Blood splattered.

Corvus swore and yanked Orion off the body. “Not with her watching.”

“But he didn’t do anything wrong?” Arabella asked, her intoxicated voice filled with confusion.

“He took advantage of you,” I said darkly.

Arabella whimpered, “It wasn’t like that.”

Corvus swore and tugged her away from us. “Don’t think about it,” he said as I heard him shuffle to shield her view with his body. “They deserved it.”

I nodded in agreement.

We didn’t like what had happened with John during the punishment, but we understood the circumstances had demanded it. Also, none of us would ever admit it, but we recognized that John helped her.

What he did for her.

It was different, and we all knew it.

Meanwhile the piece of shit at our feet was nothing. A random man who thought he could touch what wasn’t his because she was famous. He thought he could put his dick near a queen.

My hands shook with rage.

The fool thought he could go above his station and touch his betters. I stomped down on his crotch.

Arabella made a pained noise as she tried to tug away from Corvus.

“Go with Luka.” He gently transferred her into the other man’s arms.

Corvus walked back to us, and I asked, “We’re not going to kill him, right?”

“Fuck no,” Corvus said. “We’ll send a message to the rest of the school. He’ll live. But he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

Orion whispered, “They’ll know…”

“...what happens when you mess with Arabella,” I finished his sentence.

Everyone knew that death was justice. It was a blessing. We’d killed the two men because we were merciful and the punishment fit the crime.

The music switched to a slower song.

I walked over and pulled my mates against me.

And we danced.

A few feet away, a bloody carcass moaned in agony as feet jumped around him in rhythm with the song.

He would suffer.

He would wish he were dead.

But he would live.

That was his punishment, and it fit his crime. He’d learned just what it meant when people whispered that we weren’t normal men.

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