Page 30 of Wicked Vengeance

I struggle to climb to my feet as I slip on the blood coating the floor beneath us. It takes a few tries, but I manage to pull myself up to a standing position. I can still hear the commotion going on downstairs, and I know my chances of getting out of this alive are slim. They have guns, and I have a goddamn curtain rod! Odds are definitely not in my favor on this one, but I've beaten impossible odds before. I can do it again. Or die trying. I’d rather die fighting for myself– and my daughter– than give up and wait for King to kill me.

The dead guard has a gun, and I know how to use it. My training at The Sanctuary was well-rounded. Still, I would prefer my daggers. Since that’s not an option at the moment, I snatch the gun from his holster and check the clip. Full. Thank fuck! At least something is going my way.

Gathering every ounce of courage I have, I slam the clip back into the gun and slip down the steps. When I reach the door, the gunfire still sounds like it's far away.

Good.

There’s not a doubt in my mind that they’re here. Who else would be storming this place in a blaze of guns. No one goes against King.

It has to be my Shadows.

I just have to get to them.

And anyone who stands in my way catches a bullet.

Chapter 22

Maddox

A few hours ago.

“Where is he keeping her?”

My voice is deceptively calm. It’s unnerving when I’m the craziest motherfucker here and also the calmest. Dax’s pep talk did me wonders. Raena needs me to keep a level head. I’m not going to fuck this up for us or her by losing my mind on this spineless piece of shit. Raena will have the final blow to wipe this stain off the earth. And I will be right by her side when she does.

Jackson keeps his mouth shut. He hasn’t told us a single thing yet, and we’ve been at this for hours. The sun will be up soon, and I need answers now.

His torso is a mess– ribbons of flesh and blood decorate his chest like my own personal paint-by-number. I’ve tried really hard to save the best for my Bloody Queen, but I’m sure she will understand if he’s a little more messed up than I intended when it's her turn. We need the information now.

“Maybe he needs a little more persuasion,” Dax says as he steps up beside me. His face is a picture of cool indifference and I realize maybe he is more like me than I thought. He masks his crazy well.

“I think you’re right.” My blade twirls between my fingers as I look at our captive.

Decisions, decisions.

He’s suspended from the beams in this shed. It’s not my ‘Playroom’ by any means, but it’ll do for now. I wish I had him back on my turf, with endless options to play with him, but we just don’t have that kind of time.

“Take off his pants.”

Dax does as I say, cutting them right up the crotch. By the little bitch boy screaming Jackson is doing, I’d say he nicked an important bit or two. My face splits into a maniacal grin.

“What? You don’t like it when someone else holds the blade? You had no problem cutting my girl up. I saw the scars. She told me exactly which ones you gave her. Did it make you feel like a big man? Did it get your shriveled-up dick hard to cut into a helpless girl?”

“The little bitch earned everything she got,” he sneers, spittle flying from his twisted mouth.

My feet move on their own accord in a flash, my blade in his flesh before I can blink. With his pants pooled around his ankles, his flaccid–and tiny– cock hangs unimpressively between his legs. The tip of my knife digs into his left inner thigh, and I slowly drag it up his leg to his saggy balls, letting it slice ever so slightly through the delicate skin.

My blade moves up his other thigh, repeating the process. Gently, I dig my finger under the skin of the tiny incisions, and the flesh opens up beautifully. It’s like peeling the skin off a peach without puncturing the fruity meat inside. It’s not enough to do major damage, but it makes him sound like a dying pig.

Almost instantly, a pungent ammonia smell fills the air in this small shed and I jerk my now wet hand back from him in disgust.

“Dude. Did you seriously just fucking piss on me?” My lips curl back on their own, as I look at my hand like I want to chop the offending appendage off.

I look at Dax, and my expression must be fucking hilarious. He is barely holding in his amusement.

“Spineless piece of shit,” I spit at the useless bastard who’s squealing louder with the burn his own urine is causing. It’s glorious. “You can beat, cut, and rape defenseless girls but piss yourself when the blade turns on you. Fucking pathetic.”

“Maybe we should bring his mother in and see how well she handles the blade,” Dax says coldly.

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