Page 146 of Brutal Savage

Jerry moves to the metal cart and picks up a thin scalpel a surgeon would use.

Placing it against my lower abdomen, he slices into me, and I scream with the most horrifying pain.

Until my world turns black.

Until everything vanishes.

And I pray I’m already dead.

When I stare back at Tynan, I don’t find repulsion. Instead, his eyes have grown with fury. His expression softens for a moment as he brushes my cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m gonna tear him apart. And I’m gonna do it for you.”

Tears blanket my vision, and he’s there, wiping them away, kissing the side of my face, my lips, my eyes. His arms circle me before he tucks my body tightly against his, letting me cry while he holds me.

“I’m here, Elara. You never have to run anymore. From anyone.”

“You don’t hate me?” I peer up at him through my murky vision.

“Why would I hate you, baby? You did nothing wrong.”

I shake my head. “I feel responsible for the lives I probably ruined by helping them bring the drugs here.”

“My God, Elara. That’s not your fault.” He holds my face in both palms, staring intently at me. “You’re a good person who was made to do bad things. That’s all.”

My eyes pinch shut, memories of my mother storming in. “I’m not a good person.” I shake my head. “I killed my father.”

I look at him then, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Why? What did he do?” His thumb rolls over my tear, brushing it away.

“He murdered my mother.”

A muscle in his jaw pulses. “Then he deserved it.”

I shake my head with a scoff. “I know it’s probably nothing to you, but I killed him. I killed my father. Me!”

“You did what had to be done. You hear me? He killed your mother, and you took him out. Be proud of that.”

I try to believe him. Though one bad act doesn’t excuse another.

“Did he tell you why he did it? Why he killed her?”

“No…” I release a sigh. “But he was always smacking her around. Always belittling her. I begged her to leave him, and she wouldn’t. When I saw her like that, all bloody, him crouching down and apologizing as he sobbed, all I felt was anger. Once he dropped the knife, I just grabbed it.” I pin my eyes shut, my stomach churning, remembering all that blood. “Before I knew what was happening, I was stabbing him in the chest over and over until I was almost paralyzed with rage.”

He kisses my forehead reassuringly. “It’s okay, mo ghrá. It’s okay.”

“I sat there for a while, with my clothes soaked, numb from what had just happened. Then it hit me. My mother was truly gone and I was a murderer.”

“When my mother was killed…” he says. “All I wanted was blood. It’s okay to want to avenge those we love. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I’m sorry you lost your mom too.” The back of my hand strokes his jaw, and his eyes grow heavy.

I want to ask how she was killed, but I don’t think my heart can take any more pain.

With a sigh, I finish my story, so he knows everything.

“After what I did, I had no one to call for help. So I called Jerry. Of course, he offered to help me bury the bodies. Little did I know, he collected proof of my father’s death and all the evidence of me smuggling drugs and used it to blackmail me into staying.”

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