Page 92 of Ruthless Rebel

When Lincoln returns, his eyes are void of any emotion, and I know only the ruthless monster inside of him remains, as he slowly moves round the table and ties each of her limbs to the corners. Once he is sure she is secured, he takes a step back and surveys his work blankly, and I know he doesn’t relish the idea of hurting a woman, even one as sick as her, but I know he has to do this, and he knows it, too.

I pull his face to mine and kiss him fiercely, surprising him, but I don’t linger, not wanting to give her any kind of a show. “Make it hurt, baby, for him,” I tell him softly, and he nods stiffly, as I retreat from the table, leaning on the wall beside the door.

Lincoln palms a knife in his free hand, and I prepare myself to watch him work, but what I don’t expect is for him to instantly plunge the knife deep into her side, mimicking the wound Billy gave him, and making her cry out in agony.

“I changed my mind,” he grits, twisting the knife sharply, bringing his mouth to her ear. “I don’t fucking play games. I hunt and kill, to rid the world of monsters like you.” He pulls out the knife, not pausing before he is dragging the blade through her shirt to slice it open.

“You’re a monster, like me,” she gasps out, watching the blood spill from her side in awe.

“Yes,” he smirks, embracing that darkness that he has hidden from so many others before, as he adds, “And you should have killed me when you had the chance.” Then he brings the knife down again and starts carving lines into her stomach, ignoring her screams, as she tries to stop herself from pleading.

It’s only when he steps back, using the remnants of her ripped shirt to wipe some of the blood away, that I note he has carved the words ‘Don’t’ and ‘Stop’ into her body. It’s only today that I know the significance of those words, and when she reads them, the tears finally start to fall.

“Want to say them again?” He taunts, strolling back over to the table and picking up the pliers. “Want to scream my name, and beg me not to stop?” He asks, moving to where one of her wrists is secured, and sliding the pliers onto one of her fingers. “No, you won’t do that, will you? Because you know I don’t believe in something as fickle as mercy.”

Snip. Another scream as he forces the pliers through her first finger, cutting through skin and bone like it’s nothing, before moving on to the next.

She starts to look like she might pass out, but knowing that could happen, I made sure to toss some adrenaline in the bag along with the weapons, and Lincoln is quick to jab her with a shot of it, keeping her awake and alert.

“Do you know how many nights I spent down here,” he begins, slicing off another finger. “How many women my father had strapped to this table before you? There were so many I lost count, and like you they were naive, but none of them were as downright stupid as you.” Snip. Scream. “Do you think my father loved you? You were nothing but a fucking toy for him to play with and discard, and if my mother hadn’t came home that night, he would have called me down to help clean up your dead body, and I would have done it without another thought, knowing that another wouldn’t be too far behind you.” Snip. Scream. “The only difference between you and them, is that you were pathetic enough to think you were different.”

Tears are streaming down her face now, yet her eyes are still crazy, as she watches him work. She opens her mouth to speak, yet nothing but a choked sob leaves her lips, as he goes to work on her other hand. I watch it all with no reaction, not caring for her pain or cries, and all too used to watching the suffering of women, but at least this one deserves it.

When he brings the knife to her face, her eyes finally show their first sign of fear. “Don’t,” she gasps out, and Lincoln’s smirk turns feral.

“I’ll see you in hell, Vivian.” Then he digs the knife into the top of her head and starts slicing along the outside of her face, deep enough to peel back the skin.

Honestly, the sight is fucking brutal. Yet I watch his every move, getting off on the way he pays back the pain Logan went through ten-fold, not faltering for a second. He digs into her face until he can peel it off completely, and only then does she pass out, but he doesn’t stop. I watch in awe as he mimics every injury Logan felt, cutting her and beating her until every inch of her skin is coated in blood. The fingers that hurt him are now bloody stumps, the face that haunted him is now lying on the floor at Lincoln’s feet, but still he does more.

Reaching into her mouth, he pulls out her tongue, slicing it off in a way that lets me know it isn’t his first time doing such a thing, and his rage does something to me I can’t explain. Especially when he moves to grab the ax and starts to hack away at her body, slicing chunks of her skin and muscle away, until I am positive there is no way she could still be alive. Yet still, he doesn’t stop. He forces the ax into her chest and presses down, ripping open her chest cavity with ease, and then taking his time digging around in there.

I can’t tell what he is doing from this angle, but I hear the breaking, snapping and scraping of bones, as well as the squelch of blood as he works, and all the while I remain quiet and stoic by the door, just letting him do his work. I’m not sure how much time passes, but when he finally takes a step back, I see his entire body heaving, with the deep breaths he is taking from the exertion of his work. Only then does he turn and reveal his face, neck and arms drenched in her blood, as he takes a couple of steps towards me and dumps something bloody at my feet.

My eyes meet his, and they are crazed and filled with a void like I have never seen before, and when I look down, I see what he tossed before me. Reaching down, I pick up the bloody mound in my hand and examine it closely. It’s her heart. Now nothing but a useless, lifeless organ, no longer beating in my hand, yet that’s not where my attention lies. No, it’s on one of her ribs that is plunged straight through it, with two words carved into the bone.

For Logan.

I almost laugh. Not because this is funny, but because I finally get it. I finally understand that feeling, the one people search for their entire life. The one of acceptance and understanding, the one that tells you that no matter what they will have your back. The one Elle found with Marcus, the one Jace found with Riley, and the one I had told myself I would never ever have, because inside my mind was too dark for something so pure.

But what happens when you find another soul that matches yours? When their shade of jet black is a carbon copy of your own, and you fit together like two missing puzzle pieces, finally being put side by side into the jigsaw?

“Now we’re even,” he breathes, watching me closely, and a wave of emotion washes over me, as I toss the heart to the floor, and grab him by the vest, pulling him into me.

“I love you,” I blurt out, not caring that we are both stained in the blood of our first love's killer, because I can’t wait another second for him to know it.

His blank eyes flash with emotion, as he snaps completely into the moment with me. “What did you say?” He asks, his tone desperate, like he is sure he misheard me, and I can hear my heart beating inside of my head.

“I love you,” I repeat, making sure he hears me, pulling him in even closer. “I’m in love with you, Lincoln, and life is too fucking short not to say it, and we both know that, so I love you, I’ve been in love with you a long time, and it’s about time I told you.” I rush out all my words, before pressing a soft kiss to his bloody lips, tasting his sins and mixing them with my own, and nothing has ever tasted better.

When I pull away, his eyes are back to their normal shade of green, and I see the tension melt away from his body, as he goes from monster to man. “I love you too, Dark Prince,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to mine. “Always have, always will.” Those last four words fix something inside of me, and though Logan left a hole in us that will never be repaired, at least we have each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, not sparing the corpse on the table another glance, as I slip my bloody fingers between his, and lead him from this terrible place, one last time.

We almost make it all the way to the front door, before he pulls on my hand and halts me in place. “Why here?” He asks, and when I search his stare in confusion, he adds, “Why did you say it here, now, why?”

My eyes soften, as understanding washes over me, and I lean over and kiss him again, pouring as much love as I feel for him into that one kiss, before I pull away. “This was your home, Lincoln, it’s where you grew up. I wanted you to have one last good memory here before I burn it the fuck down.”

Reaching for the front door, I pull it open and find the familiar red car in the driveway, with its owner sitting on the hood, smoking a cigarette like he owns the damn place. When Lincoln sees him, he looks back at me more confused than ever.

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