Page 129 of Breaker

“Fuck man,” he says, growing panicked when he sees the utensils I’m carrying. “I called it off like she wanted, okay? Tell her I did. I fucking called it off and told Rune I didn’t want to marry that whore.”

I scuff. I can’t help it. If Cora did send me, he’s really not helping his case with the name calling.

He takes a shaky breath when I place the garlic crusher down, followed by the paring knife, and mallet. I don’t have much time, so we need to get started.

“He asked me why I was suddenly changing my mind, okay? And I told him that I didn’t want to marry a Julian, just like she told me to say.”

Cora.We’re going to have a talk. She must have done this today. Our sweet little fighter. She’s blackmailing this asshole. I think this warm tingling feeling isn’t just pride, but I think I actually love her. Really truly love her. She’s so perfect. Of course she’d not wait to be rescued. Our Little Red would take matters into her own hands. She’s been fighting for her life for as far back as she can remember and here I thought I was going to swoop in and keep her safe.

Fool.

Even back home, being held hostage, not knowing her fate, she fought us, sassed us, stood her ground every step of the way.

She hit Reaper for fucks sake.

I shake my head at the memory and pick up the paring knife.

“He said he understood.” Zane’s voice gets a slight squeak to it. “He said it was fine, that he’ll find another use for her.”

That makes me pause and I don’t give a fuck that I have just given myself away. In fact, Iwanthim to know this is coming from us. Heneedsto understand that when you fuck with us, when you try to harm one of us, when you kill one of us,when you think you can take what’s ours, we’re aren’t going to run.

No. We’re going to destroy you bit by bit. Piece by piece. Remove you from this earth one tiny part at a time until you’re wishing we’d just kill you.

Just like he did with the other’s. Those poor souls in the images Harlow smuggled out. The same images that live in my head, bleeding into my dreams as nightmares.

Just like they did with Hunter.

“What are you doing with that?” he asks as I flip the little knife in my hand.

His eyes move around in panic, growing wide the longer I stand flipping the knife and catching it by the blade. Funny how everyday kitchen utensils take on an ominous look when you’re strapped to a table.

I flatten his palm to the surface. He whimpers and goes to move. I don’t have to apply too much pressure to keep him still. He remembers quickly the wire will rip into his flesh if he tries to free himself.

“What are you do—“ His scream fills the kitchen as I slip the tip of the blade under his fingernail. He forgets about the wire and jerks, then screams as it cuts. Heat fizzles through me, shooting straight to my chest. It eases the pressure there slightly. I slip the knife out, amazed at how little blood flows from the wound. “Please, man.”

Begging already. I bet all those people begged. But I know Hunter didn’t. He was far braver than this sack of shit.

Zane whimpers again, looking up at my helmet with pleading eyes. I wonder if he sees what a coward he is in his reflection. “I don’t know what you want.”

He eyes the knife. I set it down. His shoulders relax. That makes my skin itch so I pick it up and stab it down, driving it with all my force until it cuts all the way through his hand,digging into the wood table. He screams, this high shriek of a sound that grates out of him. His other hand lurches upward and the wire slices into the back of his wrist.

Better be careful.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

I watch him stare at his hand, the knife through the center, blood pooling, then running in a river down to the table. He slowly calms, easing into and accepting the pain. His lashes flutter and he tilts sideways. I swear to god if this is what makes him pass out, we’re never going to make it to the good part.

I pick up the mallet.

“Oh, my god,” he shrieks. “Please no.”

It makes a loud click as metal hits metal and the knife digs further into the table. Zane lets out more of a groan than a scream, eyes pinching closed.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “I don’t understand what you want.”

Revenge.

It’s quite simple. Universal.

---