Page 53 of Moth to a Flame

At least he’s distracted. I head toward the sound of the awful singing—man couldn’t carry a tune to save his life—and end up in his kitchen. He chops vegetables on the butcher block, his back to me as his voice commits crimes against humanity.

He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans. His brown hair is thinning at the top of his head. With his broad shoulders pulled back, he’s standing tall.

Proud.

Confident.

He keeps belting out line after line from “My Way.” Abomination, really.

Just like his intentions to destroy Regan or any other woman.

Both offenses are punishable by death.

Lucky for him, he has something I need.

He’ll die another night when I have no more use for him.

That settles the beast inside of me. Temporarily. Long enough for me to execute my plan without shoving my knife into his jugular.

I place the duffel bag silently on the marble floor. Slide my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, take out my leather gloves, and slip them over my hands.

Take the pocketknife out of my jeans pocket.

The song reaches its crescendo, that moment near the end right before Frank wraps shit up. Conceited Tripp raises his arm, clenches his fist in the air. He’s about to continue this sacrilege.

“You will do no such thing.” One gloved hand slaps over his offending mouth, the other pins the blade of my pocket knife to his Adam’s apple. “This song isn’t for you to ruin. Regan isn’t either.”

Before he can do anything like fight or stab me, I pull both of us back. I release his mouth for the split-second it takes me to grab his hair and—bam—bash his face into the butcher.

A slice of carrot flies off to the floor. I don’t think it matters to Tripp all that much.

It’s impossible to care about anything when you’re knocked out.

After checking my phone for messages from Regan one last time, I place it on top of Tripp’s glass coffee table. I promised her to be there for her. Since I’m going to be preoccupied in the next hour, I had to double-check.

Well, she hasn’t texted, and I’ll see her later anyway. There’s nothing I want more than to be with her, in her bed, right this fucking minute. But this is important.

This piece of shit with a brother serving time in Brinestone. Technically, I don’t need him. I could offer the guards money for their services.

Except it won’t be as entertaining as this.

As avenging Regan.

“I’m not here to watch you sleep.” My fist connects with his cheek, slamming his head into the floor.

His brown, repulsive eyes snap open and he glares at me from the tarp.

Doesn’t take long for him to realize his wrists are tied behind his back. That his ankles are just as tightly bound together. His clothes have been left on, but he’s not any less exposed.

They won’t protect him from what’s coming. Nothing will.

He screams something through the duct tape, eyes squinting.

The man who can’t tell the difference between violent rape and consensual non-consent role play resents me.

Me.

The nerve on this guy.

---