Page 29 of Last Breath

Prick. Man, how I’ve hated this asshole. If Salem doesn’t finish him off soon, I sure as hell will before he crushes what soul Salem has left.

Shifting in the chair slightly, I watch on as he continues. Salem stands there—almost like a deer in headlights, trapped by the words of his father.

“I guess I should thank you. Now I’ll have a chance to kill both of you. Two cocksuckers for the price of one.” Spewing evil as always, Tress doesn’t let up. “Does he cuddle up at night and cry that he misses me? Does he have a driving need for the comfort of your arms?” Narrowing his eyes, he licks the edge of his rotted teeth. Every inch of Tress is rancid.

“What? You didn’t think I knew he loved you, or that you saved him from my cock?” He laughs darkly. “I bet he loves taking it. He used to take it from me. When he didn’t, that’s when you’d see him with a busted eye.” He turns to Salem with a sneer. “Isn’t that right, boy.”

Sliding his blade along Tress’s chest again, the guttural growl Tress let’s loose is delectable. With Salem’s blade cutting deep, I revel in the sinew and cording of his muscles as they’re being torn apart.

“I’m going to love beating you to death!” Tress goads.

“You won’t be hurting anyone ever again, Tress.” Pulling out another chair and offering it to Joy, I grab the last one, a stool, and prepare for the show. I’ve seen the real Salem when he thought that justice should be served. Those were strangers, people without a connection to his past. Tress is the instrument that created Salem, and this need for retribution has built for long enough.

Turning to Joy, Tress addressees her. “How the fuck did you get roped into this? Two fuck buddies with Mommy issues. How are you filling—”

Having heard enough, Salem runs the length of his blade down Tress’s bicep, then draws it across his thigh. Smiling, eyes wide and full of excitement, he pulls Tress’s eyes up to focus on him. “I will enjoy this. For every time I feared you, every time I worried if you’d kill me, for every time I woke in the middle of the night with you above me, and for every time since that I’ve thought of you, I will slice you until not a drop of blood is left in your body.”

Cursing under his breath, tears attempt to fall from his eyes while seething anger builds within. Still, Tress doesn’t crack.

For the next hour, Salem slices into skin, tears it free from bone and relishes every sound that Tress makes. Looking at Joy, she’s enamored by the precision of Salem’s damage. She seems to take it all in, learning and deciding which cut is her favorite.

The blood pooling on the floor and splattering around the space is a showcase of the pain that’s been caged. Salem’s pain is painted across the space with Tress as the brush, the rundown home the canvas. It’s beautiful as it coats the cracked floor, covering it like a blanket of fresh snow in winter, not missing an inch. The blood is a deep reminder of how every dangerous man we’ve run across has died, all because of the man in the chair. All roads lead to home, and all are paved with the intentions of the dammed. Tress created this monster, this simple need to destroy and tear down those who wrong others. He made Salem who he is.

When there seems no more blood can flow out of Tress, Salem steps back to inspect his handiwork.

“Had enough, son? Is your arm tired yet?” Still taunting and malicious, even when he’s nearing his end. His breathing is labored, his movements—what little he can move—are sluggish and wobbly as he bleeds out.

Looking to Salem, who stands there inspecting his damage, I wait to see his next move.

Blowing out a breath and wandering to the sink, Salem washes his hands before cleaning off his knife and lovingly setting it away in the pouch.

“Sal?” Confused, I question, “Are you okay?”

He looks up, away from what he’s doing. “Yeah.” He ties the leather bounding. “Yeah. I’m good, Malachi. I’m good.”

Stepping to Joy and placing the pouch on her lap, she takes a hold of it and cradles it like a loved one. “How are you?” He beams. I can see how she fits us now, and she’s perfect. With a smile and a quick look over at Tress, her eyes tell the tale. She’s content.

We really did rescue her. Not from her grandmother and the monotony of being her caregiver, but from the bubble she’d contained herself in. She was content to keep her dark harpy lashed inside her head, keeping the real Joy from coming out. We gave her a way out. A way to release the pent-up need to cause discord and enjoy the machinations of death.

Salem dips forward, kissing her on the forehead, then on the cheeks, before bringing her lips forward to meet his. A soft peck turns to a deep, sensual kiss. I watch on, feeling my heart rate increase, enjoying the sight. Feeling my arousal grow, I adjust on the stool to ease the ache of it’s position. With blood covering him from head to toe, except for his hands, Salem has a look about him that I find enticing. Like a warrior home from battle, kissing his bride for the first time upon seeing one another again, he is unimaginably gorgeous to me. I’ve only ever been with him, until recently, but I find that sharing him with her will be a new step in strengthening our relationship.

Pulling back from her with a growl, Salem smiles that smirk of mirth and enjoyment. A true smile never crosses his face, thanks to this man, but it’s one of the closest I’ve seen in ages.

Stepping to stand in front of me, Salem slips his legs between mine. Dragging him down to me, I kiss him as if it’s the last we’ll ever have. I hear Tress groaning in the background, thoroughly disgusted with us, and it fuels me on. I reach forward and grasp his stiffness, as if we’re the only two in the room.

“Just get it over with,” Tress wails. “The last thing I want seared into my brain is you fucking cunts screwing in my house.”

Oh, how I wish I could. But having sex in this house would be a disgusting reminder for the rest of our lives, and that memory is one I don’t wish to keep. Breaking contact with Sal, looking deep into his eyes, I see the man. Salem is now satisfied that justice is in his grasp. Stroking a hand down his cheek and smiling up at him, I murmur softly, “Don’t let him ruin this. This is your day, love. Don’t give Tress any power over you.”

“I know, Malachi. He doesn’t own me, only you do. And I think it’s time to end this.” Reaching around to the back of my waistband where I have the cool Glock resting, Salem pulls it free and clicks the safety. Quickly and without pomp or a final word, he fires a single shot to Tress’s forehead.

Slumping over, still tied to the chair, what little blood remained in him trickles out of the hole. Locking the safety on the gun once more, Salem hands it back butt ended.

The mess surrounding Tress is magnificent. He doesn’t deserve a burial like Joy’s gran. He doesn’t deserve a funeral pyre either, so without a second glance, the three of us leave the house of Salem’s worst nightmare.

Chapter 16

Salem

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