Page 407 of Rage

“Let’s just try being together. If I make your life harder in any way instead of better, then it just takes one word, and I’ll be gone.” He leaned closer, his forehead pressed against mine as if we were sharing secrets.

As his lips brushed against mine softly, time seemed to freeze around us—everything else faded away—and for the first time in ages, I allowed myself to believe it might be okay after all.

Chapter Six

Beckett

Ihad to force myself to breathe and keep my hands steady as I knocked on the weathered door. This was it—the moment I’d been planning for weeks. I felt a spark of fear as the door creaked open, revealing the frail old man who stood there, his eyes clouded with confusion.

It was him. My heart races as I recognize the weathered face from old records and grainy photos. The man who had stolen her innocence and left her traumatized and in shambles. I force myself to smile, feigning friendly confusion as I ask, “Mr. Roberts? I think I may have the wrong place.”

“No, I’m Roberts. Who are you, lad?” His voice quavers and I see his knuckles whiten as he grips his cane.

“A friend,” I lie, stepping past him into the apartment. I close the door behind me, the click of the lock sounding unnaturally loud in the silence. “You remember Mila, don’t you?”

His eyes widen as he takes a step back, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t seen her in years. Please, I don’t know what you want.”

I follow him into the house, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. “You took something from her—something precious. And now I’m here to take something precious from you—your life.”As realization dawns in his eyes, I watch him try to bolt, but his aging body betrays him.

I grab him by the collar of his flannel robe, my fingers tight around his fragile neck as I slam him against the wall. “You thought you would get away with it?” I hiss. “I guess you’ve made it this far without someone holding you accountable for your unspeakable acts. You and your friends were supposed to be protecting those children. They’d lost their families, and you took their innocence, too. You disgust me to the point that this next part will be so enjoyable for me.”

For hours, I made him pay.

I reveled in his cries, his pleas for mercy only serving to fuel my anger further. I know there was a time when Mila cried out for a similar mercy, but she deserved one, and this piece of shit did not. I wanted to erase every trace of his touch from her memory, and for some reason, I had convinced myself that killing these men would do that. But as his lifeless body hung limply before me, I knew that no amount of vengeance could truly heal her wounds—or mine.

Yet still, I felt no remorse.

I stared at the body, feeling a strange sense of emptiness. This was the last one. The sixth man and head of the center during Mila’s time there. I told myself it was for Mila, that I was avenging her, but was I really healing her or just feeding my own need for control over something I couldn’t let go of for myself? For punishment?

No, I can’t think like that.

These men deserved everything they got and more. They had taken away Mila’s childhood, filling her life with pain and fear. And countless others. I would ensure they never hurt anyone else and would not go peacefully.

I turn to leave, but a movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. A woman stands in the doorway, pushingthe door open, her eyes wide with horror. She must have heard the commotion and come to investigate.

Thought that door was locked. Fuck.

“I have a key,” she says and holds it up as if to shield herself.

“Please,” I say, holding up my hands to show I meant no harm. “I’m not here to harm anyone else. I didn’t want you to see this.”

“What have you done?” Her voice shook as she took in the scene. She reminded me of Mila, only younger with the same dark skin and hair. She didn’t have an accent like Mila; her English intonation was perfect, even in fear. “Oh God, I’ll call the police.”

“Wait!” I move towards her, and thankfully, I’m no longer covered in blood from my session with the old man. I had forgotten about the neighbors. “Please, just give me a moment to explain.”

She backed away, her eyes darting towards the phone on the hall table. She was in a dirty nightgown, and when I looked closely, she had bruises on her legs and was barefoot. I knew I couldn’t let her call the cops, not yet. I had to buy some time.

“I know it looks bad, but he deserved it. That man in there did something terrible to someone I care about. He wasn’t a good man.” I took a step closer, my voice softening. “Please, allow me to make things right before you involve the police. Or at least let me leave a message for Mila.”

Her eyes searched mine, and she was scared. I couldn’t blame her. My words must have sounded like madness, and I shouldn’t have uttered Mila’s name, but I panicked. But then, something shifted in her expression. I saw recognition, and her eyes widened as she looked at me.

“Mila,” she whispered. “You did this for Mila.”

I nodded, a surge of relief washing over me. “Do you know her?”

“I know what happened to her,” the woman said, her eyes filled with a familiar pain. “I was there, too. Mila tried to make sure that us younger girls weren’t visited as much at the center. She sacrificed herself so much to help us. No one blamed her when she finally ran away. I tried to take her place, but I couldn’t get out.”

I felt a punch to the gut as realization struck me. Another survivor. One who knew Mila and her story, one who shared in it. Her gaze flicked to the body on the floor, and I saw a mix of emotions play across her face—fear, disgust, and something that looked like relief. And then I realized why she had a key. Why she was a neighbor. She was still here to service this old fuck.

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