Page 431 of Rage

I know he’s right. I know I tolerated abuse in my previous marriage and in most of the relationships I had. That’s why I killed my ex husband. And that’s why Ian killed my ex lover. To some extent, that’s why we are still killing people similar to them even after all these years.

Maybe we haven’t forgotten the way our close family and people who swore they loved us treated us, and maybe we’ll never be able to forgive them. Despite the fact that what we are doing is completely illegal, I can’t help but wonder if it’s immoral. Or unethical.

Is it so wrong that we don’t want to see more people going through what we did? Is it so wrong to defend the ones who can’t defend themselves? I don’t think we’re heroes, not in any way, shape, or form. But I do believe we’re vengeance incarnated mixed with a spectrum of emotions that glue us as a couple and keeps our family together.

I don’t reply to what Ian said with anything else than a nod and a kiss. And he doesn’t need more, that’s one of the many things I love about him. He takes my hand and guides me to where Larry is still bleeding.

“This one was easy,” he says.

“Boringly so.”

“Do you think we should start torturing them more?”

“It depends. I don’t want to let these monsters rob me of the seconds or the breaths I could spend with my family. But, from time to time, when the kids are with Nora, we could have a fun date that involves some scissors, hammers, or any other sharp objects.”

“Do you want to cut their fingers?”

“I want to cut their balls.”

He laughs. That deep, rich laugh that never fails to brighten my days. The same laugh I love waking up to when he’s playing with the twins and their older brother. The laugh that gives mepurpose and the laugh I crave hearing the same way a junkie craves their next hit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Let’s wrap Larry up and feed him to the pigs.”

“Do you think someone will eventually start wondering why a lawyer and a stand-up comedian decided to have a farm 50 miles from their home?” I ask, starting to undress Larry and scrunching my nose in disgust when I see his dick.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, gently pushing me aside and continuing what I started. “But even if they do, you know we’re brilliantly covering our tracks, baby. We’ve been doing this for years.”

“I guess.”

“Echo, look at me.” His voice leaves no room for negotiation so I lower my gaze to look into his eyes. “You’re coming up with reasons to worry for absolutely no reason.”

“Thereisa reason.” I lift my hands only to smack them on my thighs. “I don’t want our children to grow up visiting mommy and daddy in jail. And I don’t want us to die in there either.”

“Then we’ll stop doing this.”

“It’s not that simple and you know that.”

“Why? It really is. One day you’re killing someone, the other you don’t. You can find a different hobby. Might I suggest crocheting?”

“Stop it.” I snarl, clenching my jaw.

“Or maybe some cute DIY projects? I’m sure you can find some housewives who would absolutelyloveto help you build a Christmas tree from toilet paper tubes.”

“Ian, I’m warning you?—”

“You’re warning me?” He lets out a mocking laugh. “You don’t want to go to jail for killing random men who should’ve been a stain on someone’s sheets, yet you would go to jail for murdering the father of your children? So. Maybe pick up fishing?”

Deciding to not feed his mockery anymore, I grab Larry’s hair and start dragging him towards the exit, ignoring my husband and trying to settle my anger. I know why he did that, I know all the tricks Ian Beckett has in his proverbial hat and I know how many aces he has up his sleeve. And usually I admire that about him. But now, I’m angry that he decided to use them on me.

I can hear Ian saying something behind me, but I’m too angry to pay attention to him. I hate that he doesn’t take in consideration the risks, that the fact that we now have a family and three mini versions of us to take in consideration before making decisions. And I can’t believe that less than an hour earlier I was worried I’m not a good enough mother, when those children couldn’t have a more reckless father.

Taking a butcher knife from the wall of the pig stale, I start chopping his body, throwing the pieces behind me. I can feel the dirt and the pebbles digging in my skin, I can feel the blood on my hands and the drops falling on my face, but I don’t care. I just need to get this done and go home to my children. Their father can do whatever he pleases, but he’d better stay away from me if he doesn’t want to end up like Larry. Because right now jail doesn’t sound that much of a bad idea if that would mean Ian never mocking me again.

I can feel Ian’s hand gripping my hair, but I choose to ignore it. I might be a lot of things, but a fool I am not, so there is no way I will fall for the same tricks just to calm down and forgive him for goading me. It’s not what he said—not at all—it’s the fact he chose to treat me as a regular person. As somebody he just likes to poke and have fun with. And that is something I’d never tolerate, especially not when it’s coming from my husband who knows damn well that I have been treated like this by too many men. And the fact most of those men are now pig shit or fish foodmight be a hint of what I’m capable of when somebody doesn’t give me the respect I think I deserve.

“Enough, Echo,” he murmurs in my ear, my head going backward when he pulls my hair so hard I can hear it crack. “You made your point.”

“I don’t think I did,” I retort while I keep cutting Larry into small pieces even if the only thing I can see now is my husband’s face upside down.

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