Page 439 of Rage

Andrés's men return, their expressions hidden behind their masks. They look at Miguel’s unmoving form and nod in approval. One of them claps a hand on my shoulder. “You finished it,” he says, his tone pleasantly surprised. “Good for you.”

I nod, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction. It’s over. This wasn’t the justice my girl deserved, but I’ll settle for vengeance.

As two of the men carry Miguel away, the other two lead me to a large barrel with a fire burning bright inside of it. “Strip and burn your clothes here,” one of them says. The other holds up a small bundle of items. “Toss it all in, and we’ll make sure no evidence remains while our guys return Miguel to where he belongs.”

Swallowing hard, I do what he says, tearing my shirt and hoodie over my head and tossing them into the waiting flames along with the skull mask. Kicking off my sneakers, my jeans are next.

“Shoes too,” the other man says.

Gritting my teeth, I toss those in as well along with my socks until all that I’m left in are my black boxer briefs. “Here.” He opens a container of wet wipes and hands them to me one at a time. I scrub the blood from between my fingers and hiss at the sting of alcohol against my split skin. “Shower when you get home. Be thorough.”

I nod, and with my hands as clean as they’re going to get, I accept the small bundle of clothes and slide into a pair of unfamiliar sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that’s a size too small. As soon as I’m dressed, one of the guys heads to his waiting vehicle. He returns with bottles of bleach in either hand and starts pouring it on the ground, both on and around the chair Miguel was previously tied to.

“Go home,” the other says to me. “We’ve got it from here.”

Swallowing hard, I thank them one last time and walk away. Back to the waiting arms of my girl. The one place I belong.

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