Page 76 of Rage

A commotion at the door draws our attention.Lily bursts in, face flushed with exertion.“They’re back!”she calls out.

I lock eyes with Mom, a silent conversation passing between us.What fresh hell awaits us now?

sixteen

Mason

We waited and waited, not speaking, not moving.We are standing in the pit the women called their prison.

The smell is god-awful, but we can stand here for a couple of hours if they had to live in captivity all this time.

I hear a door opening somewhere in the building and we all look to each other in the darkness.

The air grows thick with anticipation as Peterson’s footsteps echo above us.My fingers tighten around my weapon, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

I press myself against the wall, melting into the shadows.

The trap door creaks open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness.Lane slips farther into the wall so the light doesn’t hit him.

Peterson’s silhouette appears at the top of the stairs.My fingers curl around the grip of my gun, knuckles white.Every fiber of my being screams to end him now.But we need answers first.

As he descends the ladder, humming a jaunty tune, bile rises in my throat.How many times has he made this journey, coming to torment his victims?The thought only fuels my rage.

His feet touch the ground.Before he can turn, I’m on him.

My fist connects with his jaw, the satisfying crunch music to my ears.Peterson staggers, eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Surprise, motherfucker.”I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall.

Recognition dawns in his eyes, quickly followed by terror.“You… you can’t be here,” he chokes out.“This is impossible!”

Liam steps up next to me.“Oh, but it isn’t, and the fun we are going to have with you.”

The smell of urine wafts up and I look down to see he has pissed all over himself.

“Please,” he chokes out.“I can explain?—”

My grip tightens.“Explain what?How you tortured innocent women?How you stalked Meadow?”

The mention of her name ignites something primal in me.I slam him against the wall, relishing the crack of his skull against concrete.

“Mason.”Lane’s voice, low and warning.“We need him alive.For now.”

Every instinct screams to end this fucker.But Lane’s right.We need answers.

I release Peterson, watching with satisfaction as he crumples to the floor.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Peterson spits, blood dribbling down his chin.“My family?—”

“Your family?”I laugh, the sound cold and humorless.“You mean Daddy dearest?Yeah, we had a nice chat with him earlier.”

The color drains from Peterson’s face.Good.Let him feel the fear he inflicted on others.

Now the fun begins.

And I can let my rage consume me.

seventeen

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