Page 145 of The Beautiful Dead

“You’re a fucking waste of oxygen,” he sneered, pacing before her, kicking up dirty water that splashed against her trembling legs. “Mom never said why she cut you off, but I get it now.” He stopped, glaring down at her. “She saw what you were. The ugly under the cheap dye job and the caked-on makeup.”

“That’s not?—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he snapped. “You don’t need a voice anymore.”

A grin split his face, maniacal, unhinged. His eyes burned with something primal, something ravenous.

This was his kill. His moment.

“Domino?”

I met his gaze and tipped my head, my pulse thrumming with the electric thrill of his madness. “Whatever you need,piccolo agnello.”

His lips curled. “Hold her head. I’ve had enough of her voice.”

I stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Brielle’s skull, pressing the back of her head against my stomach. She squirmed, pathetically weak, her panicked breath fogging the air.

“Thank you.” Remi blew me a kiss. His expression was drenched in bloodlust. Pure. Unfiltered. Beautiful. “Now, pull her jaw down.”

A pleased hum rumbled in my chest. I loved it when his darkness broke free.

Hooking two fingers over her teeth, I wrenched her mouth open. She thrashed, her strangled scream cutting off into a garbled choke as Remi gripped her tongue and stretched it past her lips.

Slowly. Methodically.

He pressed the blade to the soft flesh.

And sliced.

She bucked against me, gurgling, blood pouring down her chin, soaking into her cream-colored blouse. The wet, slopping sounds of agony that wrenched from her throat were barely human. She was an animal now. Reduced to instinct. Drowning in suffering.

By the time Remi stepped back, holding the severed piece between his fingers, Brielle was already slumping, hovering on the verge of unconsciousness.

“Not yet,” he growled.

I smirked, warmth flooding my veins, and delivered a sharp slap across her cheek. Her head snapped to the side, eyes rolling back in her head. She gurgled, broken and barely breathing, but awake enough.

Blood slicked Remi’s fingers as he crouched before her, holding the mangled chunk of flesh like a prize. His other hand scooped up the rest of the butchered remnants he’d diced into small, jagged pieces.

He dangled one before her wide, terror-glazed eyes. “Open your mouth.”

Brielle pressed her lips shut, trembling.

With one look, I knew what he wanted. I wrenched her head back again, forcing her mouth open as Remi dropped the piece onto her tongue.

“Swallow,” he ordered, voice dark with amusement.

She shook her head violently.

Remi tsked. “I will make you if you don’t.” He tilted his head, letting her feel his breath ghost over her tear-streaked face. “If I have to force you, it’ll be one piece at a time. Over. And over. And over again.”

Brielle was weak.

And weakness always chose the coward’s way out.

For the next ten minutes, we repeated the same motions. Head wrenched back. Jaw pried open. Tongue forced down her throat.

Swallow.

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