Page 85 of The Beautiful Dead

The man who was clearly a Gallo of some sort stiffened momentarily before he recovered, straightening to his full height and smirked. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” His voice was tight, forced. He had to have been hurting, but he was still standing. “I like the crazy ones.”

A thunderous roar tore through the air. Raw. Primal. Electric. Sparks licked across my skin and danced in my veins, but it wasn’t from the storm—it washim. His presence. His fury.

Domino didn’t move like a man. He moved like a beast. A force of nature barreling toward his kill. The air thickened with his rage, suffocating, all-consuming. His need to possess, consume, and own vibrated off him in waves as he collided with the Gallo like a battering ram.

The man barely had time to register the danger before Domino’s fist caved his smirk in. The crack of shattering bone sang through the night.

It was a beautiful song just for me. A brutal, chaotic symphony that vibrated through my bones, curling deep into my gut, twisting into something that felt holy.

The Gallo staggered, choking, teeth clattering onto the wet grass. He grunted, barely keeping himself upright, when Domino struck again. A vicious left hook snapped the man’shead to the side, blood arcing through the air before getting swallowed by the rain.

The Gallo gasped, spitting red as it dripped down his face, stumbling backward looking for purchase. He blinked through the downpour, shock flickering in his eyes as he swiped his sleeve across his busted mouth.

“You—” He panted. “You crazy fucking?—”

Domino was on him before he could finish. He drove his knee into the man’s ribs, a sickening crunch echoing through the cemetery. The Gallo wheezed, doubling over in agony, but Domino didn’t let him fall.

He hauled him up by the lapels of his soaked coat, slamming him against a headstone. The marble shuddered from the impact, and the soldier groaned, eyes rolling.

Domino’s voice was low. Smooth and dangerous. “You like running your mouth, huh?”

The Gallo coughed, blood bubbling past his lips. “Fuck… you.”

Domino tilted his head, his soaked hair falling over his eyes. “That all you got?”

The man’s hand shot toward his belt—going for the gun strapped to his waist but Domino was faster. He snatched the soldier’s wrist, twisted it sharply, and the gun fell uselessly onto the grass before Domino kicked it away.

A sound ripped from the man’s throat—a mix of pain and disbelief. Domino’s grin was slow, dark, and dripping with amusement. “You thought that was gonna work?”

He twisted harder, making the man scream. Shivers raced down my spine, my fingers flexed on the handle of my blade.

“That’s cute,” Domino murmured. Then, drove his elbow into the man’s temple. The Gallo collapsed onto his knees, body swaying as his fingers sank into the mud.

Domino exhaled, shaking his head and squatted in front of him, gripping the man’s chin, forcing him to look up. “You know who I am?” he asked, voice calm.

The man’s breath stuttered. Fear bled into his eyes. “Yeah…” he croaked. “I know exactly who the fuck you are.”

Domino’s grin sharpened. “Then you should’ve run the second you saw me.”

The soldier coughed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “N-not scared of you, fucker.”

Domino’s fist crashed into his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood splattered onto the headstone in front of him, bright and wet. The man slumped, body barely holding itself upright.

“You scared now?” Domino murmured.

The Gallo wheezed, a cruel smile splitting his ruined lips. “You think this ends with me? You think the Gallos won’t come for you?”

Domino laughed. Low. Amused. Dark. “Oh, I hope they do,” he whispered. Then, he grabbed the man by the hair and slammed his skull against the marble.

A sharp crack ricocheted through the air. By the time the sound died, the man was sagged against the headstone, dazed, blinking slowly.

Domino yanked him back up—only to drive his knee into his gut. The man made a choked, wet sound. His body buckled inward, his legs giving out underneath him, but Domino didn’t stop.

He yanked him up again. Slammed him back down. His fist crashed into ribs. Once. Twice. Crunch. The soldier let out a mangled cry, his body convulsing from the pain. His limbs twitched. Weak. Spasming.

I exhaled slowly. Hypnotized. This wasn’t a fight. This was an execution.

The Gallo slumped, body limp against the grave as it slowly slid down, smearing a thick swath of red on the pale stone. His breath came in wet, shuddering gasps. The night swallowed his whimper as the rain mixed with the blood staining the earth.

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