Page 84 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

"That was a good one," Cast muses, rolling the cigar between his fingers. He pushes off the table, stepping closer, his knife glinting under the dim overhead light. "But you know what I think she needs?" His green eyes flick to me, then Vincent, who still hasn’t moved, still hasn’t looked away from her.

Cast drags the tip of the blade down Angie’s arm, pressing just enough to break skin, a thin red line blooming in its wake. She flinches, her breath shuddering out.

He tsks. "Not deep enough, huh?"

Then he digs the blade in.

Angie screams, her body seizing as he carves into her skin—not deep enough to kill, not yet, just enough to make every nerve light up in agony. Blood wells, dripping onto the floor in slow, rhythmic splatters.

"You know, if we really took our time, we could make this last all night," Cast muses, carving another slow, shallow line down her forearm. "Just little cuts like this, nothing fatal. Just pain. Endless pain."

Angie sobs, her whole body trembling, her chest heaving like she’s trying to gulp down air that just won’t come.

Vincent steps forward then. He kneels in front of her, gripping her chin hard enough to make her whimper. "Keep looking at me," he orders, voice low, steady. Dangerous. "I want to see it when you finally understand that you're going to die here."

She hiccups through her tears, lips trembling. "Vince, please?—"

He doesn’t blink. "You don’t get to beg."

Cast presses the blade just under her collarbone, twisting it enough to make her scream again.

By the time we reach the main event, she’s barely conscious, a bloodied mess of tears and snot, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She’s shaking so hard the chair rattles beneath her. Hiccups break up her sobs, her body slumped forward, held up only by the restraints cutting into her wrists.

She looks pathetic. Weak. Helpless.

Exactly the way she left Willow.

Vincent steps forward, pressing a hand to her chest, right over her heart. "This doesn’t belong to you anymore."

I press the scalpel to her sternum. She thrashes weakly, but it's no use. The first cut is deep, parting flesh like wet paper. I don’t rush. I make sure she feels every inch of the blade, every slice of muscle and tendon. Her body jerks once, twice—then goes still.

I don’t stop cutting.

Her heart is still warm when I place it into the container. Willow’s new heart. The only thing that matters.

Vincent exhales, a slow, steady breath. "Let's get out of here."

We leave the warehouse, blood staining our hands, our clothes. But none of us look back. There’s nothing left behind worth mourning. As we approach the car, Cast lights his cigar and speaks with smoke billowing from his lips.

“We have to change first,” he says in the first moment of clarity I have ever seen from him.

“No, we have to get this heart to Willow,” Vincent sucks his teeth and turns to get into my black Mercedes.

“If we go covered in blood, they won’t give Willow the heart, they will open up a homicide investigation.” Cast snaps, flicking the ash onto the floor.

“We have to get this to Willow ASAP and-” Vincent snarls, but Cast just takes another pull from his cigar.

“Clothes are in the trunk and there's a gas station two miles down the road,” Cast cuts him off, opening the passage seat door forhim.

“Good call, Cast,” I praise, before walking around the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The ride to the gas station is quiet, but filled with anticipation.

Vincent sits in the passenger seat, his knee bouncing, fingers tapping against his thigh in a rhythm that’s just slightly off-beat. Meanwhile, Cast is in the back, arms stretched over the seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world, looking at the road through the window. The orange glow of the streetlights flickers across his face, making his green eyes look sharper, hungrier. He holds the smoking cigar between his teeth, filling up the car with smoke..

“Put that cigar out, Cast,” I say, my voice flat.

Cast chuckles but doesn’t argue, pressing the lit end into his black hoodie sleeve.

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