Page 193 of Sins of the Hidden

He bucked wildly as I grabbed him, a desperate strength fueling his resistance. His heel lashed out, catching Law's jaw with a sharp crack. Blood sprayed as Law staggered back, hand flying to his face.

"You fucking animals!" Tyler screamed, voice climbing to an unfamiliar register. "This is kidnapping! Assault! You'll all go to prison!"

I slammed the bat into his shin. Bone snapped like dry wood. Tyler's scream echoed off concrete walls. I raised the bat again, bringing it down on his shoulder. The crack was wet, final.

Chet stepped forward, knife glinting. "Ever wonder where your voice goes when it can't scream anymore?"

I squeezed Tyler's broken wrist. Bone fragments shifted beneath my touch. His scream transformed into somethingprimal—pure animal sound. The fight drained instantly, consciousness flickering as pain overwhelmed him.

Law exchanged glances with Chet, hesitation clear in his stance. Blood trickled from his split lip where Tyler's heel had connected. "So how do we?—"

I was already moving Tyler toward the crematorium's open mouth.

Tyler's body went rigid, a choked sound escaping from his throat as I positioned him directly in front of the blazing heat. The blast melted the pomade in his hair, sending dark rivulets down his temples. His skin reddened instantly in the thermal assault, blistering visibly even from three feet away.

A guttural noise escaped his body. His legs thrashed wildly. Beside me, Law's face remained impassive, blood still seeping from his injured mouth.

I shoved Tyler into the crematorium without ceremony. His expensive watch melted into his wrist as his body disappeared into the fire, gold and steel becoming molten. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the basement. His screams echoed off the concrete walls before cutting off abruptly.

The basement temperature rose noticeably. Sweat began to bead on our foreheads. The others watched in horror as the crematorium door sealed shut with Tyler inside.

They hurt my wife. They made her bleed. They laughed while she cried. Each death was a note in the symphony of justice I composed for her.

Without waiting for discussion, I moved to Jensen. I cut his restraints and dragged him toward the gurney. His pleas became nonsensical babbling about his life, his career, his regrets.

"Did Oakley and Anne beg?" Law asked, voice raw, dabbing at his split lip. "Did you listen to them when they cried?"

I strapped Jensen to the gurney, cinching the leather restraints until they bit into his flesh, leaving bloodless whitelines across his wrists and ankles. He fought harder than Tyler had, his banker's physique revealing unexpected strength as he bucked and twisted against the bonds.

"In the barn," my fingers tightened in his hair, forcing him to look at the flames, "did Oakley beg you to stop?"

His knuckles whitened. Jaw locked. "Yes! God, yes, she begged!" His voice fractured. "She kept saying she'd never tell. That she wouldn't say anything if we just stopped. But we didn't stop. We took pictures. We laughed." Tears streamed down his face. "Please—I've changed!"

I drove the bat into his ribs. Once. Twice. Each impact produced a satisfying crack as bone gave way. Blood foamed at his lips.

"You hurt my fucking wife." The words came out like venom. My grip tightened until his scalp began to tear. "I'm going to burn you alive and listen to you scream until your lungs collapse."

"My parents!" he screamed, desperation making his voice crack. "Someone will look for me!"

"We've already taken care of that. A very convincing suicide note. Financial fraud uncovered at your firm. Couldn't face the disgrace." Law's voice was detached. "No one will look for you. No one will find you. No one will remember you."

"Please–"

"Dead rapists don't reoffend." My voice cut through his pleas.

Jensen's howls redoubled as I pushed the gurney forward. The wheels caught in a crack on the concrete floor. I strained against the suddenly immobile stretcher, Jensen's pleading eyes locked on mine. With a final heave, the gurney lurched forward, the front wheels clearing the threshold of the crematorium.

The heat hit him in graduated waves—first his legs, then torso, then face. His expensive leather shoes curled and blackened first, then his tailored pants ignited along the cuffs.The brick frame conducted heat so efficiently that his back began to blister before his head even reached the smoldering glow.

My eyes locked with his as his hair burst into flames. His mouth opened in a final scream as the crematorium door sealed shut.

The basement had become a furnace. Sweat poured from Law’s face. Chet had stripped to his undershirt. The remaining two men had stopped struggling—the heat sapping their strength.

Inside my head, something began to fracture. The heat, the smell, the screams—it was all bleeding together into something else. Something familiar. Each scream they made echoed hers. Each plea reminded me of her broken voice confessing what they'd done.

Michael was next. I cut his restraints and dragged him directly to the crematorium's mouth—no ceremony, no gurney. Just feeding flesh to flames. He was beyond coherent speech now, just animal whimpers and desperate movements.

"Please," he gasped as the heat hit him. I slammed the bat into his skull. Brain matter splattered the wall. He dropped like a stone, convulsing.

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