Page 75 of Depraved Truths

After William lost consciousness, I started an intravenous line, administering a full liter of normal saline to keep him hydrated longer. He’s also receiving oxygen through a nasal cannula connected to a small portable tank.

We can’t have him leaving this earth just yet.

Eli climbs out of the truck and turns the machine on, the rumble of the cement mixer humming steadily. I still find myself in awe of him as I watch him work. No wonder he has the honed body he does. He lifts hundred-pound bags of concrete mix as if they weigh nothing. I offered to help, but he wouldn’t allow it—such a gentleman. With a contented sigh, I hop down, start cleaning up our mess, and toss the duffle into the passenger side of the truck.

We meet at the cross. I pull the ball gag from William’s mouth, and he stirs, groaning. After removing the IV line, I toss the used medical equipment into the dirt behind him, no longer needing any of it.

“Any final words, Governor? Speak now if you want your wife and children to live.”

He mumbles under his breath and coughs.

“What? What was that?” I yank the cock torture device, effectively castrating his penis and slap him across the face with what’s left of his mutilated dick.

“Uncle!” he screams, his voice hoarse and broken.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re crying uncle. Are you going to spit it out or not?”

“H—h—his uncle,” Hunt finally spits out. “Walker. Alvin Walker.”

Eli stills and then curses under his breath. “Motherfucker.”

I reach for him, but he pulls away. Anguish etched deeply across his face. “I need a minute,” he says, as he steps toward his truck and tightly grips the tailgate.

I pause and give him the space he needs. Having met none of my extended family, I can only imagine what he must be feeling—the hurt, the betrayal. The more we discover, the more questions we have. And Allie.

Oh God. Allie is going to be destroyed, and the timing couldn’t be worse. She’s so close to her dad. Alvin always seemed like a good guy, a good husband, and a good father. But looks can definitely be deceiving. I would know—I had to learn that the hard way.

Eli walks back over, and I lay a hand on his arm. He gives me a tight nod, signaling he’s okay for the moment. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek before releasing his arm.

We have one last task to complete.

Eli starts digging into the dirt at the base of the cross with a shovel, loosening the ground until the wood is free enough for usto lift it—and William—out of the ground. We lay the cross flat in the dirt, with him looking upwards. I smirk.

He could make a snow angel—or a dirt angel—if he could move his legs. I grab the shovel and toss dirt across his torso and extremities, saving his head for last.

“I hope you’re ready for hell, you sick bastard. Let Lucifer know I’ll see him when I get there.” I don’t bother to restrain the venom in my tone. I’ve never meant anything more in my life.

Burying him alive seems like the perfect endgame for a monster like Hunt. The concrete starts running out of the truck, inching closer to him. I climb out before it can reach my feet.

It doesn’t take as long as I thought it would for the concrete to engulf his body and fill the footer. Eli smooths the mixture as I watch in silence. I welcome the peacefulness already seeping into my body. It’s a beautiful night—clear skies, stars shining brightly. Everything feels more alive, more vivid. Lighter. The air is cleaner, as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. A burden I knew I carried, but hadn’t realized how heavy it was.

Eli turns the machine off and parks the truck where it previously sat before heading my way. I give a final look back before climbing in with Gabriel. He’s waiting for us at the exit, and we follow him back to the hotel, where we return the Jeep we stole. I’m careful to ensure we’ve left nothing behind. Heading to the hotel on foot, I leave Gabriel and Eli to dispose of William’s vehicle.

Throwing my hoodie back on to cover my face—and possibly any blood splatters on my shirt—I sneak up the backstairs to the third floor before taking the elevator up to the suite. I slide the key card over the door scanner and enter the foyer.

“Bryce?” I get no answer. It’s strange. It’s oddly quiet in a room that would usually be boisterous. I enter the living area and freeze.

Standing beside Bryce, who is sitting on the couch with a solemn look on his face, is a handsome dark-haired man with deep, amber-colored eyes.

Instantly, my pocketknife is in my hands. Just as quickly, the man has a gun out, pointed in my direction.

“Who is this?” I aim my question at Bryce.

“He’s with the FBI.” “You’re going to want to put that away,” the man says, turning his weapon toward Bryce.

Caught off guard, I’m not sure I could take him.

“Okay, don’t hurt him.” I slide the switchblade into my back pocket. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

---