Page 89 of Wicked Scorn
“You’re gonna pay for this, you sick piece of shit,” I snarl, leaning until our faces are inches apart. “I’m gonna make you beg for death before I’m through with you. Already got one body on my hands tonight, might as well add to the count.”
He struggles, clawing at my hands, but I don’t budge. I could snap his neck with barely any effort at all. Part of me wants to, wants to watch the life fade from his eyes and know he’ll never hurt her again.
I want Oakley to watch. I want her to see him suffer, to see what I’ll do for. How I will protect her and slay all her demons?
Graham is there in an instant. He shoots me a look, a silent question in his eyes.
Kill him or not?
Every ounce of strength and weight in my body slams this fucker against the brick wall, over and over until I let go of his throat. He grapples for air, but I steal it from him with a kickto the gut. He did something to my girl, so now he’s gonna feel my ire.
Don’t fuck with what belongs to a Blackwood.
Don’t fuck with what belongs to me.
I turn back to the sick fuck, taking in his mottled, purpling face and the stark terror in his bulging eyes. The rage is still there, burning through my veins. But there’s something else, too. Something darker, more vicious.
This bastard doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.
A cruel smile curves my lips as I lean in close, my voice a low, deadly purr.
“You’re not getting off that easy, asshole. You’re gonna wish you were dead by the time I’m done with you.”
I feel the wet spray of blood hit my cheek as he spits at me and I wipe it off, knowing that’s the last thing he’ll get to do.
“Where is she?” I demand, not caring if he can understand me or not. I need to hear it.
His eyes find me, reddened slits in the ruin of his face. His lips move again, shaping words I can’t make out. I crouch beside him, uncaring of the blood soaking into my jeans as I lean in close. He tries to speak, jaw working like a landed fish, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling cough that splatters even more crimson across his own face.
“Oakley,” I growl, so close I can smell the copper tang of his life leaking away. “Where?”
“Freezer.”
He took her to the one place she couldn’t fight back from. Couldn’t scream or run or be heard. A cold, silent vault to leave her trapped and helpless.
“You sick fuck,” I snarl, grabbing him by the front of his ruined shirt and hauling him up until our faces are almost touching. “What’s she doing there, huh? What’d you do?”
“Tell me!” I roar, giving the man a vicious shake that has his head lolling bonelessly. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll?—”
“N-no…” It’s barely more than a gurgle, but it stops me cold. “Didn’t…she’s mine…”
“Motherfucker!” I hurl him away from me in a burst of rage and frustration, his broken body slamming back into the floor with a meaty thud.
“Jeremiah, we need to go.” Graham’s voice cuts through the red haze, fogging my vision. “If she’s in the freezer…”
We turn and head for the stairs that will take us down into the belly of this place.
Finally, we reach the bottom, moving past the basement storage until we reach a corridor opening up into a wide space lined with heavy steel doors—the library’s archival freezers. My breath fogs in front of me as I scan them, dread and urgency warring in my chest.
“Which one?” Graham’s voice is hushed.
I open my mouth to answer, but the words freeze in my throat as another sound reaches us. A faint, muffled whimper, little more than the barest of sound, but it ignites the nerves in my body like a lightning strike.
“Bunny?” I call out, heart in my throat as I strain to trace the noise to its source.
There it is again, a little stronger this time. My feet are moving before I can think, carrying me down the row of freezer rooms until I’m standing before the largest of them all.
“Oakley, baby, I’m here!” I shout, grabbing the latch and wrenching it open with every ounce of desperate strength I possess.
