Page 207 of Fractured Devotion
“Then why?” he gasps.
I lean in, my breath hot against his ear.
“Because some debts need to be paid in flesh.”
I pull the knife free before shoving him down to the floor with a brutal shove. Then, I straddle him, pinning him in place.
His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, panic flickering in his eyes as he realizes there’s no escape.
“This isn’t about justice,” I whisper, my voice steady.
“What is it about then?” he chokes.
“Balance,” I say. I press the blade to his throat. “You took too much. Now I take everything.”
With that, I cut deep and slow.
He gurgles, his eyes wide, his hands clawing at mine.
I watch until the light fades.
Then, I sit there for a while, staring at his body.
No more words. No more power.
Just meat and silence.
I wipe the blade clean on his shirt. Then, I rise and leave him there.
Outside, the night is still.
The refinery burns faintly behind me, a dying heart losing its beat.
But my list isn’t finished.
Not yet.
Rourke still lives, tucked away in some fortress, playing his games from afar. He’s the final name, the last thread I need to pull.
But tonight, I cross another off. And I feel it, the hunger beneath my skin, still gnawing, still restless.
I walk into the darkness, the weight of what’s left pressing down on me.
I’m not done.
Not until every debt is paid.
I don’t head back to the city.
Instead, I retreat to an old safe house—one I haven’t used in years.
It’s nothing more than a crumbling flat above a boarded-up tailor shop, the walls thin and the windows layered in dust. But it’s quiet. It doesn’t ask questions.
I lock the door behind me, bolting it twice out of habit.
The weight of tonight clings to me, thick as smoke. I peel off my gloves, watching the dried blood crack against the leather.
I drop my weapons on the table. The knife glints under the weak light, still stained in places I missed.
