Page 49 of The Demon's Little Girl
"You want to know what makes her special?" I carry him across the room like he weighs nothing, then slam him againstthe stone wall hard enough to crack the mortar. "She trusted me. Felt safe in my house. And you destroyed that."
His feet scramble for purchase against the unforgiving stone as I lean my full weight into my grip. The gold of his eyes—Nalla's gold, stolen and corrupted—begins to dim as oxygen becomes scarce.
"Was just... just a human..." he gasps, voice raw and desperate.
"She wasmine." The words tear from my throat with such force that dust rains down from the ceiling. "My human that you never should have fucking gone near. My girl that only trustedme—" My voice breaks slightly, thinking of all the moments I should have had with her that his violence stole away. "You took her from me."
I release his throat just enough to let him draw a ragged breath, watching as understanding finally dawns in those familiar eyes. Fear, real and absolute, replaces his earlier arrogance as he realizes that his wealth and connections won't save him now.
"Rovak, please—we can work this out. Business is business, but?—"
My fist slams into his face, driving the words back down his throat along with most of his remaining air. The sound he makes is nearly animalistic, all desperate gasping and pain.
"Business?" I grab a fistful of his slicked-back hair and wrench his head to one side, exposing the thick column of his throat. "You think raping women is business?"
"She... she was just..." Another gasp, weaker this time. "A servant… Available..."
The word pushes me past the point of any remaining restraint. Available. As if Liora's presence in my house made her fair game for any demon with an appetite for violence. As if her humanity made her less deserving of basic dignity.
My hand moves to his jaw, fingers digging into pressure points that make him whimper. "She left because of you. Spent two years hiding, thinking she wasn't worthy of coming home because of what you did to her."
His struggles are weakening now, blood beginning to trickle from where my nails have punctured his skin. But it's not enough. Will never be enough to balance the scales of what he took from us.
"Rovak..." he wheezes. "She's… just a girl."
"No." My voice drops to a whisper that somehow carries more menace than any shout. "She's fucking everything."
I shift my grip, one hand still holding him against the wall while the other moves to his throat. Not squeezing yet, just... promising.
My fingers tighten incrementally, cutting off another portion of his air supply. "You deserve to feel the pain and fear that you inflicted on her. You deserve to have everything stripped away."
"Please..." The word is barely audible, almost lost in his labored breathing. "I... I didn't know... she meant something to you..."
"She's meant something to me since the day she arrived." Each word is punctuated by increasing pressure against his windpipe. "And you hurt her. Made her afraid. Made her run."
His face is beginning to turn interesting colors now, purple creeping in around the edges of that coal-dark skin. But his eyes—those fucking eyes that I see every time I look at my daughter—are still aware. Still afraid.
Good.
"Here's what's going to happen," I murmur, close enough that my breath stirs the hair near his ear. "You're going to die. Slowly. And while you do, you're going to think about what you stole from her. From me. From the life we could have built if you'd kept your hands to yourself."
My grip tightens further, cutting off another increment of precious air. He makes a sound like a broken bellows, all desperate wheeze and panic.
"She's in a storage room right now," I continue in that same conversational tone. "Hiding with our daughter because the sound of your voice sent her right back to whatever you put her through. Do you understand what that means?"
His mouth works soundlessly, trying to form words that won't come.
"It means you don't just die for what you did. You die for what you're still doing to her. Every nightmare. Every moment of fear. Every time she flinches away from kindness because creatures like you taught her the world isn't safe."
The pressure increases again. His struggles are mostly reflex now, uncoordinated spasms as his brain begins to starve. But I'm patient. This needs to be done right.
"The irony," I muse, watching his eyes begin to bulge, "is that you probably thought you were taking something from me. Marking what was mine as a way to assert dominance."
Another increment of pressure. His hands have stopped clawing at mine, hanging limp at his sides.
"But all you did was create something precious." My voice softens slightly, thinking of Nalla's laugh, her tiny hands patting my face with absolute trust. "Something worth protecting with my life. So in a way, I should thank you."
His eyes are rolling back now, consciousness flickering like a dying flame. Almost time to finish this.
