Page 265 of Ruins
Then I shatter both anyway.
The meat tenderizer slams down. The crack echoes through the room. The blood splatters onto his stupid, stunned face, and a surge of joy floods through me—sharper than I thought possible.
Jude shakes violently, his body convulsing from the pain.
“Please.” His voice is wrecked, choking on his own suffering. “I’m sorry,” he coughs, spitting blood onto the floor.
I stare down at him. No remorse. No pity. Just cold, consuming rage. “You willnevertouch her—oranyone—again.” I extend my hand. Luca places my next tool into my palm.
The metal bat.
Jude’s breath shudders.
“You won’t even think about her again.”
I swing.
The bat slams into his leg. His scream pierces the night, and I silently thank myself for giving my wife that sleeping pill.
I swing again.
A sickening crack.
Jude’s body jerks violently, his breath choking out between screams. I toss the bat to the ground. Romeo hands me the buck knife. I twirl it between my fingers.
Jude’s eyes widen in pure, primal terror.
Good.
“No,” he whines, “No, don’t kill me, please, my father—”
“Your father?” I echo, tilting my head. “Your father thinks you’re back home in Seattle. Like you told him you were.”
“I didn’t—” he starts, but Romeo holds up his cellphone tauntingly.
Jude whimpers in pain before screaming in rage.
“No!” he shouts. “You motherfuckers don’t get to do this. You don’t get to win!” He thrashes in his restraints, only aggravating his shattered bones.
I laugh cruelly. “I’ve already won.”
I drag the tip of the knife down the side of his face, splitting the skin open. Blood trails down his jaw, staining his clothes. He grits his teeth through it, then spits in my face.
I wipe it away with the back of my hand, smearing my own blood across my cheek. The metallic scent fuels Scythe within me, a rush of pure fury ripping through my veins.
I stab him in the abdomen.
Jude gasps, choking on the pain as I release the handle, leaving the blade lodged deep in his gut. I know I didn’t hit anything vital. And I won’t.Not yet.
I’ll him on the edge of begging for death before I grant it.
He coughs, breath ragged, before chuckling like the arrogant bastard he is.
“You find death funny?”
“No,” he wheezes through the pain. “I find it funny that he’s going to kill you.”
My grip tightens. “No one will kill me.”
