Page 124 of Twisted (Never After)
Chapter42
Julian
The plastic tarp crinkles beneath my feet as I walk back and forth, staring at the two men who thought they could walk into my house, hurt mywife, and get away with it.
Isabella slithers around my feet, hissing.
Darryn is unconscious, the gun wound to his side slowly stealing his life away. Unfortunately for him, it will only make the pressure of Isabella’s coiling body worse. He should have known that I wouldn’t allow him to walk away after he used Yasmin as bait. As soon as I saw she was out the door and being dragged to safety, I moved, spinning my staff around and busting his kneecaps. When Darryn fell to the floor, his hold on his gun slipped, and he injured himself. Makes my job easier, I suppose, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy this more if he was conscious for what I’m about to do.
Ian, on the other hand, is bloodied and broken but alert, eyes staring out of his mangled face as he watches me slowly pace in front of them. They’re both stripped naked, their backs facing each other, tied together with rope as they sit on the floor.
Isabella doesn’t enjoy the taste of cotton.
“This is truly an unfortunate situation,” I muse, my footsteps stopping as I stare at them. “I don’t care that you tried to take the lamp or that youcrossedme. Predictable, really. Textbook, almost. The thorn in my side and the greedy assistant banding together to try and outsmart the man they love to hate.” I smile. “Unfortunately for you, that man has a vengeful spirit and a pet he doesn’t like to let go hungry.”
Bending down, I stroke Isabella’s head. Ian jerks as much as he can with no working limbs, muffled sounds coming from his bruised and bleeding mouth.
“Luckily, I have a soft spot for the people I’ve cared for, even when they choose to hurt me.” I purse my lips. “It’s a complex, really. One that I’m just now working on overcoming.”
I move closer until I’m directly in front of Ian, his eyes locked on mine, wide and filled with terror.
He gurgles, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.
“But then you touched mywife.” Standing up straight, I walk over to where the box of mice sits, a bone saw directly next to it. I click my tongue, looking back and forth at the two. “Decisions, decisions.” I pick the bone saw, gripping the large handle and making my way back to Ian. “What was it you said?”
Taking the tip of the saw, I press it into his inner thigh, dragging it slowly across the meat of his flesh, enjoying the way his broken body jerks from the pain.
“You said you wouldfuckher dead body, is that right?”
He tries to speak, but his lips are so disfigured from the way I beat him with my staff that it’s hard for him to talk.
“Don’t worry.” I move the saw over to rest on top of his puny dick. “This will only hurt for a little.”
A sharp slice through the rubbery flesh and a tortured scream later, his useless member falls to the ground, severed from his body, blood gushing from the wound. I move quickly, realizing that he’ll likely pass out soon from the pain or maybe the loss of blood, and grab his severed cock, prying his mangled lips open, shoving it in his mouth as his eyes roll back in his head, his body jerking wildly before he stops moving all together.
Standing up straight, my hands sticky and red, I crack my neck, looking at the two pieces of shit who thought they could threaten Yasmin and live to tell the tale.
I walk back over and pick up the box of mice, dropping the bone saw, now stained with red, before making my way to the two unconscious bodies. I’m not sure if they’re alive or dead, but at this point, it doesn’t matter.
I dump the rodents in their laps and spin toward Isabella, lifting a brow. “Hungry?”
Isabella slithers up to them, curling around their limp frames.
I don’t leave until I’m sure they’re both dead.
And then after a long shower where I scrub away my sins, I head to the guest room where I have my on- call doctor tending to Riya.
She’ll be fine, thankfully. Just a long recovery and a lot of rest.
I’m walking past the foyer and to the stairs when the front door slams open, causing me to spin around, my stomach tightening.
Yasmin stands in the doorway, her hair a tangled mess and her clothes dirty and torn. But she’s here. And she looks shocked to see me.
She stumbles into the foyer, bruised and bloody, the silver case with the lamp tucked under her arm.
“Yasmin,” I breathe, frozen in place.
Her mouth drops open, a sharp cry ringing from her lips as she drops the case and rushes into my arms, throwing herself at me.
