Page 82 of Unleashed
Caelian raises his pistol. “Want me to shut this fucker up?”
“Not yet,” I growl.
Sean approaches Molly, and her body jerks on the chain, her eyes rolling, pleading, the sound she tries to make muffled by thread and blood. She’s barely able to keep herself up, keep her toes on that bomb.
“Jesus Christ,” Maximo breathes out next to me. “We gotta do something fast.”
“You see those scars?” He slides a fingertip across Molly’s ribs where the cuts tally like a ledger. She flinches, and a fresh trickle of blood beads at the corner of her mouth where black thread still pulls the seam tight. When her feet slip, just an inch, my fucking heart explodes.
“Every sound she made when I sewed her. One mark for every whimper she gave me. I counted.”
I don’t take my eyes off him. “You’re a special kind of sick fuck, aren’t you?”
“Contrary to what you might believe, I didn’t enjoy doing that. I didn’t enjoy torturing any of the women I killed. But I did it. I forced myself to do it, forced myself to face exactly what my Melanie went through.” His eyes cut to mine, a crazed look hard on his face. “Do you know what Molly begged for?” His voice lowers. “Death.”
Maximo lets out a growl that’s something between a hiss and a roar. His entire body pulses with the rhythm of his fury. Knife-edged rage trembles in his voice, "You're going to face a lot more than that, you son of a bitch."
“Maximo, don’t do something stupid,” I warn.
But Sean only grins, as if our reactions are fuel for his sick delight. “Molly begged, just like Melanie probably begged when Micah had her,” he continues. “But you didn’t save Melanie, did you, Isaia? You left her to die. Just like you almost left Molly here.” His gaze pins me with so much hatred, I feel it down my spine. “You were about to leave, weren’t you? You wanted to take your pregnant wife and leave, not giving a shit if Molly here lives or dies.”
My trigger finger itches to paint the walls with his insides, but the pressure plate under Molly's feet means we'd all be decorating the neighborhood. I force myself to breathe, the copper taste of rage thick on my tongue.
He slants his head, studying me like I’m a bug under a microscope. “What changed your mind?”
My skin crawls as he drags the cross down between Molly’s naked breasts. The chains clink as her body shivers.
“Was it your pretty wife? Did she somehow turn you into a decent fucking human being?”
Alexius steps forward. Calm. Collected. “What is it you want, Watson? Money?”
“My daughter was murdered, and you think I want money?”
“The message,” I cut in. “Punishment owed to the Troublemaker. That was aimed at Everly, so why take Molly?”
“Ah, see…that’s where my plan shines. At first, Everly was my target.”
A sound rises from my throat—half-growl, half-choke—as my finger twitches on the trigger, wanting blood but knowing better.
“But then she got pregnant.” He actually looks disappointed. “And no matter what you might think of me, I will not hurt a child. I will not inflict the same amount of pain my daughter endured on a woman carrying an unborn baby.”
“That’s refreshing,” Caelian quips. “A psycho with a conscience.”
Sean shoots him a warning glare, then turns his attention back to me. “So, I went for her best friend. Figured if Molly here dies gruesomely, Everly won’t forgive you. From what I could find out, you’re on your last strike with your pretty wife.”
His words are gasoline on my rage. I’m two seconds from charging him when Alexius’ voice cuts across the room, cold steel. “Isaia. Don’t.”
Every muscle in my body turns to wire, my hands already imagining the wet snap of bone beneath them.
Sean smirks. “That’s right. Leash your brother.”
“How do you see this ending, Watson?” Alexius inches closer.
He drags the cross down the side of Molly’s face, brushing over the stitches. Molly jerks, a tiny animal sound ripped out of her throat. The stitches catch, the skin puckers, fresh little stars of pain blooming along the seam.
“Everly won’t be pregnant forever. And after I walk out of here alive, I’ll live rent-free in—” he points at me “—your fucking head, constantly wondering when I’ll come for her. When I’ll make her suffer the same way you allowed Melanie to suffer.”
Heat roars in my ears. Rage makes my tongue heavy and my mouth full of bile. I picture tearing the cross from his hand and using it to slit his throat. I picture a dozen ways to end him that are small, brutal, precise. “You think you’re walking out of here alive?”
