Page 83 of When Sinners Fall
I grab a handful of Nicolas' hair, wrenching his head back. “Did this fuck touch you?” Not that it matters to his life chances, but it does mean something to the way he’ll die.
“They…” She looks around at the other men again, moving sideways away from Knox. She’s so goddamn small in here. So fucking frail. “They tried to…”
“Yeah, I don’t need to hear the rest.
My gun gets pushed in my waistband, and I’m dragging his hair to get to Abel for one of those knives I saw him take from someone. He passes one to me without me even asking, probably knowing exactly what’s coming. He should, because what’s about to happen isn’t just for her; it’s to make damn sure he understands that I will not be threatened or forced into anything he’s deciding.
Four hard punches to Nicolas’ face until he’s sprawled out under me and Abel, and I start cutting at clothes to get his stomach and skin out. Don’t know where my head goes then, but it sure as shit isn’t pretty. It isn’t even sane. It’s just blood and fury and vengeance, and I’m happy for her to watch it because this is what she means to me.
This is what love means to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT
WREN
Red.
Or at least my brain tells me it’s red. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but my mind fills in the blanks my eyes can’t process.
The man in the suit – Nicolas. His body is dripping with crimson. His face isn’t a face anymore. It’s now a mask of horror designed at the hands of Dante.
And Dante’s hands. The same hands that gripped my face, searching to check I was okay. They're brutal. Crazed.
The fear I felt waking up in that house was a mere shadow of what now blackens my heart as I watch on. The man I love is unrecognisable, and yet I can’t turn away. Every fibre of my being wishes I could close my eyes or turn my body to look at something else - hide, but this isn’t something to turn away from. This is the truth.
Dante continues to gut Nicolas, carving him up with a knife as if he were a slab of meat. My stomach rolls, and my shaking body doesn’t help to keep the nausea at bay.
“Let's go.” The man behind me grabs my elbow, but I pull it from his grasp.
Next, it’s Abel’s turn to try and get me to turn away. He walks so he’s in my line of sight, but I don’t see him. The image of Dante standing over the dead corpse stays etched into my mind. Arcs of red decorate the floor like paint. Or juice.
Not blood.
“Wren!” Abel’s hands are on my shoulders, and he’s gently shaking me.
My eyes blink up at him, and I try to focus on what's, no, who’s in front of me.
He’s looking at me, concern in his dark eyes. My body leans to the side until I can see Dante again. He’s stopped now. He’s breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling.
I watch as his head falls back, and he looks up.
“Arghhhh!” It's a piercing scream that makes me cringe.
The noise reverberates around the old, dilapidated place and speaks to the atrocities here, but it doesn’t rid me of my fear. It’s primal and raw and sends a new bolt of terror through my bones.
“You hear that, Wren. That's for you and me. Respect it,” Abel says quietly.
I hide behind him and look around, panic riding heavy through my bloodstream.
This is Dante.
This is what it means to be on the wrong side of him or his family.
When I asked Nicolas if he knew what he’d done, I didn’t imagine this was what Dante could do. The brutal violence of it is... I don't know. He told me he killed that junkie, and a part of me liked the idea that this man would kill for me. It might have been sick and twisted, and it started me on a very dangerous path because understanding that someone has that much passion and possessiveness over you is intoxicating.
But this…
I look up and watch as he moves Abel aside to get to me. He puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me away. His hands are stained with the blood of his victim, and he has no concern about covering me in it, too.
