Page 112 of Cain
I slam my fist into his face again, harder, wanting to feel something break.
Then I pull myself away from him, breathing like an animal, needing distance before I do something worse. I can’t kill him now. Not yet.
“Cain, stop,” Katerina pants.
“Hush,” I shout back.
He grins through broken teeth. “Look at you,” he slurs. “Still the same pathetic little bastard. Remember? Crying in your own piss while Daddy told his son to beat the shit out of you. Screaming for Mommy to come save you.”
He spits blood next to him. “Nobody came then. Nobody’s coming now. Not her. Not anyone. You’re just a sad, broken freak that this little whore spares and stays around to make you feel better.”
Something inside me snaps.
I fire into his other leg and blow a hole through his thigh. His screams are so loud they rattle my bones and reverberate through my head.
Still not enough. I’m not satisfied yet.
“Shut your hole when you talk about her!”
“This filthy little cunt has made you weak.”
I step closer and shove the barrel of the gun into his shattered knee. His whole body jerks. His eyes roll back for a second.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” I hiss.
But he’s still fucking grinning. Begging for it.
“I bet she pities you. She lets you touch her out of guilt. A freak with a leash.”
The fury inside me turns cold.
I jam the gun against his teeth so hard I feel something crack.
“Talk about her again, and I’ll rip your jaw off and watch you choke on it,” I whisper.
He grins, blood bubbles forming between his teeth.
“You’re running behind a woman again,” he rasps. “Just like you ran behind your mama’s skirts.”
My hands shake, the rage boiling up, clawing its way out of me.
“You’re just a weak piece of shit who bailed because his daddy yelled at him,” he spits.
“I bailed because I couldn’t take it any longer!” I roar. “I was a fucking child! And they murdered my mother while I was listening! I heard her dying! I heard her body hit the floor when that bastard killed her!”
My chest heaves. My whole body shakes.
He coughs, blood spraying across his chin, and then he laughs sickeningly.
“You listened to her die, huh?” he slurs, half his teeth gone, jaw hanging crooked. “Bet you cried like a little bitch. Curled up in a corner, hugging your knees, while she screamed your name.” He pauses. “She screamed for you, didn’t she? Begged you to help. And you just sat there. Useless and crying. Doing nothing while Atticus butchered her.”
Memories of that horrendous day flood me, and the fear starts to grow inside me again. I’m not helpless anymore. Then why do I feel like this?
I clench the gun so hard it feels like it’ll snap in my hand until my knuckles are white.
“Shut your mouth,” I growl.
But he’s not done. He wants to die. He wants me to lose it.
