Page 182 of Boy of Ruin
The other shit? None of that was him.
And I don’t give a fuck about any of that, because I know who it was.
But I want to torture him a little more before I gut Elizabeth and drag Maddox to Ignis.
And slit Lucifer fucking Malikov’s goddamn throat for putting me in a cage again and kidnapping my fucking girl.
Sid Rain is mine.
I’ve been repeating it over and over to myself for the past week to stop from setting fire to Maverick’s house and dragging her out.
But Maverick saved me for her.
I can only hope that he’s treating her well.
That Ignis won’t cause her too much damage, and that my name carved into her skin will keep Lucifer off of her.
And if he hurts her because of it, I’ll draw out his fucking death while I carve out his heart.
Maddox’s face turns green as he stares at the knife. “I didn’t have anything to—”
“You take pictures of Sid?” I sneer. “Your fucking daughter?”
I hear Elizabeth Astor scoff, and after that, I can’t really think.
I just…react.
The knife is to her throat before Maddox has time to move. I’ve already crossed the room before he could breathe, and as I drive the blade into her windpipe, watch her eyes fucking roll back in her head, no time for her to scream, all I can think to say is, “You are a fucking cunt.”
I know the house, even though I was never initiated. All the bruises they left on me, all the taunts, Lucifer’s goddamn piss, I should’ve been.
Doesn’t matter, I tell myself, glancing up at the headliner of my car, gritting my teeth.
Looking up.
I was always looking up in that cage too, at the darkness through the wire. The ceiling was never visible. It looked like infinite space above my head. A place I could float away too. It was calming, in a world where the only thing I could control was myself, or at the very least, my emotions. Sometimes my physical releases were…too much. But my mind…it’s the only thing I occasionally had a hold on.
Grinding my steering wheel in my bad hand, I glance in the rearview mirror.
Maddox Astor’s naked body is contorted in the backseat, his eyes closed, a busted lip, broken nose, blood dripping into his parted lips. He’s knocked out, but I see him stir, and I know he won’t be for long.
Smiling to myself in the darkness of the car, the bandana flecked with blood back down around my neck, I have to bite back my laugh.
I’m parked about half a mile from the Ignis house, and I already watched Atlas’s white Range Rover flying down the private gravel road.
Thanks, Nicolas.
Some bullshit about finding Edith and everyone is ready to abandon their posts.
My sister is in the hands of some dumb motherfuckers.
Not for long.
I wait a little longer, leaned back in my seat as I roll up a joint, papers and weed in the center console. I toss the lighter back in there when I’m done and inhale the sweet smoke and close my eyes, waiting for it to course through my system. I never really smoke enough to get high.
Just enough to get my tremor under control.
And the thought of seeing him with her…well, the anger makes it more difficult to control.
