Page 85 of Under Your Scars
His eyes blow wide with horror and realization. Before he has a chance to say anything, I snatch his tongue out from his mouth and cleanly slice it off with the knife, flicking the severed piece of muscle to the side and watching as blood oozes down his chin.
“This is for Elena,” I declare, before slapping a strip of red duct tape over his mouth.
Red, white and blue flashing lights strobe against the skinny buildings lining the street below. I count seven police cars. From my position on the roof, I can see it all clearly. The scent of gasoline clings to me as I watch the detectives look up at the carnage hanging over their heads.
It’s my most brutal kill yet. My body still vibrates from the euphoria of watching Neil Hayden take his last breath, my fingers wrapped around his throat. I’m still dripping in his blood. I’m not sure he has any left in his body.
I look over him in my scope.
His stiff body is hanging upside down by his ankles from the rooftop of the Hellfire Lounge. It’s swaying in the cool November breeze like a fucked-up pendulum.
He’s completely naked, exposing his mutilated body to the elements and the world. I removed his dick. It’s shoved into his asshole. That was the first thing I did to him. Everything that followed was more sickening than the previous. There’s a big gash along his belly where I sliced him open, his insides dangling out of him. I wanted to tie a noose around his neck by his own entrails, but I didn’t think it would hold, so I just used a rope. He’s still got that tape around his mouth. I take a sick pleasure in claiming my kills like that, especially this one.
This kill was personal, and I think my brutality shows it. I’ve killed people for Elena before, but killing Neil Hayden wasn’t just for her, it was for me. It was revenge.
I did not make it a quick or easy death. He deserved to suffer. I took one look at Elena and knew that he and Valenti gang raped her, probably multiple times, before I even arrived at the Lounge, and then again when I got there while they looked me dead in the eye and taunted me, knowing I was powerless to stop it.
I searched every inch of that goddamn club and found Valenti nowhere. If he happens to be hiding in there, he’ll be burned to a crisp momentarily, but I think he got away. I’ll deal with him later, but not without first leaving a message for him.
I take a deep breath and pull a mag of tracer rounds and load them into my M4. I aim right at Neil’s bald fucking head, shooting through his forehead and setting his gasoline-covered corpse alight.
Commotion breaks out on the street. The officers take cover and start looking for me.
The only downside to tracer rounds is that they’re not exactly incognito. But then again, neither is an M4. My next target is the gas can I left poised neatly at the door of the Lounge, and I shoot it, igniting the cannister and the trail of gasoline I left throughout every square inch of the building. The fire spreads quickly; the liquor spilled all over the floors makes for wonderful fuel. It’s not long before the entire building is engulfed in flames.
“There! He’s up there!” I hear one of the cops shout, and then a barrage of bullets start hitting the brick of the rooftop ledge. I hear them start yelling commands about surrounding the building, but by the time they think they’ve cornered me on the rooftop, I’m long gone.
“I’m looking for Elena Young. February 11, 1990,” I snap at the staff member working at the reception desk at the hospital. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but I’m fucking exhausted, and my patience is thin. I’ve spent enough time away from her. Between killing Neil Hayden, my show outside of the Lounge, and then having to race home and wash off all the blood, I’m wound up tight. The woman looks up at me, and my two security guards standing behind me. I brought them along to station them outside of Elena’s hospital room. She quickly types on her computer. “She’s in the ER, sir.”
The ER? What the fuck? She’s been here for a couple hours,why is she still in the fucking ER?
I get my answer when I walk into said ER, to find doctors and nurses and security guards crowding triage room one.
And that scream.
I could recognize that fucking scream anywhere. That terrified voice that saved my life the night we met. Only this time, she’s not hopelessly crying out for help, praying someone will come to her rescue.
She’s crying forme. I hear her shouting my name over and over and over again. My heart begins to beat erratically against my ribcage as I harshly bodycheck my way through the crowd of staff members, breaking through the sea of people, only to have my heart shatter when I get a glimpse at her.
She’s cowering in the very corner of the room, her IV ripped out of her arm, her hair wild and her face haunted. She’s got a needle in her hand, holding it out in front of her like a knife. Kate’s standing to my right, her back pressed against the wall. Our gazes collide and there’s a moment where a spark of exposition graces her features. I don’t get it at first, but then I catch a glimpse of myself in the small mirror directly to her left.
In my rush to get here, I’ve forgotten to take out the colored contacts.
Elena’s eyes meet mine and the world stands still for a moment before her stance relaxes and her arms go to her side. The sound that escapes her throat is somewhere between a sob, a whimper, and a sigh of relief. She drops the needle and jumps into my arms, and I catch her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist. She’s clutching onto me like her life depends on it as she shatters in my arms. Her arms tighten around me as she sobs loudly into my neck. Her violent tremors only make me hold her tighter.
My throat and eyes burn as the raw emotion crashes over us both, a hurricane of sorrow brutally pounding against the broken pieces of our souls.
I hear whispers behind me, and then a single footstep. I turn around so fast the nurse is nearly knocked over from the wind it produces. Pure rage burns in my eyes when I spot a syringe and needle in her hands. A sedative, most likely.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I growl.
“Sir—”
“I said don’t touch her!” I yell, like a rabid animal waiting to pounce. “She’s fuckingscared. Give her a goddamn minute.”
Slowly, the staff members filter out. Kate is the last to leave, quietly shutting the door behind her.
I squeeze Elena tightly against my body, and I can feel a new wave of tears soaking through the collar of my shirt. “They’re gone, baby. It’s okay. I’m here now,” I coo, trying to make myself sound calm and collected on the outside when I have a million other emotions coursing through my veins. Fear. Anger. Relief.Guilt.
