Page 43 of Judgment Day

Winston’s face paled the moment he saw me walk in with that blade in my hand. He leaped out of his bed and ran to a corner.

I smiled. “Relax. I didn’t bring any cucumbers.” I paused. “Today.” I pointed toward his bearded face. “I’m just here to clean you up.”

Those shadows, the ones that lived inside my soul, laughed at how weak he’d become. He’d lost about fifteen pounds. The arrogant glint in his eyes was a dull pile of embers now. His hair was a greasy, unwashed mess, and he was parading around in a pair of tighty whities.

Maddox walked in with a small wooden dining chair. The legs scraped across the floor as I moved it into place and tapped the back with my fingertips.

I looked at Winston. “Have a seat.”

He stared, silent.

“This is your chair, Winston, whether you take your seat or we make you.”

He made a sound that resembled a growl, then walked across the room and took a seat. Maddox walked out, then came back briefly with a bowl of water and some shaving cream.

I lathered the cream on Winston’s face, under his nose, over his cheeks, beneath his chin and down his throat. “It’s been a while.” I dipped the blade in the water. “We have so much to catch up on.” The blade scraped over his skin, dragging a trail of hair with it. “My son is at home, where he belongs.”

Winston blinked and swallowed, careful not to make any sudden moves.

I rinsed the blade, then brought it back to the side of his face, along his jaw. “Sadie is gone.” The white-hot rage that rushed through me every other time I’d been here had dulled to a lukewarm simmer.

It was almost over. I’d almost won.

He clenched his teeth, causing the blade to catch and nick his skin. A trail of crimson trickled down his jaw.

“She ran right after we found out she’d been sending you all those young girls to torture.” I rinsed the blade, then brought it back to his face. “And that she was responsible for Liam’s death.”

Winston jumped up, but I held a hand to his chest with atut, tut, tut.It was too late. The blade left a healthy gash on the side of his face. He was pouring blood now.

“You’re a goddamn liar.”

I tilted my head and met his stare. “I’m guilty of a lot of sins but lying is not one of them.” I straightened. “Maddox, I believe Winston could use a towel.” I washed the blade, then brought it to the delicate area where his chin met his throat. “Your queen likes to play games. I hope you’re smarter than that.” I ran the razor over his skin, then brought it back to the top of his throat.His queen.Not mine. Not anymore. “There are only two ways out of this chair.” I slid the blade, stopping at his Adam’s apple. “Tell me where the other girls are, and you go to bed with smooth skin and a nice shave.” I applied enough pressure to almost break skin. “Be an asshole, and I slit your throat.”

There was a thrill that came with the power of holding someone’s life in your hands. It was all-consuming. God-like. Before kings, came divinity, after all.

Maddox left to go get a towel.

“Okay,” Winston said, his lips barely moving, his throat hardly making a sound.

I dropped the blade into the bowl of water, just as Maddox came back with a towel. I dried my hand before tossing the towel onto Winston’s lap. I stood over him while he held the white cotton to his face. “Start talking.”

TWENTY SIX

Some people believedhell was a physical place, deep in the bowels of the earth where fire and brimstone surrounded lost souls. Some believed it was here—in the world—now.

I’d always believed hell was that dark place in the back of our heads that fucked with our minds. It was mental. Hell was suffering. Suffering was hell. They were interchangeable.

This place, this wooden stable in the middle of the woods, tucked away where no one could hear the screams—it was hell.

Leo and I parked at the end of the long dirt road and walked to the barn, opening the door just a crack. On the outside, it looked normal with grayed cypress, plank siding, double doors latched closed with rusty hardware, and a gambrel roof. On the inside, the smell of blood and semen replaced any hint of humanity. If evil had a scent, it would be the rusty musk of raw iron and earth. Blood and semen. That would be the stench of depravity and corruption.

On one side, a row of stalls lined the length of the wall. Each wooden stall door had a hip-sized hole cut out of it with the end of a black leather bench sticking out. Five of those benches had female bodies on them, only visible from the waist down. The rest of their bodies were hidden on the other side of the door. They were holes to be filled, flesh to be mangled, objects for men who were strangers to use for their twisted fantasies.

A couple of the men simply stood between the girls’ legs, pounding flesh and grunting. One man held a knife to the girl’s labia, poised to carve God only knew what into her skin. Her inner thighs were already soaked in blood. Another man was on his knees in front of another bench, watching as he slid a metal object inside one girl’s vagina, then worked the handle, like a corkscrew. He laughed. She screamed.

“This is fucking sick,” Leo said. His eyes narrowed as he tore through the door, slamming it so hard it came off one of its hinges and dangled in the air. He ran straight to the guy with the knife and planted a fist to his jaw, sending him onto his back on the dirt floor. “How would you like me to carve your fucking face, you sick fuck?”

I grabbed the back of Leo’s shirt, yanking him off the guy. I slammed him against the wall on the other side of the barn, pinning him with my forearm on his throat. “These men deserve your anger, and if you want to hunt them down and kill every single one of them once we leave here, I promise I will help you. But those girls”—I pointed toward the stalls—“they need you to be calm. They need your peace.”

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