Page 104 of Their Cruel Love

“Evil as fuck?” She laughs and looks to the sky for a moment. “Phoebe?—”

Before she can look down, I limp toward Bastion. I’m slow, alas, though fuming. “Come here, you.”

He actually smiles as he backs. “I know you like kicking people out of windows, girl, but look around you. You cannot do it here.” He stops and waits as I approach, touches his chest. “Get it out of your system then. Right here.”

Do I care if he is mocking me? No. I attempt a leap and a kick, have to pull the blow because of the pain. I barely knock him back a foot.

Bastion stands there grinning. “Try again! Use more muscle.”

“Murderer!” I hop backward, hissing and cursing.

He tilts his head, nonchalantly. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Give me the sword, Razor,” I say out the side of my mouth.

“No!”

“Damn you.”

Then Razor gestures, and I turn to see Marcus take a flying kick at Bastion. He connects but poorly, as the man dodges, laughing.

“Amateur hour! Now, we are done! Stop this or I will have you all shot.”

“Oh.” Mother raises her eyebrows. “A bit excessive, Bastion.”

Marcus landed on one knee and is levering himself upright when…

Razor runs in, and I’m expecting another lame-ass kick as he clearly falls short and skids. When Bastion jerks and his expression stiffens, I step sideways to see what’s happened. The blade has gone through Bastion, at the end of Razor’s extended arm. Through and bloody, straight and a perfect lunge. I purse my lips.Approximately at ooh liver level?Man meet pointy thing.

Swiftly, decisively, Razor cuts downward through the stomach then extracts the katana. He flicks gore off the metal.

Bastion staggers, mouth opening and closing.

“Better?” Razor winks at me.

Fuck.Am I getting immune to this shit? Ilikethis—seeing him suffer. “Yes. Ten points.”

“Oh dear. Sorry, Bastion.” Mother winces. “But that looks fatal.”

“No. Please. Get me to a doctor.” He wobbles, legs almost folding, clutches his stomach.

The trapdoor lies open behind him.

“Boys, shall we?” I saunter forward.

“A better place for him is.” Razor points at the cliff beyond the block and tackle, and we all know what awaits him there—the crocodile.

“It would be just.” I eye our audience. No one seems interested in interceding. “Okay. Let’s take out the trash.”

Marcus and Razor grab him by an arm each. Bastion is close to unconscious, head falling backward, eyes shut, and Ipace beside them as he’s dragged toward the drop. Is this right? Is this moral? This day, the lines between justice, revenge, and what is moral has become blurred, heated, and mired in the stench of butchery.

His feet leave a red trail.

We halt a step back from the edge. The wind ruffles past, and the men look to me as if it’s my job to condemn him. They release him, and he totters there, hands clutching his middle, facing the sea but seemingly unaware of the danger.

“Consider your sins on the way down, Bastion. To Hell with you.” I deliver a kick to his backside, ignoring the tearing sensation in my wound. He topples forward then falls into space, dropping out of sight without a single scream. I lean over, hand on knee, needing to see this to the end.

Razor and Marcus join me, watching as he plummets. The splash when he hits the water is tiny and there is nothing but the sea and him, legs and arms akimbo, floating. Until a huge, black shape swims in. It breaches the surface and takes him then rolls him, thrashing the sea into froth, then it drags him deep until they are a vague rippling blur. Monster croc has lunch.

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