My eyes go down, down, down to the front of his pants and they widen. "Are you fucking hard?" I ask.
Braxton's smile droops but only a smidge. Instead of answering he takes a step forward and kicks the bucket beneath Roger's frame, making the old, fat rapist of a man flinch and start to weep. "Noooo," he moans out. "Nooo not a-a-again."
What had they done to him while I was out? I flick a look between the three of them. Braxton's slowly disintegrating smile. Abel's cold, calculated look. And Dean, with his face covered in nothing but disgust and rage. I decide I don't actually give a shit.
My finger burns from where one of my nails has been partially stripped back as I place it against the side of the gun in my grip. I round the chair and stand next to Brax. I don’t know why—I don’t understand it myself. Even with his strange smile and even more disturbing hardness at the torture he's obviously been dealing out—and how it kind of creeps me out—I don't feel afraid of him. Despite how they clearly have no qualms about hurting someone they don't know just because of what they found him doing and how so very evident it is that they've done this before, I don't feel afraid of any of them. They’re sick and depraved and they’re most certainly not normal. But that makes them more secure in their own way. A haven for someone like me. Someone just as messed up.
Roger blubbers, sobbing, as his chest shakes. There are blackened marks on his skin. I wanted to do this all myself, but now I’m just tired. So fucking tired. And irritated.
My stomach rumbles.
“P-please—” Roger stutters.
“Please what?” I ask.
He lifts his head until I can see the clouded fear in his eyes. “P-please make it stop,” he says. “Please don’t kill me.”
I lift my gun. The barrel presses against his forehead and big fat tears begin to fall down his dirty cheeks.
“N-no, no, nononononono. P-please! I’ll d-do anything!” The scent of urine leaks out as he pisses himself, yellow water running down his inner legs and dripping into the bucket. Brax rounds me and reaches for the jumper cables. “No!” Roger begins to rock back and forth, away from my gun, into my gun, away from my gun, into my gun. “Not again!”
Brax holds them up and eyes me as if waiting for my command.
I only have one to give and it’s for myself.
I press the gun back into Roger’s forehead and then, I pull the trigger.
Epilogue
Dean
"Is she asleep?"
At Abel's question, I look down. Sure enough, her eyes are closed. I smooth my thumb down one cheek, noting the dark purple circles beneath her lashes. The bruises on her jawline make me want to go back to that shithole and set it on fire all over again.
"Yes," is all I say.
Brax is silent in the passenger seat, but I know what he's thinking. I know what they're both thinking. Abel's the one who voices it. "Are we going to tell her?"
I lift one single tendril of dark hair from her temple and smooth it back, careful not to wake her. She needs to sleep. Hell, I hope she dreams of nothing as she does. Not me. Not the world. And certainly not the man that she just killed. I glance back through the plastic of the soft top of the Mustang. I can barely make out the tail end of the car's trunk where the fucker's body lies, wrapped in plastic and duct tape.
She hadn't even blinked when she saw what we'd done. And when I'd given her the choice—to remain innocent in at least this one way or to grab the bastard by the throat and end his miserable existence—she'd taken the gun and pulled the trigger.
To say it was sexy would be underscoring how fucking dangerous this woman is to me. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s mine, and whether she wants it or not, I’m hers too. I’d known it when I’d felt my entire gut sink at the image Kate had sent me. I’d known it when she’d fought me—kicked my fucking balls into my body cavity and grabbed me by my throat. How long ago had that even been? A day? Two? Didn’t matter.
I'd known what she would choose even before I presented the option. I knew she could handle it. But could she handle what we'd found out in the hours before she'd woken and the choice to end him had been given?
In all honesty, it wasn't so much that she couldn't handle it—it was more that I wasn't ready to let her.
My gaze lifts and meets Brax's in the rearview mirror. His lips curl back in the facsimile of a smile. It's not. It's a baring of teeth—an animalistic urge inside of him that he recognizes in the woman in my arms.
I shake my head. "No," I say. "Not yet."
"She's going to be pissed," Abel says.
I know she will be. The fact remains, though, we don't have more information than what Brax had managed to beat and torture out of the worthless small town drug dealer. The reminder makes me grit my teeth and hold back a snarl.
Abel pulls the Mustang into a very old cemetery. It's off the beaten path, to say the least. Far enough away from Plexton for this to feel comfortable. I gently nudge Avalon's sleeping body over and then, one by one, the three of us climb out of the car and head for the back end of the car. I pop the trunk and look down at the white plastic package. Brax reaches for the first shovel.
"Go see if there're any fresh graves," I order. “I’ll have someone pick up the SUV.” He nods, before taking the shovel and heading up the hill. Abel and I stand there in silence for several minutes after I finish sending the text to one of my father’s men, waiting until Brax is out of earshot. Only then do I turn to him and ask the question I've been needing to since we left. "How far did he take it?" I ask.
Abel crosses his arms and turns around, leaning his lower back on the bumper of the car. "Far enough," he says vaguely.
I growl. "Don't fucking bullshit me," I snap. "I need to know how far he went and what we're looking at in the coming weeks."
After a moment, he lowers his head and blows out a breath. "He's going to want a fight when we get back," he admits. "Probably sex too. Not from the girls at school, though. Hookers. Prostitutes. Ones we can pay off to not say anything."
"Think he'll kill anyone?" I ask.
Abel shakes his head. "No, but he'll be on edge for a while. He didn't take it too far, but he..."
Braxton's figure appears back over the top of the hill and Abel closes his mouth, his lips pinching shut. The shovel is gone from Brax's hand. He lifts his arm and waves it our way. He's found a grave. "Alright," I say. "Let's fucking do this."
Together, Abel and I each take an end of the body and haul it out of the trunk. "Fuck, I'm going to need my car detailed on the inside after this," he snaps as we steadily carry the load up the hill and over, following Braxton as he leads us to a lot in the far back of the cemetery.
"It didn't even touch the inside of your trunk," I say. "Quit your bitching."
"But the smell," he replies testily. "I don't want the smell of dead drug dealer in my car—trunk or not."
"Drop him there," I say as soon as I spot the semi-fresh mound of dirt clumped in front of a brand new tombstone. As soon as the word 'drop' leaves my lips, Abel releases and I jerk as the body falls at my feet.