“Ellie,” I choke out through my tears. “Fuck, Ellie!”
The man holds her naked body against his. “Rancid had a wonderful time tearing up her tight asshole. She definitely never let her husband have her ass. That was pretty fucking obvious with how she screamed and bled.” He shakes his head at me. “Should have broken her in while you had the chance. Could have saved her a lot of pain.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
I’m yanked back and the guy behind me—Rancid—forcefully slaps a strip of duct tape over my mouth. He’s bigger and stronger than me. I’ve never been a small guy, but compared to these monsters, I feel fucking puny and useless.
“Just so you know,” the man holding Ellie says. “This isn’t personal. It was fucking delightful and I enjoyed it immensely, but at the end of the day, this was a job.”
A job?
I glower at him, wishing I could make him fucking explode on sheer willpower alone.
“So when I do this,” he says, “it’s just business.”
The breath is sucked out of me when he jabs the knife into Ellie’s abdomen one-two-three-four-five-six times. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as blood gushes from her wounds. She blacks out from the pain and I know I’ll never see her pretty brown eyes again. I close my eyes and beg God for her to pass quickly because it’s too fucking cruel for her to remain in the arms of a sick bastard, suffering.
A thud on the floor makes me snap my eyes back open. Ellie remains lifeless as the blood pools around her. I’m shocked. Horrified. Disgusted. Helpless. Blaire’s sobs demand my attention. I stare at my beautiful daughter—my sweet little girl who just wanted to see the goddamn capitol of the United States. The girl who loved shopping and going to the movies and jet skiing. My baby girl who used to not mind being trapped in Daddy’s bubble of protection.
At least we’ll all die together.
I have no doubt they’re going to kill us all.
I just wish they’d slit her throat and end it now. I can’t bear to watch them destroy my baby like they did my wife. I can’t fucking do it.
But I don’t get a say in this shit.
“This, though,” the man says, yanking my daughter to her feet. “This is personal. A prize for my hard work. Killing her seems too easy. Not before I enjoy myself a little anyway.”
I shake my head, snarling like a barely caged bull. Fury burns like lava through my veins. I try to stand, but Rancid holds me tight.
Her screams of terror become a living, breathing organism—thrashing and throbbing and moving inside me. I feel every single one to the marrow of my bones. This is hell. I was a god with more money than I knew what to do with, but I’ve been reduced to a prisoner meant to watch the most horrific thing I’ll ever have to endure. I’d give up the money, the cars, everything to rewind back to this morning and get the fuck out of this town.
I want to be there for her. To save her. To hold her. To promise her everything will be okay. I can’t, though, and that realization cracks me down the middle. My sanity bleeds from me, mixing with my wife’s blood on the floor. My child’s screams echo through me as the man tears through her innocence. As he takes what was never his. As he destroys her. I can’t watch him. I’m a failure as a father—I can’t even watch her demise. I’m a coward. I’m empty.
My blood runs cold as I harden myself.
When I die here shortly, I don’t want my last thoughts being of my daughter being brutally assaulted by a psychopath. She cries and cries and cries until she doesn’t cry anymore. The grunting and slapping flesh become distant in my mind. Everything is black. Everything is black. Everything is black.
The same sickening sounds the knife made as it ended my wife can be heard once more. This time, in my baby girl’s neck. The blood. So much blood.
Death.
Death.
We’re dying.
My family is dead.
I want to go with them.
Blackblackblackblackblack.
Rancid’s laughter haunts my soul and then his knife is on my face. Carving. Slicing. Gouging. The pain is nothing compared to the pain inside me. Blood runs down my cheeks, heavy and hot.
I get a good look at him and smell his dank breath. Looks just like the other motherfucker. Wears the same leather vest. BBB is embroidered in the material over a skull.
“X marks the spot,” Rancid says, pressing his thumb between my eyes, digging into where he cut me, and shoving me to the floor. “All the treasures hidden up there in that expensive brain of yours. It’s a shame we can’t use that.”
The men laugh and I watch with disgust as the other man pulls out his dripping cock, soaked in the blood of my daughter. Her lifeless body slumps to the floor, landing on her dead mother. My two stars have faded to black.
Mine.
They took mine.
They. Took. Mine.
Rage, explosive and out of control, detonates. No longer being held down by Rancid, I use the moment to my advantage. I burst to my feet and launch myself at Rancid. My shoulder connects with the middle of his back. He slams into the other guy, who’s still trying to put his dick back in his pants. They stumble, tripping over the other. I raise my foot and kick Rancid hard, sending his head popping against the coffee table. When he doesn’t get up, I charge the other guy.
His knife is still buried in my daughter’s neck. Thanks for helping Daddy, baby girl. I head-butt the guy and he falls on his ass. Not wasting any time, I slam my foot down on his nose, loving the sick popping sound of it breaking. Over and over I smash my dress shoe into his face. He manages to roll away from me.
“Fuck!” he yells, his eyes landing on Rancid as blood gushes down his face. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Rancid’s head lies at a funny angle, his eyes open and dull.
Snarling like a bear, I charge this fucker again. He scrambles back. And then he turns away to run. I kick him right in the spine, making him howl, but he keeps running. Why the fuck is he running?
COME BACK HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!
But he’s gone.
The back door slams and then I hear the distinct sound of a motorcycle revving.
I should be dead.
With them.
My eyes land on my girls and a ragged sob escapes me. I need to hold them. I need to fucking hold them. With hot tears in my eyes, I back up and gently relieve my daughter of the knife in her neck. It takes some difficult maneuvering and I gouge the knife into my arms several times, but I eventually cut through the rope. As soon as I’m free, I yank off the tape and then cradle my girls. I pull them into my arms, squeezing them tight as I scream until I’m hoarse.
I scream and scream and scream.
And when their bodies feel cold, I dig my hand into my slacks pocket. With shaky fingers, I call the only person I have left.
“If you changed your mind about Thanksgiving—”
And I scream again.
Koyn
Present…
Goddammit, this kid is going to be the death of me.
“Sorry, Prez,” Nees grumbles as he picks up his wrench from the garage floor and darts his eyes to the dent on the fuel tank.
I swear to fuck, Copper better come get this klutzy motherfucker before I cut his hands off and feed them to him. His eyes widen and he takes a step back, nearly knocking my 2020 vivid black Sport Glide Harley over. A growl of warning rumbles through me.