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He kept writhing, moving until his heavy body fell from the bed and hit the floor. Red blood from his cock spewed out onto the carpet, which was now definitely fucking ruined. I dragged him up from the ground, pulling out the paintbrush that left splinters in his skin. My knee met his bleeding dick as he slumped against the doorway, clutching himself. My elbow met his nose. My fist, his temple.
He was a mess of purple and red, and I still kept hitting him. I couldn’t fucking stop, not even when I heard bones crack in his face. Stained teeth fell from his mouth, words that made no sense tried to do the same.
A punch directly to the mouth shut him up, and he choked on one of those rotten teeth. The impact cracked my knuckles, but I didn’t care. I just kept hitting him, raw fury pushing me. Punch after punch until he couldn’t open his eyes.
I wanted him gone. Now. I didn’t punch him again. Bringing the splintered edge of the paintbrush up, I jabbed it into his eye socket, straight into his useless brain, and then I pulled it and his eye out in one move.
He struggled for a few seconds, lunging for me one final time, but I was done, and so was he. He landed one punch to my face, causing my nose to bleed. Our fight moved us from the support of the doorframe to the floor with the cunt on top of me. I kicked the prick straight in the stomach, and he fell through the banister, ruining the classic décor of the second floor.
I caught my breath, then raced to look down at the body below. The urge to spit on his corpse was intense, but I fought it and backtracked into Feebee’s room. My nose dripped blood onto the carpet, but neither of us cared. I wiped at the blood with the back of my hand and continued to her on trembling legs.
Now that it was just us, her pain and fear fucking strangled me, making it hard to get to her.
She was still on the bed, still buried beneath the sheets I peeled from her. I sat close to her toes and touched her face, and she leaned into me, both of our breathing still manic.
I claimed the shard from her bleeding hand, my mind registering more than one injury as I placed it on the bedside table with a small clunk before pulling her onto my legs, jerking her until her thighs landed on my hips.
She didn’t fight me. Her tiny hands clawed at my shirt and jacket, leaving a bloody trail as she tried to hang on, disheveling my now manic image a little more. We bled all over each other. Her chest was red from my nose injury. My throat harbored crimson from her little hands. I smothered her in my hold, and I must have done it too fucking tight because she crumbled to fucking pieces.
I left the bed, needing to be out of this room, but I only made it to the hallway before her sobs forced me to my knees.
Chapter 21
Feebee
Maybe I was weak, but I couldn’t let go of him, and I didn’t want to. Maybe it was wrong of me to clutch onto his shirt, pulling it to my nose to inhale his expensive scent and override the aroma of fear and unwanted sex. Maybe it was wrong that I held on tighter as Trix rallied up the stairs, not bothering with the stairlift and moved in, attempting to take me from a man who had never admitted he cared for me.
But it didn’t feel wrong as his hands spread over my body, one covering my back, the other weaving through my hair. It didn’t feel wrong as he held me to him, nuzzling into my neck and humming while he let me cry into him.
None of it felt wrong.
And I felt...safe. For the first time in years. In the arms of a murderer.
Mercer
I pulled Feebee into me, turning my body and staking my claim as Nonna reached for her. She meant well...Nonna. She cared. Her golden heart cared about all of us, and I loved that about her. But not enough to let her take Feebee from me. In that moment, neither God nor angels would pull us apart.
Her grip tightened on me, her little fingers pulling at my shirt again. It almost felt like she was trying to rip out my heart. I hummed to her, trying to soothe her when I couldn’t verbalize promises of things being okay.
Our faces touched, my stubble grazing her teary cheek. A sob wracked through her parted lips, swollen from unwanted kisses and crying, and it hit me down to my bones. I felt a million feelings rushing around inside of me, and not one of them was guilt about how I felt for her or what I’d done to the cunt who thought it was okay to hurt her.
Ding, dong...
The sound of rushing feet moving downstairs pulled me to mine. Ethan—who hadn’t heard anything from the distance of the office—came charging in, wondering where the fuck we’d all disappeared to. His phone glued to his ear, he was still calling Damiano, whose phone had fallen from his jacket pocket and was now vibrating across my foyer’s shiny floor.
“Holy...fuck...” Ethan’s phone joined Damiano’s, and he rushed to pick it up and examine the damage before the blood trailing from Damiano’s head injury covered it in grime. He looked up at us. Feebee in my arms and Nonna at my side as we stared down at him, careful not to fall through the broken safety rail.
“I...uh...uh…I think the artist is here.” Ethan’s head flicked from the door to me, his eyes wild, his face growing sweaty and flustered.
“Maybe lead them around the back, darling, and not through the house,” Nonna said, her hands gripping the wooden rail close to the splintered part of the wood. She wasn’t afraid of death or blood. She was used to it from her youth with my grandfather and all the assholes he ended.
Ethan nodded. “I’ll stall them. Offer them some drinks.”
I pulled my keypad from my pocket and sent a message to the speakers above his head. “Do whatever you have to do to make the deal. I’m not leaving her.”
A stutter of breath tickled my neck. She was grateful, and it pulled my hand back to her body.
“Thank you,” she whispered so quietly. I was surely the only one who had heard it.
