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Idon’t feel the pain, just the rage. The anger. The uncontrollable need for violence. My knuckles ache. My fist fucking throbs, and I can practically taste the blood in the air. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. The sound of bones cracking under the force of my punches is like music to my ears. His face is a swollen mass of purple and blue, blood and snot pooling over his top lip dripping down his chin. His nose is awkwardly bent to the side and bleeding, his lips are cut, and a trickle of blood is leaking out of his ear. But not a single part of me feels bad for beating him to a pulp. All I want to do is hurt him some more. I want to hear and feel every bone in his body break. I want to watch every last drop of blood drain from his veins and witness his marrow get ripped straight out of his spine. It’s the price this world pays for letting her get hurt. It’s the universe’s penance for allowing her to suffer like no woman ever should. And I don’t care how long it takes or how far I have to go. I won’t stop torturing, hurting, killing until I’m satisfied that the debt to my wife has been paid.
I pull my Espada knife from my pants pocket, flicking the blade with every intention of slicing open his hand. But then I remember that night in the kitchen, the night Mira tried to cook for me—emphasis ontried. We ended up fucking on the kitchen table, and she begged me to cut her, to unleash my most twisted desires onto her body. So I did. Maybe that’s why all this shit happened; because I maimed my wife’s body and made her bleed, only to find pleasure in it. Maybe what happened to her is supposed to be my punishment, yet she’s the one paying for it.
It was her blood this blade tasted last, and I intend to keep it that way, so I slide it back into my jacket pocket, then hold out my hand to Caelian. “Knife.”
“You’re not gonna get anything out of him if he’s dead,” Caelian remarks as he hands me his knife before casually leaning against the dirty wall, smoking a cigarette. The smell of burning tobacco is overshadowed by the more familiar stink of urine, feces, and sweat that lingers between these four walls.
“Please. Please,” the man begs, but not even a goddamn puppy can make me stop.
I lick my lips, and with a snarl, I jab the knife through the fucker’s hand, feeling the blade slice through bone, crunching it, and hitting the wooden armrest.
He screams. The sharp, ear-shattering wails of a grown man practically lick my motherfucking balls.
Caelian starts to circle him while glancing around the room. “When do you think is the last time he cleaned this place? Jesus, is that…” He looks closer at the stains on the torn sheets bundled up on the broken bed. “Is that cum?” Caelian looks at me. “Is that cum?”
“It probably is. And yes, this place is a dump. Now, can we focus here?”
“Oh. Of course.” Caelian stills and retakes his place against the wall. “Please continue killing the only lead you have right now since you slaughtered the others.”
“Fuck you very much,” I grit out before balling my hand into a fist once more, sweeping my arm back and launching it forward, hitting the fucker square in the jaw. Blood explodes from his mouth, a tooth clattering across the tiled floor.
Caelian snorts. “Souvenir?”
“No, thanks,” I spit out, grabbing the fucker’s face. “What I really want is his jaw on my bedside table holding my fucking beer.”
The coward begins to whimper, so I grab a fistful of hair and yank his head back. “Where is he?” I growl. “You better start talking…” Fucker’s name slipped my mind, so I glance at Caelian.
“Ben,” Caelian answers, and I frown.
“His name is not Ben.”
“It is now.”
“Fine. Ben,” I mutter, turning my attention back to him and pulling his head back even farther. “Start talking,Ben.”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” he sputters, the sound of gargling blood coming from his throat. “I don’t know where Nunzio is.”
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying. No one knows where he is. No one’s seen him for weeks.”
“Are you telling me your boss just vanished into thin fucking air?”
The son of a bitch spits more blood, and my top lip curls in a snarl as the need to beat him to a pulp knocks against my chest, breathing heavily. “All I know is he has safehouses all across the city.”
“Safehouses?”
He nods. “When he stays in a safehouse, it’s just him and the lady of the house. No one else.”
I shoot Caelian a questioning look before scowling at the bleeding fucker whose piss I’m currently standing in. “Lady of the house? You mean his whore?”
“I dunno what these women are to him. All I know is they live in the safehouses, take care of them, make sure they’re always ready for him.”
I grind my molars together, fighting the need to fuck this guy up for a moment before my eyes flick to Caelian, silently asking if he believes the shit this loser is feeding us.
Caelian shrugs. “Makes sense. We all know Nunzio is a fucking coward. Of course, he’ll have hiding places with pussy ready.”
My attention is back to our bleeding friend as I lean forward, wrapping my fingers around the knife’s handle, causing it to shift slightly and earning a beautiful moan of pain from Ben’s bloody mouth. “Give me specific locations.”
