Page 70 of ’Til You Break

One more twist of the knife.

It makes me sick.

I’ve spent the past few days wondering whether Vik was a monster for wanting to kill these men. Now, staring at them, I finally understand the difference. Vik did what he did because he believed it was the only way to bring justice to a world that had failed him.

These men... They’re the real monsters. Cruel for the sake of being cruel.

Hurting. Killing. Stealing.

Because they enjoy it.

Part of me hopes Vik never comes back here. If he survived whatever happened... I want him to stay as far away from this house as possible. I don’t want to be the reason he dies. But more than that... I don’t want him to become anything like these men.

I love him too much to watch this darkness consume him.

“You’ve got ten minutes to find whatever Vik’s got hidden around here,” the leader says, flicking open a gold lighter.

“Then the whole place burns.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Vik

Iwake up on the side of the road.

A crowd has gathered around me, their voices blending together.

Is he dead?

Holy shit, did you see that?

My body feels broken. Not in the literal sense. Yes, everything aches. My joints are stiff, my ribs scream in protest, but I can still move.

That’s enough.

As soon as I sit up, someone places a hand on my shoulder. Instinct takes over. My fingers wrap around his hand before my brain catches up. I’m a heartbeat away from snapping his fingers before I stop myself.

“You should take it easy, pal.” A thick Texan accent cuts through the haze.

“Can’t.” I turn my hand in his, silently asking him to help me up.

He does.

“Can I at least take the mask off? Help you breathe a little better?” He pats my shoulder gently, already looking apologetic for the pain it might cause.

I sigh. My hand slides to my belt, wrapping around the grip of my Colt. I don’t often feel guilty. Today, I’ll make an exception. I’m about to be very cruel to some very kind people.

“No.” I draw my gun, pointing it loosely in his direction.

The crowd gasps. Most of them scatter.

“But I need your keys.” Fear roots him to the spot. Then, after a moment, he slowly reaches into his pocket. I watch every movement. Ready for him to draw a weapon instead.

He doesn’t. He pulls out his keys.

“The... Br... Bronco,” he stammers, pointing towards his SUV.

I nod. “I’ll send it back when I’m finished.”