Page 97 of Hybrid Heroics

“Be glad it’s me killing you,” I told him conversationally. “This is a mercy you don’t deserve.”

His jaw dislocated, a shriek gurgling in his throat.

“Be glad it’s not Blaire… Because she would have made this worse,” I explained.

I grinned as the skin at the corners of his lips split open, exposing the ruins of his teeth.

“Be glad my mate doesn’t know the skeletons you hide in your closet, because she would have left you alive, kneeling at her feet as the ottoman she dug her heels into. She would have made you relive every single time you hit us, and you wouldn’t have survived the same way we did.”

The tendons and muscles pulled taut, thinning as they reached their limits.

“Because you’re weak,” I stated matter-of-factly. “And now you’re dead, and I’m your motherfucking punisher.”

I swiftly yanked my hands apart, ripping his bottom jaw away from his skull. As he fell to the ground, thrashing in silent agony, I lifted my foot. The sole of my boot met his face in a splatter of blood, crushing his orbitals and sinus cavities. His eyes hung by paper thin nerves, his chest barely rattling with his inhales.

I moved my boot to his throat, standing on his windpipe as I twisted to grip either side of his head. With a jerk and a snap, I severed his spinal column, rendering him immovable.

My foot and weight slid to his chest, grabbing hold of his arms. And I pulled, feeling his shoulders dislocate and tendons snap. Muscles ripped just as jagged as skin did when you removed limbs.

We all had our preferred ways of killing a man.

Mine was tearing them apart, piece by wasted piece.

I had been practicing for this exact moment since the first time I killed.

Gustave’s unattached arms were tossed aside. At some point, he had passed out, but I wasn’t surprised. Blaire and I had gotten our strength and perseverance from Daphne Malin. She was a tender woman who loved her kids more than anything. More than her mate. More than wealth or prestige. More than herself most days.

I hadn’t realized the battle was slowing down around me until Blaire and my mom were at my side. Tears streamed over their lashes, but I knew my sister’s were from repressed anger. Our mother, though? Hers were a mixture of sadness and relief.

I should have killed him a long time ago.

But I couldn’t bring myself to hurt my mom like this…. Before today. Seeing Gustave with his hand around her neck was the last straw.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I didn’t feel bad about killing him.

I felt bad for tearing through my mom’s bond with her mate.

It had to be done, though.

“Oh, Novak,” she cried, strangling me with her hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it. Running from him wasn’t enough, but it kept him away from you and Blaire.”

“You did good,” Blaire told me, reaching to hold my hand.

I turned to smile at her, but frowned at the yellowing bruises on her face. “Who hurt you? Did you kill them?”

She snorted, then squeezed her left eye shut. “He’s dead. He got a few hits in, but ultimately, he wasn’t shit.”

“Is your cheek okay?”

“I was looking for a healer before I found you,” Blaire admitted.

Grim was suddenly behind her, appearing out of the thin air to murmur, “I got you, Peach.”

“Speaking of peaches,” I teased. “Where is Trouble?”

The reaper pointed Sloane out, still tearing into Alric. “She played with him until she got bored. Now she’s fucking his world up, but I suspect she’ll be done in a minute or two.”