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I grab the scalpel again, locating the femoral artery, picking the charred flesh next to his groin and making an incision any surgeon would have a mental breakdown over. Grabbing the tube and the paint can, I walk back over to him, inserting the tube and placing the exposed end into the paint can. Dark blood swims through the tub, leaking into the paint. The adrenaline making it pump even faster. Once the paint is filled with his blood, I remove the tube, placing the lid on the paint and scooting it aside.
I grab my katana that’s strapped to my back. My mom taught me the art of iaijutsu at a young age—the combative quick-draw sword technique. Although I don’t get to use my baby often, the feel of the grip beneath my fingers makes my blood simmer and my mouth water. I sling Matilda up over my head in a circle—that's right, I named this bad bitch Matilda—before bringing it down to slice across the thick muscle and tissue of Felix’s stomach. “Fuck,” I grumble when his stomach starts spilling out, his body hanging together by tattered skin.
“He’s been dead awhile. You put too much into it. Sliced that motherfucker straight in half,” Mark supplies.
“Want to be a good friend for the first time in your life? Call your cleanup crew to handle this. Chop his head off and send it to a close family member. If he has any left.”
“He has a sister.”
“No, not Makenna.” I felt like that was obvious, but maybe I should have specified.
“No, he has another sister. Younger than him, older than Makenna. She’s been working in another outlet, but I’ll make sure she receives it. She’s harmless. No need to worry about her,” Mark assures me, pulling out his phone.
I nod, putting my katana back in her sling, grabbing the paint can. “There is another thing, Easton. It’s about Holly.”
I turn cold at the name, swinging my gaze back to his. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about all the mess she caused.”
“And why would you be apologizing for a dead bitch?”
“Because she’s my sister.” His fist curls.
I chuckle. “You just keep giving me more and more reasons to want to kill your ass.”
“Just tell Monroe and Nix I’m sorry.”
“Tell them yourself. You at least owe them that much.” I walk out the door, climbing into my car.
The blood stains are going to be a bitch to get out of my car.
CHAPTER 18
JASMINE
I sit under my favorite tree, a spotlight shinning down on my canvas as I paint. “I got you something,” the voice whispers behind my ear, causing me to jump.
Spinning, I see Easton. His hazel gaze is wild, gleaming with pleasure. His clothes are soaked in blood as he holds up a paint can. “What is that?” I nod to the can.
He grins, tiny specks of blood sprinkles on his white teeth. “The blood of your enemy.”
“Easton…” I cover my mouth, disbelief painting my features. “You didn’t…”
“Of course I did.” He sets the paint next to my easel, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stares at me. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?” I breathe out.
He takes a step closer. “I am now.”
“This changes nothing, Easton.” I cross my arms over my chest, looking down at the grass between my bare toes.
“I know, Snitch. I still fucking hate you for lying, but I wanted to do this for you.”
“It’s…” I trail off. Nice? Crazy? Deep down inside, I can’t wait to use it, even if it’s cringe-worthy and completely fucked.
He cups my cheek, smearing blood on the curve of it as he strokes it. His mouth opens, shaking his head as he sighs. Slowly, so heartbreakingly slowly, he drops his hand from my face.
Walking away. My heart breaks a little more with each step he takes.
