Bloodbath (Order of the Unseen #4)

Chapter Eight

Damien

T here’s a brutal chill in the air, but my hands are warm. With each blow, his skin splits open beneath my knuckles, painting them red. He deserves to feel real pain. The kind of pain that cannot be described. He likes to beat women. I like to beat men who beat women.

His face transforms before me, his facial features contorting until he’s a spitting image of my father. I make sure to stare into his eyes as I toss him into the brick wall and beat the life out of him.

Again. Again. Again. Again.

The shadows are watching. Whispering.

I can hear them as I dig into his chest cavity with a blade.

“I’m going to save her,” I mutter.

I’m the last thing he will ever see or hear.

Torment is the last he will ever feel.

Jensen

The alley is dark, even with the dim streetlight’s proximity. The altercation has already broken out. Damien delivers a powerful blow to the man’s jaw, using enough force behind his strike that it leaves his knuckles bloody. It’s like watching a wolf greedily stalking its prey. His victim staggers backwards with a low groan, his face contorted, and blood spurts from his face with the next blow. He falls backward, his back colliding with the graffiti-covered brick wall. Damien continues his vicious attack, even though it’s obvious he has already won.

It isn’t a fair fight at this point.

I mentally scold myself when my boot meets the shattered glass on the pavement, nearly giving away our presence. Micah grabs my bicep, keeping me from edging closer. The wind blows, which results in the rusted fire escape creaking from over our shoulder. Damien suddenly turns his head in our direction, peering into the darkness we reside in for any potential threats.

The both of us freeze, chests constricting and shoulders tense. He looks away, unphased, and directs his attention back to the barely conscious man before him. There’s an eerie crunch as his fist collides with his nose, along with faint whimpering.

Damien doesn’t show any signs of easing up. He unleashes every bit of his anger. It’s hard to watch, especially knowing we can’t do anything to stop it. Doing so would only escalate the situation, and that’s something we need to avoid at all costs.

With the mindset he’s in currently, he’s operating way out of character. The usual calm and collected Damien is lost in the dark corridors of his mind. He’s frantic and uncontrolled.

We’re here for two reasons.

Starting clean up duty until Marcus gets here and ensuring we do everything in our power to keep our friend from getting caught.

For a split second there’s a glint of a blade that catches in the moonlight. He steps into him, burying the steel deep into the man’s abdomen. We watch as Damien surveys the pain in his victim’s eyes, twisting it savagely.

He mumbles something I’m not able to make out. Although he’s far from human when he’s off the rails, he still manages to keep some of his smarts. He typically goes after the men who are on the Order’s watch list for specific reasons. Damien still has some of his morals. Only takes the lives of people who truly deserve it.

But when he gets like this, he’s sloppy. He no longer has the ability to see the bigger picture, which can create problems for the society. Even though he makes sure there’s a lack of witnesses, at the end of the day, just one thing that slips through the cracks can put us all at risk.

Micah and I continue to maintain a safe distance. Damien withdraws the knife and steps back, allowing the man to slump onto the ground. He wipes the blood off the blade with the sleeve of his jacket and begins to walk away, until the man lets out a low gurgle, spitting out blood.

Damien stops dead in his tracks. He pounces on him within seconds, the knife slashing through the air and coming down hard, breaking through his chest. There’s so much blood. I lose count of how many times he stabs the guy, carving his carcass like a pumpkin until there’s not a shred of life left.

Micah turns away.

With a heaving chest, Damien stands, looking down at him with not even the faintest bit of remorse. He loosens his shoulders and cracks his neck, slipping the bloodied knife into the sheath in the back of his pants. There’s an echo from his footsteps as he walks down the desolate alley and eventually vanishes from our sight.

There’s an unnerving silence between the two of us. Out of all the brutal attacks we’ve witnessed, this one was unsettling.

“Come on,” I instruct, clearing my throat.

After ensuring we’re alone, we head toward the body. My saliva thickens as we examine the aftermath. The gore involved with this one is heavy.

Micah turns his back to the gruesome scene before us, his stomach contents spilling out of him violently. Seeing how distraught he is, kneeling over and wrenching in disgust, I gather his hair in my hand and hold it back for him.

“I’m—fine—” he chokes out. “His dad really fucked him up, man. I—I just want him to be okay—”

“He’ll be okay,” I assure him, collecting several loose strands and brushing them away from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“You’re good, man. Just let it out.”

“Fuck,” he groans, turning to look at me, his eyes filled with anguish. “Want a kiss?”

“You know I do.”

“Gross,” he shoots back. “Pretty sure I still have vomit in my mouth.”

“I’d kiss you no matter what. Puke and all.”

He chuckles, his lips curling into a gentle grin. Given our situation, at least I somehow managed to get a laugh out of him. The space around us becomes quiet, and his face softens, raw emotion erupting within his eyes.

He stares at me with such admiration it leaves me weak in the knees. Love isn’t only found in passing stares, forehead kisses or gentle touches. Love is also found in abandoned alleys with rotting garbage and dead bodies. Even with Damien blacked out and causing havoc, the Hallowed Divine’s return, and everything important in our life at stake, all of that somehow falls away.

There’s a subtle shift in the way he’s looking at me. He must know I love him. I think a part of him has always known since we were kids.

“Let’s get to cleaning so our dumbass friend doesn’t get too far,” he instructs. “Good thing we have his phone tracked.”

“Right.”

He shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Dropped Marcus our location.”

“Good.”

“You should go, Jensen. Step in for Damien.” I blink. “I have it from here. I got this.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“I’m sure.” While stuffing what remains of the dead guy into garbage bags, our eyes meet. “He’ll be okay, right?” he asks, looking for reassurance.

“We’re a team. We got him.”

“We got him,” he repeats.

Damien

Next on my list: Gavin Sampson.

With a firm grip on the back of his head, I smash his face into the brick wall. Feeling high from hearing the muffled groans of pain that escapes him, I do it again, slamming his face into the building over and over.

I lose count.

Seven?

Twelve?

By the time I drag him backward, his teeth are chipped and he’s gurgling, spitting out a mouthful of blood. It gets on my boot.

Irritated, I release my hold on him.

He staggers forward, disoriented, his knees buckling and hitting the pavement. I circle him, watching as he lifts his hand to the gaping wound in his forehead, observing the dark red substance on his fingertips. It drips down his eyebrow and into his eye, painting the white of his eye crimson.

There’s a glint from an empty bottle on the ground beside the dumpster. I pick it up and then smash it over his head, glass shattering. I bury the jagged edges into his badly beaten face. I wish his victims were here to witness this, but he doesn’t scream like I expected. Instead, it sounds like he’s an injured animal, whimpering, cowering… I yank the broken bottle out from his flesh, fascinated with the way the blood spurts in different directions, like a sprinkler.

I do it again.

And then I do it some more.

Until his face looks like it’s been put through a blender, skin torn and raw, hanging off by a thread. I’m out of breath. My arms have grown heavy and my fingers are drenched in his blood.

Or maybe it’s mine.

Micah

The days have become a blur.

I can’t remember the last time I slept. But I’m not tired.

I’m running on pure adrenaline at this point.

No matter how many guys Jensen sends to tap me out, to give me even just a small respite, I can’t pull myself away.

My only thoughts consist of vile images of the brutal murders my best friend has committed.

The only voices in my head are the screams of those he has slaughtered.

I’ve tried to block them out.

Except… I can’t peel my eyes away.

Seeing the person I care about… inflicting so much pain… watching him revel in it… with no end in sight… and not being able to do anything to stop it…

My body feels weaker than it has in years, even with the energy surging through my limbs. My legs grow heavier with each step as I trail close behind him.

By the time we approach the desolated gas station bathroom Zak Sunny has just entered, my head has become groggy.

Damien shoves me against the stone wall behind the bathroom and digs his elbow into my throat, pressing down with so much force I begin to choke. He stares at me with lifeless eyes, his lips in a firm line.

“D-D—Dami—” I croak, clawing at his forearm. “S-stop—”

“Why are you following me?”

I dig my nails into his skin, drawing blood. “I-it’s—me—”

“Why the fuck are you following me?”

“D-DAMIEN, STOP—”

Finally, he lowers his arm and steps back. I clutch at my windpipe, fighting through pain, coughing deeply. Knelt over and gasping for oxygen, I look up and meet his eyes.

“It’s me,” I rasp, one hand cradling my throat and the other on my knee. “I’m—here to help you—”

“Micah.”

“Yes?”

“Stay out of my way.”

My heart fucking shatters. “Okay,” I whisper.

Damien enters the bathroom.

I remain in the cold winter night, just outside the door. I sink onto the ground and fix my gaze on my boots, drowning out the screams until all I hear is a high-pitched ringing in my ears.

I text Jensen again.

He still hasn’t answered my last text from earlier today when I asked how Quinn was.

Micah : Too busy for me? I’ll text her myself.

The ringing in my ears grows louder, causing my vision to become blurry.

I text Quinn.

Micah : I miss you

Quinn : I miss you, too. Are you okay?

Micah : I’m tired… but okay

Quinn : And Damien? Is he okay? Have you found him?

I want to puke. Pull the hair out of my head. Peel the skin off my face.

Micah : I’m sorry baby

Quinn : I love you, Micah

There’s a painful twinge in my chest. Almost as painful as my throat.

Almost.

Micah : I love you, too, Quinn

My ears are still ringing when Damien walks past me, not bothering to even acknowledge my existence. I feel like I’m on the verge of losing it… slowly slipping away, drifting into another dimension.

The light flickers as I enter the bathroom. It reeks of cleaning supplies and gasoline. The white tiled floors are sticky with chemicals and bodily substances.

Bleach. Urine. Blood.

So much fucking blood… everywhere…

The poorly painted and graffiti-covered walls… the cracked porcelain sink… splattered across the mirror… dark pools of crimson leading to the very last stall.

He’s lying beside the toilet. What’s left of his face has been crushed. His nose is flattened like a pancake. His head has also been smashed open, pieces of his skull trailing to where he lays. The stained toilet bowl is filled with brain matter, shattered bones, and teeth.

It looks like soup.

I stare at his body, my chest heaving. Backing away slowly, I pull out my phone, dropping Marcus the location.

Quinn’s name pops up on my screen unexpectedly.

Quinn : Please come home

But I can’t. Instead, I follow after my friend.