Ruthless Rebel (Black Hallows #5)

Chapter 47

47

ASHER

T he sound of my gun cocking echoes around the silent space, as I press it into the back of her skull. It takes all my self control not to pull the trigger and end her right now, but that would be too quick, too kind, not at all what she deserves. Not after what she did, what she took from us. I will never see the light of Logan’s smile again because of her, never again will he be my salvation, only my demise, and Lincoln and I will never truly be whole again without him, and that’s if we even make it at all.

I made sure I was silent as I entered, my footsteps not making a sound as I made my way into the house and down to this room, not alerting either of them to my presence. Which means I listened to her bullshit taunts and the threats, the agonizing bragging about taking Logan from us, each admission slicing right through me with raw fucking pain, but her death doesn’t belong to me.

All of this, everything she has done, it’s all been about Lincoln. She watched him, taunted him, and then took away the one bit of light he had in his life, and for that he will make her pay. I knew, the second she mentioned his father, who she was, and I also knew he was going to steer everyone in the wrong direction. L incoln never talks about his father, about that night, and I know I’m the first he ever even told, which is how I made the connection.

I looked into his father after he told me about him, and I barely found anything. His crimes were covered well and hardly documented anywhere. Which means the only people who knew the atrocities he committed, had to have been up close and personal with either him, or the investigation. I heard whispers of there being a survivor, but I guess I was so focused on what Lincoln must have gone through, that I never looked deeper into it.

It’s how I made the same realization he did earlier, and like him, I know how to watch, how to hunt, I know him more than he even realizes, and I wasn’t going to lose anyone else I love. So when he slipped out of the room, I didn’t bother following him. I made my own preparations, all in aid of him, and then I watched, waited. It wasn’t long before he slipped out of the back of the mansion, hiding himself from everyone else, clouded by his darkness, but in the dark is where I was made to thrive, and together I knew we’d be unstoppable.

I bring up my other arm, ignoring the burning agony in my shoulder, as I press my knife into the same point on her throat where Lincoln is now bleeding. “You know who I am, don’t you, Vivian?” I ask, and she nods against my blade, her hand holding the gun shaking a little, yet still she stands her ground.

“Everyone knows the spare Donovan,” she tosses back, possibly thinking her taunt will have some sort of effect on me, but all I do is laugh.

“Good, that means you know my reputation, which means you also know I grew up learning exactly how to torture women,” I spit, digging the knife into her throat until the skin breaks, making her moan in pain. “I’m sure you heard what I did to your pathetic little lackey, Billy, and all of his men,” I add, and only then do I feel her body tense a little. “And trust me, I would love nothing more than to show you every single thing I’ve learned under the hands of my father and brother,” I grit, barely holding myself back, as I focus my gaze towards Lincoln and grin. “But you came here for a Blackwell man, and that is exactly what you’ll get.”

I smash the gun into the back of her head, making her cry out, as she stumbles forward into the table, and just like I knew he would, Lincoln disarms her with ease, tossing her knife aside, and pressing her gun to the center of her forehead.

“Now, I’ll play a game with you,” he tells her darkly, sliding off the table with ease, as I step back behind her, maintaining my own aim. “Get on,” he demands, gesturing to the table, and with two guns locked on her, she has no choice but to follow his command.

“There’s rope in my bag,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off her, and it’s only then that his focus moves around me, toward the door, where he finds my backpack leaning against the frame.

When I was lying in the hospital after Logan was killed, all I could do was think about making someone pay, and I know despite everything, Lincoln would have been thinking the same. I also know exactly how he would want to do that. I'm no stranger to his darkness, or how he likes to work, but with so many eyes on me at the house, I had to work fast. I grabbed rope, a few knives, a hammer, a small ax, and some pliers. If I had more time, I would have meticulously picked out weapons for him to work with, but I’m sure what I have will be more than enough.

I hear him laying them out on the table behind me, but my eyes stay on hers. I expect her to beg, or at least taunt, but her stare is almost blank as she lays down on her back, as she asks, “Are you going to play with me too?” Her lips tip up at the question, as if the thought excites her, and my own can’t help but cur l.

“If I had my way, I’d slit your fucking throat right here and now, and never think of you again,” I snarl, pressing the gun into the center of her throat. “You think you’re special, but you’re not, and once you’re gone, we will still remember Logan, yet forget you ever existed.”

When Lincoln returns, his eyes are void of any emotion, and I know only the ruthless monster inside of him remains, as he slowly moves round the table and ties each of her limbs to the corners. Once he is sure she is secured, he takes a step back and surveys his work blankly, and I know he doesn’t relish the idea of hurting a woman, even one as sick as her, but I know he has to do this, and he knows it, too.

I pull his face to mine and kiss him fiercely, surprising him, but I don’t linger, not wanting to give her any kind of a show. “Make it hurt, baby, for him,” I tell him softly, and he nods stiffly, as I retreat from the table, leaning on the wall beside the door.

Lincoln palms a knife in his free hand, and I prepare myself to watch him work, but what I don’t expect is for him to instantly plunge the knife deep into her side, mimicking the wound Billy gave him, and making her cry out in agony.

“I changed my mind,” he grits, twisting the knife sharply, bringing his mouth to her ear. “I don’t fucking play games. I hunt and kill, to rid the world of monsters like you.” He pulls out the knife, not pausing before he is dragging the blade through her shirt to slice it open.

“You’re a monster, like me,” she gasps out, watching the blood spill from her side in awe.

“Yes,” he smirks, embracing that darkness that he has hidden from so many others before, as he adds, “And you should have killed me when you had the chance.” Then he brings the knife down again and starts carving lines into her stomach, ignoring her screa ms, as she tries to stop herself from pleading.

It’s only when he steps back, using the remnants of her ripped shirt to wipe some of the blood away, that I note he has carved the words ‘Don’t’ and ‘Stop’ into her body. It’s only today that I know the significance of those words, and when she reads them, the tears finally start to fall.

“Want to say them again?” He taunts, strolling back over to the table and picking up the pliers. “Want to scream my name, and beg me not to stop?” He asks, moving to where one of her wrists is secured, and sliding the pliers onto one of her fingers. “No, you won’t do that, will you? Because you know I don’t believe in something as fickle as mercy.”

Snip. Another scream as he forces the pliers through her first finger, cutting through skin and bone like it’s nothing, before moving on to the next.

She starts to look like she might pass out, but knowing that could happen, I made sure to toss some adrenaline in the bag along with the weapons, and Lincoln is quick to jab her with a shot of it, keeping her awake and alert.

“Do you know how many nights I spent down here,” he begins, slicing off another finger. “How many women my father had strapped to this table before you? There were so many I lost count, and like you they were naive, but none of them were as downright stupid as you.” Snip. Scream. “Do you think my father loved you? You were nothing but a fucking toy for him to play with and discard, and if my mother hadn’t came home that night, he would have called me down to help clean up your dead body, and I would have done it without another thought, knowing that another wouldn’t be too far behind you.” Snip. Scream. “The only difference between you and them, is that you were pathetic enough to think you were different.”

Tears are streaming down her face now, yet her eyes are still crazy, as she watches him work. She opens her mouth to speak, yet nothin g but a choked sob leaves her lips, as he goes to work on her other hand. I watch it all with no reaction, not caring for her pain or cries, and all too used to watching the suffering of women, but at least this one deserves it.

When he brings the knife to her face, her eyes finally show their first sign of fear. “Don’t,” she gasps out, and Lincoln’s smirk turns feral.

“I’ll see you in hell, Vivian.” Then he digs the knife into the top of her head and starts slicing along the outside of her face, deep enough to peel back the skin.

Honestly, the sight is fucking brutal. Yet I watch his every move, getting off on the way he pays back the pain Logan went through ten-fold, not faltering for a second. He digs into her face until he can peel it off completely, and only then does she pass out, but he doesn’t stop. I watch in awe as he mimics every injury Logan felt, cutting her and beating her until every inch of her skin is coated in blood. The fingers that hurt him are now bloody stumps, the face that haunted him is now lying on the floor at Lincoln’s feet, but still he does more.

Reaching into her mouth, he pulls out her tongue, slicing it off in a way that lets me know it isn’t his first time doing such a thing, and his rage does something to me I can’t explain. Especially when he moves to grab the ax and starts to hack away at her body, slicing chunks of her skin and muscle away, until I am positive there is no way she could still be alive. Yet still, he doesn’t stop. He forces the ax into her chest and presses down, ripping open her chest cavity with ease, and then taking his time digging around in there.

I can’t tell what he is doing from this angle, but I hear the breaking, snapping and scraping of bones, as well as the squelch of blood as he works, and all the while I remain quiet and stoic by the door, just letting him do his work. I’m not sure how much time passes, but when he finally takes a step back, I see his entire bod y heaving, with the deep breaths he is taking from the exertion of his work. Only then does he turn and reveal his face, neck and arms drenched in her blood, as he takes a couple of steps towards me and dumps something bloody at my feet.

My eyes meet his, and they are crazed and filled with a void like I have never seen before, and when I look down, I see what he tossed before me. Reaching down, I pick up the bloody mound in my hand and examine it closely. It’s her heart. Now nothing but a useless, lifeless organ, no longer beating in my hand, yet that’s not where my attention lies. No, it’s on one of her ribs that is plunged straight through it, with two words carved into the bone.

For Logan.

I almost laugh. Not because this is funny, but because I finally get it. I finally understand that feeling, the one people search for their entire life. The one of acceptance and understanding, the one that tells you that no matter what they will have your back. The one Elle found with Marcus, the one Jace found with Riley, and the one I had told myself I would never ever have, because inside my mind was too dark for something so pure.

But what happens when you find another soul that matches yours? When their shade of jet black is a carbon copy of your own, and you fit together like two missing puzzle pieces, finally being put side by side into the jigsaw?

“Now we’re even,” he breathes, watching me closely, and a wave of emotion washes over me, as I toss the heart to the floor, and grab him by the vest, pulling him into me.

“I love you,” I blurt out, not caring that we are both stained in the blood of our first love's killer, because I can’t wait another second for him to know it.

His blank eyes flash with emotion, as he snaps completely into the moment with me. “What did you say?” He asks, his tone despe rate, like he is sure he misheard me, and I can hear my heart beating inside of my head.

“I love you,” I repeat, making sure he hears me, pulling him in even closer. “I’m in love with you, Lincoln, and life is too fucking short not to say it, and we both know that, so I love you, I’ve been in love with you a long time, and it’s about time I told you.” I rush out all my words, before pressing a soft kiss to his bloody lips, tasting his sins and mixing them with my own, and nothing has ever tasted better.

When I pull away, his eyes are back to their normal shade of green, and I see the tension melt away from his body, as he goes from monster to man. “I love you too, Dark Prince,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to mine. “Always have, always will.” Those last four words fix something inside of me, and though Logan left a hole in us that will never be repaired, at least we have each other.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say, not sparing the corpse on the table another glance, as I slip my bloody fingers between his, and lead him from this terrible place, one last time.

We almost make it all the way to the front door, before he pulls on my hand and halts me in place. “Why here?” He asks, and when I search his stare in confusion, he adds, “Why did you say it here, now, why?”

My eyes soften, as understanding washes over me, and I lean over and kiss him again, pouring as much love as I feel for him into that one kiss, before I pull away. “This was your home, Lincoln, it’s where you grew up. I wanted you to have one last good memory here before I burn it the fuck down.”

Reaching for the front door, I pull it open and find the familiar red car in the driveway, with its owner sitting on the hood, smoking a cigarette like he owns the damn place. When Lincoln sees him, he looks back at me more confused than ever.

“What’s he doing here?” He asks, n o doubt shocked to find his brother waiting, but all I do is smirk.

“Who else is gonna burn this fucker down for us?” I ask, nodding to Jace to let him know we are ready, and watching as he slides off his car and walks over to us.

“I don’t mind waiting, if you two kinky fuckers want to bone in her blood first,” he drawls, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth, yet Lincoln still looks lost.

“How did you know where to find us?” Linc asks him, and Jace only smirks.

“Donovan told me. He sent me a text that said crab sticks with a fire emoji and an address, and I just knew it meant he wanted me to come burn something down,” he shrugs, telling a tale not even close to the truth, but all I do is roll my eyes, not bothering to correct him, not when I know he is only trying to wind me up.

Lincoln doesn’t respond, just takes his brother’s humor as the defense mechanism it is, and pulls him in for a tight hug. “I love you, brother,” he tells him, and I know Jace is surprised by his show of affection, but still brings up his arm and pats him on the back.

“I love you too, man,” he replies, before pulling back and adding, “Now, are we doing this thing, or what?” He asks, looking between us and waggling his brows, and Lincoln turns back to his old house and gives it one last look over.

“Burn it to the ground, brother, there is nothing left for me here,” he starts, looking back at me, and pushing his hand in mine. “I have everything I need,” he adds, and Jace only smiles.

“With fucking pleasure.”