Though she may be little, she is fierce.
—William Shakespeare
I stare at my future, knowing how bleak it is. And I worry. I worry for my children. What happens to them? They’ve already lost their mother, and now the sins of another have landed in my lap, destroying what’s left of our family with all the dark lies and insinuations.
They’ll become outcasts. My name will bring them harm, I fear. My daughter is fierce, constantly fighting for me. My son is fragile right now, barely holding it together.
I worry the most about Victoria. My son will grieve me, but he will recover. My daughter will never stop fighting for me. That could put her in danger. It’s obvious I’m supposed to take the fall for this; I just don’t understand why.
Why is any of this happening? Why is this happening to us? Haven’t we suffered enough?
If I could end my life and spare them the rest of this trial, I would.
But if I do that, then I’m teaching them to give up. I’m setting a precedent my wife would never approve of.
So I’ll fight. I’ll pray. And I’ll hope against all hope that the truth prevails.
For the sake of my children, I’ll fight.
I put the journal away, sliding it into my bag just as the sun sets. Any time I need a reminder of why it’s important to always fight, I read the journal of a man who had no choice but to fight. To fight for his kids.
To fight for us.
“Lana, you there?” Jake asks, annoyed as I wedge the phone between my shoulder and cheek.
“Still here,” I tell him.
“I don’t like this. I haven’t even installed any cameras in Morgan’s house, and he teaches a MMA class for fuck’s sake. You’ll be going in blind with a guy who knows how to fight.”
“They all know how to fight,” I say carelessly.
“Not like him. You know it. You’re rushing this, getting too brave. You’ve reached the point where you think you’re indestructible. We talked about this. We agreed you’d let me pull you back a little if you started to develop that complex.”
He’s frustrated, and I understand. The second I fell for Logan, all our plans became five times more complicated and seven times more fucked up. Not to mention rushed and sloppy.
“I have to be there tomorrow. Morgan has to die tonight. I’m not leaving behind two to run off once they hear what I’ve done to that town. It’ll be hard to kill them afterwards. Well, hard to kill both and not have immediate FBI attention.”
“Damn it, Lana. Let me handle it.”
“No,” I say immediately. “The Scarlet Slayer—as you named her—can’t be in two places at once, or they’ll know I have a partner. It’ll ruin the whole thing. That town once called me the devil’s spawn—and they meant it, Jake. They truly believe that. They’ll believe in spirits and demons coming back to reap their souls when I’m done. I can’t scare the hell out of them without your compliance.”
He curses, groaning. “Fine. Fuck. Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Leave your phone on. If you get in trouble, I’ll hear it and come in, armed.”
“I can take him,” I promise.
“You’ve gotten too cocky.”
“You’ve lost too much faith in me,” I say with a smile.
“Never. I just don’t want to lose my sister to one of them because she got careless,” he retorts.
“At least we don’t have to risk spending time in the house to remove the cameras this way.”
“Still can’t believe they haven’t figured out you’ve been watching them. The FBI, I mean.”
“Two tiny holes in the walls at random isn’t enough for them to suspect your mini cams being installed, considering the NSA is the only who is supposed to have that technology.”
“They shouldn’t be so easy to hack if they wanted to keep that technology a secret.”
I roll my eyes, grinning. “Now who’s cocky?”
He mutters a very unflattering word to describe me, and I grin broader.
“You know the worst thing that could happen isn’t just death here, Lana. If he overpowers you…You’ve studied his past just like I have. You’re not the only girl he’s hurt.”
My smile disappears as icy fury washes over me. “I’m aware. Just like I know his father is friends with the governor, and all the accusations disappear when the women turn into lying whores. Right?”
“Just be careful,” he says on a sigh. “And get him trapped first. Then have some fun with him.”
That has my smile returning.
“I’m going in.”
“Leave the phone on.”
“Yes, sir!” I say with a mock militant tone.
“It’s sir, yes, sir. But whatever.”
Slowly, I push the phone into my pocket and head inside to kill one last time before going home to massacre so many more.
I’ll paint the town red. Just like they painted the streets with our blood.
Grabbing my purse, I step outside, jogging down the street.
“Don’t forget you need to drive to Delaney Grove to start phase one,” I say into the Bluetooth earpiece.
“Yeah. I will. As soon as I make sure you don’t get yourself killed by being reckless,” Jake says too loudly in my ear.
I cut the volume down, and slow my pace, approaching Morgan’s house. I watch through the window, seeing him walk through the house in just his boxers without an ounce of shame.
Fortunately, he lives about a mile from anyone, so as long as no one rolls up on us, I should be able to finish this quickly. I hate rushing the kill. I planned for days and days of torture with him.
No I have to improvise and cram days of torture into one method. Only one way to do that.
“Going in,” I whisper before slipping in through the front door.
I twist the knob, not surprised to find it unlocked. Morgan thinks he’s a badass who can’t be hurt. Talk about feeling invincible…
I push through the door, grimacing when it creaks. I pause, listening for him, but don’t hear anything to alert me that he’s coming this way.
The house is mostly quiet, so I push the door shut, leaving it a little ajar so as not to allow it to squeak again.
Jake stays silent in my ear, and I bring my hair down to cover the gaudy ear piece. I’ve considered everything that could happen, and have different plans for each scenario.
Just as I turn the corner, my heart kicks my chest, and my eyes widen on the barrel of a gun that I wasn’t expecting.
“Shit!” Morgan shouts, dropping the gun to his side, still holding it though, as he looks at me in confusion. “Damn, girl. What the hell are you thinking just walking into a man’s house?”
I swallow down my surprise, realizing just how right Jake might have been, as Morgan looks at me with utter confusion. That gun will be blowing my brains out if he finds out who I am right now.
“Sorry,” I say, squeaking the word intentionally.
Morgan won’t fear a woman, after all. I’m harmless, at least in his mind. It’s his mentality. Women are easily overpowered when he has them under him.
“My car broke down, and this is the first house I saw,” I go on, clutching my heart as though it’s beating too fast.
He eyes my cleavage, and a slow smile spreads across his lips. Yeah, I did that just for you, big guy. I know what you like. I’m sexy, not dangerous. Keep thinking that way and put the damn gun down.
“Oh?” he asks, slowly clicking the safety back into place on his gun.
“Yeah. I saw a light on.” I pull my hair back, and point to the Bluetooth ear piece. “My phone died, so I was hoping to borrow one. Unless you know something about cars.”
He licks his lips, his eyes still on my cleavage.
A fist slams into my face, and I cry out in pain, unable to hold back the tears this time. Warmth spills down the front of my face, and I know it’s blood. Know he just broke something.
“Damn, Morgan, don’t fuck up her face yet!” Kyle hisses. “I still want another piece, and I can’t stare at blood to get off. I’m not like her sick fuck of a dad. And it’s not your turn again, anyway.”
More tears pour from my eyes as Morgan comes down on top of me. “Just worry about her brother’s ass some more. That’s where your dick should be.”
“What did you say?” Kyle growls.
“You heard me. Maybe they like getting their dicks rubbed by anything with a squeeze, but you don’t get to tell me where to put mine. I choose pussy over ass any day. Especially a dude’s ass, faggot.”
Kyle steps closer, but Morgan flashes him a daring grin. Kyle may be running the show, but Morgan is the only one who isn’t suffering from pack mentality. Kyle knows it, and though he might want to kill the sicko on top of me for not knowing his place, he lets it go.
Morgan is only here to fuck me. He’s not here to punish me like the others.
He’s been waiting for a day when he could do this.
His hands knead my breasts, and he releases an appreciative groan. “I’ve always wanted a taste of these,” he says, bringing his lips down on them.
I’m too numb to feel it. At least that is what my mind is telling me. I’m sick of feeling. I want to be numb forever.
Strong hands are grappling my weaker ones, holding me down, but I’ve stopped fighting, so there’s no need to restrain me anymore. The blow to my face has killed most of my fight, dazing me.
“At least I brought lube,” Morgan says against my ear, thrusting in and out, as I try to pretend I’m anywhere else. “I made this feel good, and you fucking bit me?” he hisses acidly against my ear. “I want this to feel good for you, baby. I didn’t have to hit you if you’d just kissed me instead of trying to bite me,” he says, his thrusts building speed. “I want you to come. I want you to know it was me who made you come. I want you to close your eyes for the rest of the night and see me thrusting in and out of you even when it’s not my turn.”
My stomach roils, and I swallow back the vomit.
“You’re going to love every second I’m inside you.” He moves my hair to the side. “Just remember I could have stopped all this if you’d stopped fighting me a long time ago.”
He stills inside me, shuddering his release. I stare blankly at the side as he runs his lips along my neck. I’m drenched from the lube, and the pain is more bearable, but to keep from crying, I picture someone riding in to save us. They’ll start by chopping his head off while he’s inside me.
That way I’ll see him die every time I close my eyes, and I’ll sleep better at night.
“Who’s tapping in?” Morgan asks, laughing as he cups my breasts one last time.
I don’t even fight when I’m flipped over on the concrete so the next one doesn’t have to see my bloody face. I’m tired of seeing. I’m tired of breathing.
I just want it to stop.
“So you’re here alone?” Morgan asks, leisurely raking his eyes over my body, making a tsking sound when I nod. “Must be fate that brought us together then.”
He takes a step toward me, not releasing the gun the way I’d hoped. Disarming him will be tricky. He’s not as untrained as Hadley.
I let him grab me by the throat. I fake shock when he shoves me against the wall. And I cry out, feigning pain when he shoves a knee between my legs. But I don’t make my move until I hear the gun hit the floor.
Then a smile curves my lips, and I make the same tsking sound he just made. His brow creases in confusion seconds before my arms shoot up between us, and the heel of my palm catches his nose, sending blood spraying everywhere as he stumbles backwards.
“Been waiting a long time to repay that favor,” I tell him, tossing the ear piece to the side.
He looks at me, and I see it when rage takes hold. Pissed off people are all lunging and no finesse.
As expected, he lunges, and I slam my knee into his torso before bringing my elbow down hard across the back of his neck. He slams into the wall, getting dazed, and staggers a step before falling.
Before he can recover, I grab the wire from my purse, and I wrap it around his throat, choking him from behind. He struggles, standing up with me still behind him, forcing me to ride his back like a monkey as I hang on, choking him harder.
He slams me into the wall, but my grip never loosens, and the pain never comes. My tolerance is so much higher than his.
“You made me this way,” I whisper.
I see it in the mirror across from us—the confusion in his eyes.
He has no idea who I am.
I release him when he drops to the ground, not fully unconscious, but not awake enough to fight back.
With quick movements, I cuff his hands and drag the cable connected to the cuffs to tie off at a beam in his living room. I then tie his feet together, and pull out the electric nail gun from my oversized purse.
A bloodcurdling scream erupts from his throat when I use the small—yet powerful—nail gun on his feet, securing them to the ground with rapid succession. Then I pull out the lube while he continues sobbing.
“Who the fuck are you?” he cries out.
An agonized sob rips from his throat when he tries to move his feet. Those nails are too long for him to pull out of the floor without ripping his feet to shreds.
“Don’t worry, Morgan,” I tell him, grinning as I smear the lube on his bare chest. “I brought lube. I want you to enjoy this. It’ll feel good when I’m inside you.”
With one hard thrust, I plant the knife in his side, and another bloodcurdling scream erupts, but I see it the second he realizes who I am.
“Doesn’t that feel good?” I mock.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No way. It’s not you.”
I lean down, getting right against his ear. “You should have saved me all those years ago. Then I could have saved you.”
With that last taunt, I tug his boxers down, and I pull on the gloves before lubing his dick. The sicko is actually hard. That’s a first.
He watches me, probably thinking I’m going somewhere else with this. The side injury isn’t lethal. I know where to stab to inflict pain but spare life.
He’s in a lot of pain, but he’s such a sexual deviant that he doesn’t seem to even care. At least not until I pull out the other knife and slowly slide it down his lubed up torso, nicking the flesh but not slicing into it.
His breathing stops when I reach his most prized possession.
“Don’t,” he whispers, panic paling his features when he sees what I’m going to do. “I had nothing to do with what they did to Marcus. I swear that wasn’t me.”
“You held the mirror. You laughed as Kyle took the slice. You’re the one who encouraged Kyle to redeem himself in your eyes. You’re the reason it happened. Why should you keep this?” I ask, hearing his fearful cry when I nick just the side.
“Don’t! Please! I fucking beg you.”
A deliciously dark smile curves my lips. “I remember your response when we begged. Fuck them. Kill them both.”
With that, I take the slice, struggling to cut through the harder appendage than I’ve worked with in the past.
His screams pierce the air, and his pleads fall on deaf ears. Just as ours did.
The blood starts running, and I squeeze out three bottles of lube, letting it clump on him as he continues to wail, losing his color as quickly as he loses blood. They bleed more and faster when they’re hard. Interesting.
Just to be a total sick freak, I throw a knife to the floor, stabbing it through the severed appendage I’ve dropped beside his face. He screams and screams, and I laugh as I walk outside.
Two gasoline cans are already waiting. Jake has done as he promised he would. Now that he’s heard what I’m doing, he’s probably on his way to Delaney Grove to execute the first part of our plan.
Singing while Morgan cries and chokes on his own vomit, I spray the gasoline around, then douse his body.
“They say the most painful way to die is by fire. I wonder who volunteered to find out that information,” I chirp cheerfully.
Morgan shakes his head, trying to form words, but he’s in too much pain, overwhelmed by agony and shock.
I strike the match, and his eyes widen one last time.
“I didn’t even need to hear you confess your sins,” I say quietly.
I watch the flame slowly eat away at the matchstick, almost reaching my fingers, before I drop it to his body. The flames start to soar, rapidly licking up the trails of gasoline. I slowly start walking out, hearing the roar of the fire as it spreads, chasing each strip of gas.
“Pretty soon, they’ll all burn,” I say as I walk out the door.
