in the sky as they walked down the city street. In her green sweater and navy jeans and white sneakers, her vivid read hair falling to the upper half of her back, she walked tucked under the arm of the most lethal man she knew. He was in his black jeans and a black sweater, his hands in the gloves he always wore on the outside, his face exposed to the cold wind.
And that in itself let her know exactly what they were going to do.
They said you only saw the Shadow Man’s face right before you died, and with the exception of herself, she doubted it was false. And since they were going to see the bald man, she knew his time was up.
Still processing everything she’d learned about him that morning, Lyla took in the sight of the city as they moved by. Gladestone was surprisingly busy with people walking down the pavements, cars honking away in the traffic, street vendors selling things on the sides. It was loud and populated and she didn’t understand how a city like this had no idea of what went on within it. Or maybe it did. Maybe they all knew and nobody cared.
Dainn guided them to the left, into a narrower street that opened up into a quieter, more industrial area. There were still people milling about, workers going in and out of the factories, some of them stopping to give her a onceover before looking at the man at her side, and quickly looking away. That didn’t surprise her one bit. Even without the shadows and the darkness, there was something inherently dangerous about him, something that warned the other person not to look too close before they couldn’t look at all.
She tightened her arm around his waist, glancing up at him as they kept moving. “Why didn’t we take the car?”
His eyes were vigilant even as he appeared casual, clocking everything and everyone. “It would’ve been too noticeable.”
“And we aren’t noticeable?” she laughed, shaking her head at the idea. He might not have been but she was attracting attention and they both knew it.
“Oh, but we’re just two lovers out for a stroll,” he informed her, his lips twitching.
She liked him like this. She didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d shared so much of himself with her or that he was genuinely enjoying getting her vengeance or maybe both, but he felt lighter with her, and he was definitely more handsy than he had been. His hands had taken up residence on some part of her body or another all through the day and it felt newer, the way he touched her without sexual intent now. It felt… domestic almost, if they could ever be used with that word.
Taking a turn to the left, to a much more isolated part of the industrial area, Lyla looked around as any signs of inhabitation fell away.
‘Why aren’t there any people here?’
His eyes still sweeping the area, he answered. ‘Because this whole block is owned by a dead industrialist. His industries are collecting dust so to speak, and this area used to be the prime spot for his business. Now, lowlives use it sometimes.’
He wasn’t a lowlife, so she didn’t understand why he was using it. But she kept the thought to herself as they headed to one of the factories right at the end of the walkway. The sun was almost close to setting, the sky a dark purple, and in the abandoned ghost block, she felt herself shudder. His arm tightened around her immediately, and the weight on her chest eased enough for her to breathe. No one would get to her, not with him right there.
She wanted to someday be able to protect herself, wanted to learn self-defense, but both Dainn and Dr. Manson were right about her needing more time.
‘You have all the time in the world, Lyla. Heal yourself first.’
She needed to heal her mind enough not to freeze before she could fight, and she was a long way from that. But Dainn had promised her he would get her the perfect trainer who was her size when she was ready, and she trusted that. He had gotten her psychological help when she’d needed it without even knowing. He would get her physical help too when she was ready. She had asked why he wouldn’t train her himself, since he was so well-versed in martial arts, and he’d just given her a heated look, letting her know exactly why for the next hour.
Shaking off her thoughts, she noticed the absence of wind right before they stepped into the old factory. Not knowing where they were going, she couldn’t even see properly in the little light inside, but she followed his lead as he twisted and turned around the corners, finally coming to a stop in a really dark corridor.
He removed his arm from around her and turned to the side, holding her jaw in his hand, his mismatched eyes on her in the dark. ‘Be ready.’
Taking a deep breath in, preparing her mind to see the monster who had broken her, she nodded.
Without a word, he opened a door she hadn’t even seen, and entered. She turned her neck, taking a step across the threshold, and froze.
Her entire body locked in place. Not because of the man hanging from his arms. No. It was because of the room.
The room.
The same little bed in the corner.
The same dirty walls enclosing it.
The same cracked, dingy ceiling.
It was the room of her death.
And he’d brought her here.
Why?
She felt his lips at her ear, even though she couldn’t see him in the little light.
‘Feel it, flamma,‘ he whispered, his voice seductive in the face of her turmoil. ‘Feel everything you’re feeling. Don’t shove it under a rug, don’t push it aside. What do you feel?’
Rage.
Pain.
Humiliation.
Fear.
So much.
‘He’s right there,’ the voice of death cajoled. ‘And he can’t touch you. So feel, and do what you need to take back what he took from you.’
She was feeling so much, her hands fisted at her sides, her body shaking with the force of everything hitting her. Her eyes swept the room, memories flooding her mind—of her on the bed, slowly dying, one shattered piece at a time, of her in the dingy bathroom, hacking off her hair, one lock at a time, of her sitting in the corner, arms around her knees, struggling to take one breath at a time. They had driven her to it, they had shoved her into the black hole she had resisted all her life, and fuck if it didn’t make her fucking angry.
A noise she didn’t even recognize left her chest, and the hanging man stirred.
Lyla trembled, rooted to the spot, watching as his head lolled and his eyes searched the room, stopping on one of his pals dead in a chair, before suddenly coming to where she stood.
The bald man grinned with a mouth full of blood. ‘A sight for sore eyes. Just the memory of your cunt gets me hard.’
Disgust, so deep, rolled through her. She wished she’d lost her memory of everything, wished she couldn’t remember what he was talking about, how her body had been degraded and her insides had screamed at him to get off her. But she remembered, every single thrust, every single time.
‘You’re going to die,’ she told him, her voice shaking with her rage.
The bald man swept his eyes around the room, unable to find the man he was afraid of. ‘So you’re his whore now. I don’t blame him. You did have the most amazing cunt to rape, and oh, I’ve been in many.’
He was provoking her, and possibly also the Shadow Man he knew was around, she knew that. And yet his words kept hitting like bullets.
‘Take back what he took from you.’
Power.
He had taken away her power, bleached it from her soul until she became a shell, and she was going to take it from him.
So, she took a step into the room, the stench making her want to gag. She took another deep breath, focusing on keeping her spine straight and not on the smell.
‘You think you were a man?’ she laughed, tilting her head to the side, imitating how she’d seen Dainn talking to other people when he had the upper hand. ‘Oh, my ‘cunt’ has been fucked and sorry to tell you, you didn’t even scratch the surface.’ She examined him from head to toe, and shook her head. ‘Not even half the surface.’
The ugly twist on his face told her she’d struck a nerve, and the rush of power it sent through her body made her heady. Keeping on, she dug deeper. ‘You worthless piece of shit, you couldn’t even break a woman you held captive for months. You’re not a man. You’re a spineless swine masquerading as a man.’
Oh that hit him. For whatever reason, he had a weak spot about his superior masculinity.
Lyla chuckled. ‘What? Mommy didn’t love you as a boy? Did she tell you you were worthless too?’
‘Shut up,’ he cut through, his voice enraged.
Lyla could feel the call of the cruelty, the power it held, so tempting. She could feel herself twisting and becoming something ugly to match him, to get one over him. But it wouldn’t be her. She wasn’t cruel, and the months she had spent healing and finding herself, she didn’t know if going down this dark hole would undo them. Cruelty always cut the hand striking the blade.
It was too precious to risk.
But she wanted her vengeance. She wanted to see him hurt.
So far, the Shadow Man had been absent, letting her do whatever she wanted, giving her the freedom to take her power.
And she fucking loved him for it. She loved him for giving her a home, giving her a place to belong, giving her space to just be. And she loved him for bringing her to the place of her nightmares, for seeking vengeance on her behalf and stringing up the monsters, making her realize it all had no power over her anymore. She had grown, she had evolved, and the terrified, tired girl she had been didn’t exist in this hellhole anymore. The woman she was now, the woman she wanted to be, didn’t want to be cruel.
The smell of gasoline slowly filled the room.
Lyla looked around, trying to see where is was coming from, but couldn’t see a thing.
So, she took a step back toward the threshold. ‘I feel pity for you,’ she told the bald man. ‘I feel pity that you never knew love. And I feel pity because you’re going to die painfully all alone, knowing you were never loved.’
His expression soured. ‘You think he loves you?’ he spat out. ‘He’s using you because of who you are, because of where you come from. Has he told you about it?’
She stayed still, her breaths locked in her chest.
The bald man laughed. ‘Has he told you about your brother? The man who’s been looking for you for almost twenty years?’
Lyla froze.
What the fuck was he talking about?
He was lying. He had to be lying. She didn’t have a brother. She had no family. No way.
Before the bald man could say another word, she felt the presence at her back.
‘Trust me still?’
She closed her eyes at the words, the familiar words, and reminded herself that she’d trusted this man six years ago with her baby, and she trusted him now. She had been with him long enough to know he was motivated by her well-being.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Good girl.’ She felt a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
‘Do… do I have a brother?’ she asked, unable to help herself.
She felt a moment’s pause. ‘Yes.’
Her knees wobbled and she felt her body collapsing, his strong arm going around her waist to support her. ‘I was waiting for you to be ready. You couldn’t have met anyone like you were.’
She centered herself, holding onto his arm, her brain processing everything. She had a brother, one who’d been looking for her for twenty years or so, which meant he was older than she was.
She had an older brother.
She didn’t know the emotions inside her, didn’t know what was happening in her body as it sunk in. She was aware of the bald man saying something, and aware of the quiet but solid presence behind her, but nothing more.
She had an older brother.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, her nails digging into the forearms of the man she held onto, her breathing heavy. She trusted him, but she was mad, mad because he’d known about it and hadn’t told her, mad because she had gone on for so long thinking she had no one. A part, one more rational, agreed with him, that she hadn’t been ready mentally and emotionally for a news like that. But she was still mad.
She focused on the anger, routing it externally, and straightened from where she leaned against him.
Without a word, she felt him move away to the side. She watched as he picked up a canister and walked into the one ray of light coming in through the high window, his face exposed.
The bald man’s eyes widened. ‘Blackthorne.’
So, he recognized Dainn.
‘I’ll be damned,’ the bald man laughed, the sound hysterical. ‘Fucking Blackthorne.’
Dainn didn’t utter a word, simply opened the canister and tipped it to the side.
The pungent smell of gasoline filled the room as the liquid spread on the floor, Dainn stepping back casually from its range.
The bald man began to struggle. ‘Let me go. I will be useful to you, Blackthorne. I can help you get information. Please. Let me go.’
The plea, so reminiscent of her own begging for mercy, left a sour taste in her mouth. She stayed in place as the gasoline spread on the floor right under him and his dead friend, watching Dainn stepping back until he was right at her side. Quietly, without taking his eyes away from the scene, he pulled her out of the room. Something cool, metallic found her palm.
Lyla looked down, seeing a lighter. His lighter.
He had given her his fire.
Emotions a flurry in her chest, she focused on the monster begging inside, channeling her fear and pain and rage to one source, and flicked the lighter open.
The sight of the flame had the bald man crying pitifully, and she felt the rush of power again. She’d never thought she would kill someone, but if there was one person who deserved to burn in hell, it was this man.
Without a twinge of doubt, remembering not only what he’d done to her but knowing what he’d done to so many others like her, she threw the lighter into the room.
As the flames began to spread, and screams rent the air, Lyla stood with her devil and watched one of her demons and one of her hells be destroyed.
