Dark rivers of his blood coated my arm as I wrapped my arms and legs around his neck and torso and gripped as tight as I could.
Blow after blow, he landed punches to my kidneys, and time after time I held strong, waiting for another opportunity to strike.
It came when he drew his arm back for a harder punch. The extra second gifted me with a moment to react. The glass shard punctured his neck just above the last slash point, and with a quick flick, his artery was completely severed.
Almost immediately his stance faltered and he began to stagger, pulled off balance by my weight on his front. I jumped away when his furious grip left my hair and waited for gravity to welcome him to the tiles under my bare feet.
He collapsed to his knees while gripping his throat. Too little too late. There was no saving him now. The pool of dark satin spread across the white tiles and the iron tang of blood filled the air.
With one last kick to his chest, the mountain man fell backward to the floor. I stood over him with zero remorse about taking his life. He wasn’t the first, and if I was honest, he wouldn’t be the last.
Looming closer, I made sure he felt my presence as his restless spirit began to detach from his body. “Feel that Mandla? That’s what it feels like descending into Hell. There’s a special place for rapists down there, and I hope it burns as bad as I hear it does for all eternity.”
“Fuck… You,” he spat, now weak and fighting for each shallow with gurgled breaths.
“You did, and now you’re paying the ultimate price. You die knowing that you’ve brought shame on your family and ancestors. You’ve brought shame to this household, and to my father’s name.”
“Fuck you, whore,” he hissed.
I leaned in—my features no doubt shrouded in darkness—and whispered chillingly low through the shadows. “The name’sHellfire. Don’t you ever forget it.”
With that, I righted myself and stepped back to stand vigil over him while he took his final, gasping breath before the room fell eerily silent.
A new presence behind me had me whirling, only to partially relax when my father came into view. “Helga, please return to your room.”
“No.”
His fingers clicked once and Bayron appeared at his side, hand now strapped after I’d dislocated his finger.
“Bayron will escort you.”
The guard made a subtle move that pulled my attention to the rope he casually held at his side.
“And leave the glass dagger here,” my father added with a pointed look at my hand.
I huffed out an irritated exhale, then made a show of dropping the lethal shard onto Mandla’s lifeless body.
My father snagged my elbow as I brushed by him. “Your oldroom. The guest room is currently unserviceable.”
I glared and tugged free of his grip, then strode past Bayron while issuing him a warning. “You’ll be next if you so much as lay a single finger on me again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bayron deadpanned as he followed.
We emerged into the entrance lobby, then ascended the stairs in silence. At the threshold to my childhood room, I turned to Bayron.
“Let me guess; you’re locking me in?”
He smiled and lifted a set of keys from his pants pocket. “Would be rude not to.”
“What the fuck ever,” I scoffed, and flicked the door closed.
It bounced off the toe of his shoe and he gripped the doorknob. “A word of warning, Miss van Staden: try a stunt like that again and you won’t even get as far as stripping your bed.”
With that, he slammed the door closed before I could do it myself, and promptly locked me in my childhood cage.
I stalked to the window and brandished both middle fingers to the darkened night outside, knowing that my father would have guards watching my every move.
With a snappy tug, the heavy curtains severed me from their view. Now concealed, I turned my attention to my soiled clothing. Mandla’s blood had partially dried. The sticky material clung to one arm in particular and churned my stomach.