Her touch was like that burning lighter, but he couldn’t move, trapped in his own body as if he were dreaming, and this was a moment of sleep paralysis. Vague, messy memories rolled through his mind, unearthed by a plow made of razorblades going through the folds of his brain.
So many children terrified, screaming, used and tortured, their bleeding bodies left broken until death became mercy. The endless chanting, the little boy begging for help as Abaddon sat on his throne with a gag under the mask, forced to watch every minute of every day, ritual after ritual, so the cruelty he witnessed could mold him into the vessel for an angel, or demon—he wasn’t even sure.
Gabriel, with his face so damp all he could see was probably a blur.
He’d seen four perish, their meat cooked until it pulled away from bones. But this boy would not die if there was no vessel for Abaddon to occupy at the end of the cycle.
He shook his head, but when Benson placed her long-nailed hand on his chest with a joyful smile, he didn’t have the strength to retreat, shut in the cage of his own body.
“Oh, you’ve grown into such a handsome man. Perhaps it’s for the better that Abaddon will not be a boy,” she whispered, pursing her red lips as her palm slid to his hip. She had given birth to him, but there was nothing maternal about her touch.
Gabriel’s scream was like a war cry coming out of nowhere, but just as Mother turned in shock, he shoved the dagger into her stomach. With a scream on her lips, she pulled the trigger and staggered, pushed back by the recoil. Gabriel fell, stumbling over a coffee table. The remaining blood from the milk jug spilled all over the floor, and the fish became agitated, as if they sensed the fight nearby.
Mother shook, but instead of pulling the blade from her flesh, she lifted the gun again, aiming at Gabriel, who shrieked, raising his arm in a useless attempt to defend himself from a bullet.
The ice holding Abaddon to a standstill broke, and he slapped the firearm from Mother’s hand, sending it across the room. Her gray eyes, same as his, narrowed in fury, but she didn’t get to shout him down.
Adam Benson was no longer a boy and she could no longer harm him.
He grabbed her loose bun and shoved her at the fish tank. Its height couldn’t have been more perfect for dunking her face in the whirring depths.
The piranhas muffled her scream, but she pushed and kicked even as Adam held her in a steel grip, sprayed by droplets scented with copper.
His emotions bubbled up to the surface as fast as the water turned red. “No one’s laying a finger on Gabriel or any other child you wanted to put through hell, you sick, fucking witch! You wanted an Angel of Destruction? He’s here!” Adam roared as her movements slowed.
Her thrashing grew weaker, but the rush in his head held him in position until she hung limply against the tank.
“Did she… are you hurt?” he uttered, staring at the bloodied foam rising from the chaos inside the tank.
Gabriel sat up, holding his arm, and shook his head.
“I jumped back, and she missed. I just hit my head…” he drifted off, becoming silent. His eyes were obscured by tangled dark hair, and Adam couldn’t read them at all.
Gabriel had been pushing him away since the confrontation at Father John’s office, but Adam wanted to hug him and make sure his lamb was fine. If only the dead weight in his hold didn't keep him anchored to the damn piranhas.
Despite the damp gloves, his hands itched where he touched her, but when he thought of what they might see if he’d let her fall to the floor, bile pushed at his throat again. His mind refused to cooperate until one of her arms, so far resting on the edge of the tank, dropped in, exciting the fish further.
Thinking was no longer required. Adam lifted the still-warm corpse by the waist and as soon as the center of her gravity shifted to above the tank, Adam let go and stepped away as some of the water spilled to the wooden floor.
Gabriel stared at him with his mouth hanging open, but slowly forced himself up. “Are you… okay?”
The water kept bubbling behind Adam as he stumbled, knocking over a chair Mother must have been sitting in earlier. His chest felt tight and hot, and again he found it hard to speak, so instead of voicing his distress, he opened his arms, staring at Gabriel as a sob tore out of his chest, so raw he could taste blood.
Gabriel ran up to him and closed his arms around Adam’s waist. “I know. I think I understand now,” he whispered, stroking Adam’s back. “I’m broken too. You can lean on me.” He exhaled and got to his toes to kiss Adam under the jaw in that tender way Adam had already missed.