“Neon, I can see it in your eyes. It’s there, the revenge you crave. Like I said before, you and me…we’re the same. If I had someone else to blame for my scars, for the nightmares, and hearing my little niece cry for help…I’d want revenge too. I’d want to inflict my pain on those who deserved it.” He straightened, his expression momentarily faltering, showing the pain he felt by thinking of his past. “But I don’t have anyone I can blame. Only myself. You, on the other hand, you have the fucker right here.” He pointed at Slither. “You can make him pay.”
My feet were blocks of ice, frozen on the spot. This moment felt too surreal, like a goddamn nightmare I was stuck in.
I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t breathe, or think, or speak.
Ink brushed past me, grabbing something from a table which stood in the corner, and kicked a wooden crate in Slither’s direction. His leather boots creaked on the tiles, and the thump as he stepped onto the crate knocked against my chest.
Barbed wire tightened around my insides when I saw a pair of shears in his hand. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what he did to you.” Reaching up, he grabbed one of Slither’s middle fingers, positioning the shears around it. Slither lifted his head and started jerking against the chains like an animal trying to free himself.
“What the fuck? Don’t do this. Jesus, don’t…” Slither begged with a quiver in his voice, his hands trembling while Ink held the shears in position, and I saw something in him I had never seen before. Fear.
And I…loved it.
Ink’s icy stare settled on me, both hands clutching the shears. “Your revenge starts…now.”
18
Ink
I feltthe bone break the second I forced those shears shut around Slither’s middle finger. The crack, the snap, and the most gruesome screams that tore through his throat had my blood singing with satisfaction. The pleasure that rippled down my spine had me closing my eyes, relishing the moment while I basked in his high-pitched cries strong enough to shatter glass.
He swore. He screamed. And he jerked against his chains like a wild animal.
As I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was her, the look on her face. With flashing eyes, a trembling chin, and an iced expression, I knew she was feeling everything I felt.
It didn’t horrify her, seeing me cut this fucker’s finger off. It didn’t startle her or scare her. It fucking thrilled her. And God help, but I fucking loved the look on her face. It made my fucking dick hard.
“You feel that, babe?” I dropped the shears, the clank reverberating around us. “That’s what it feels like when you break the devil.”
Neon took one slow step at a time, not taking her eyes off Slither’s severed finger laying on the floor with blood splattered around it. That was the moment I knew I hadn’t made a mistake by bringing her here, by throwing her in the snake pit and forcing her to face her fear.
She lifted her head, staring at Slither’s agonized face. With one more step, she placed her flat leather boot on top of his severed finger, not even flinching. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on her beautiful face, hatred painted on every contour, malice lighting every feature. In that moment, she emanated the power of an angel sent to slay the beast, and I knew this would be her turning point.
Slither opened his eyes, spit dripping from his cracked lips. The blood pouring from his cut finger splattered onto his forehead, his hands hanging above him.
Her head slanted to the side then slowly leaned to the other as she scrutinized him, studied him. It was easy to see the world around her had disappeared, and it was now just him and her. No one else. Just them, and the sordid history she was forced to share with him.
Their gazes locked—hers cold and hard, his weak and exhausted. Suddenly, his laughter erupted, tearing through the silence like a fucking wrecking ball. But she didn’t flinch, not even when his mouth gaped open, the stringy filth of his spit stretched from one lip to the other.
His laugh was menacing, crazed, like a demon-possessed freak that craved the fires of hell, yearned for the flames to burn him to ash.
Neon didn’t even bat an eye and just stared at him as if she saw the man hidden behind the scaled ink—the man whose hands were painted with the blood of so many.
Her arm moved, and something glinted in her hand. A smile slowly eased onto her face, her jaw ticking and eyes alert. Then the words just rolled out of her mouth like she had been practicing it for months.
“Scream…for me.” A split second, and I watched as she hacked an iron hook into his stomach, blood gushing out of the wound, coating her hand. It happened in slow motion, and I managed to experience every expression that crossed her face.
Slither roared.
Neon’s jaw clenched, biting into her bottom lip.
With another jerk, she forced the hook deeper into him, and his eyes widened, his screams turning into gargles as he choked on his own blood—drowning in Neon’s madness.
She leaned closer, bringing her lips to his ears. “You bleed for me now.”
As she reared back, she yanked the hook out of him, tearing his flesh, an inhuman shriek tearing from his lips while his blood oozed from the open wound.