“Goodbye, Daddy Dearest.” His grin is manic when he pushes the tip of the knife into Malcolm’s left eye, causing blood to spurt from the wound. He twists it around as the old man cries out in agony.
Next, River reaches for his other eye, holding it open so he can’t blink. “This is for me, for the two men I love, and for all those who came before and after us.” He tilts the small, amber glass bottle and drips out three clear drops of acid, which only makes my father’s groans of agony echo around us.
His mutilated face makes me smile. If only Caia were still here, still alive to witness the scene before me. I would’ve bent her over this bed and fucked her into oblivion while my father died.
Dante and River step back as I take the rope and tie it around his neck, ensuring the knot is tight, I tug on the leash-like twine and drag his body off the bed. Only when I reach the door do I feel it. The sag. No more fight, no more life.
Malcolm Savage is dead.
CHAPTER THREE
DRAKE
I hid in the shadows of the corner watching them sleep.
The man who worked for my father for over ten years lies peaceful beside his vicious wife. Both of them sick, vile monsters who will soon pay for their sins. I like being the reaper. The man who takes lives as I see fit.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t kill innocent people. No. I extinguish the lives of those who have done wrong. With the list of contacts I’ve made, there is no escape from me and my team. Alongside my best friend, River, each one that has been jotted down will be paid a visit. The numerous, well-known names who prey on the weak, the young, and the desperate.
“Ready.”
River’s voice in the earpiece clipped to my head cuts through my thoughts. Two men enter, and I watch from the corner as they bind the two struggling bodies to their four-poster bed.
“Who are you?” The man’s tone is heavy with sleep, but low and gravelly, reminding me of the first time I saw him.
He and his wife have a penchant for young boys. Something my father offered them freely in the bowels of the Savage Mansion.
“Please, don’t hurt us.” The wife’s voice comes out raspy, fear dripping from every word. My team flicks on the lights, and I finally step forward. I don’t cover my face. I don’t wear a mask, because my childhood was spent covering up my real emotions. Their eyes widen in shock when they see me.
“Drake? What are you doing here, boy?” The words uttered in confusion. Boy. If only they knew I’m no longer a young, scared child. This time, I’m the one who will ensure they feel the dread I did for so long. Each time they visited my father’s mansion. Every time the asshole choked me with his filthy, old cock.
Lifting my hand, I pull the syringe from my pocket.
“Mr. Walsh, it’s so good to see you.” The venom in my voice is enough to chill the whole fucking room. And it does. The two men who are here to aid me hold down the man, his body wriggling as he tries to get away, but he can’t.
I smile down at his terrified face and press the needle into the soft skin below his eye socket. The clear, acidic poison dripping from the metal tip wrenches a scream from his throat so loud and piercing, his wife flinches from the sound alone.
“Please, Drake. Your father—” Her voice grates on my nerves.
“My father is dead,” I bite out with satisfaction. I’ll never tire from saying that. “Make her watch,” I instruct one of the men, who turns Mrs. Walsh’s head toward her husband, whose face is liquefying. Her screams are beautiful. Music to my ears.
“Please, please, no, no,” she pleads.
“I used to say that to you, to him,” I tell her, gesturing with my chin toward the asshole who’s gulping the last few breaths of his life. His body convulsing as his flesh bubbles. My body tingles with excitement. Tonight, I’ll head out and find a beautiful woman to fuck. I’ll slide into a tight hole, warm and wet, and I’ll spill my seed inside her thinking about how beautiful the scene before me is.
“Listen to me. We can fix this, Drake. You and Dante—”
“Shut the fuck up!” My voice booms through the room, bouncing off the walls, causing the old bitch to cringe, cowering against the headboard. “Can you imagine how it feels to be a young boy, scared shitless when two people visit his home?” I rage, losing the control I’d held onto until she mentioned my brother’s name.
I’m at her side in seconds, my hand gripping her frail throat. I never pictured myself killing a woman, but right now, I don’t care.