Blood to Dust(74)

“Yell, and I’m cutting off your balls and letting you bleed out while you’re gagged. Shut up, and I let my girl decide how she wants to finish you,” Nate singsongs.

“Your girl,” Seb spits. “Oh, Diabla. Always f*cking your way to more drama.”

“And you love watching,” I say, still holding his gun close to my thigh. We all stumble to the padded living room, where noise is swallowed from the inside and out.

“Ah, men and their love for dangerous *,” Seb huffs. “No wonder I prefer dick. Less hassle.”

Beat thrusts Sebastian’s face into the nearest framed picture, and the blow is so intense, Seb almost crashes back against the opposite wall. His face is now full of little shards of glass poking out of his skin.

“Oops. At least you didn’t yell like a bitch this time. Good dog.”

Nate throws Sebastian on the sofa and kneels down, so that he is at eye-level with him behind his mask.

“You know, Seb? Out of all the things you did in prison, out of all the boys you raped, the people you conned, the murders you plotted, there’s one thing that sticks out for me.” His voice is so calm. So light. He’s my peace, and having him around right now ensures that I won’t get dragged into a tempest of fear and pain. “You watched my girl being raped,” Nate finished. “And you got off on it.”

Seb’s small, gleaming eyes travel up to meet mine. When our gazes lock, he uses whatever strength he has left to pull a satisfied smirk. “It was bloody fantastic. Watching them tossing her around like a football. Father and son. Pass after pass after pass. Kick after kick after kick.”

My stomach turns and rolls. I sway lightly, feeling woozy with humiliation. “There’s nothing more erotic than watching a little soul break.” His dreamy grin conceals his physical state. “You know? Sometimes I’m not even sure if I’m a homosexual. Maybe I’m not. If they’re not young and unwilling, I lose interest. But she. . .” His eyes roam over me in a way that makes me want to hug myself. “She was a weak girl when she got to us, and look at her now. A monster. Diabla. I’m proud.”

Nate’s fist lands on Seb’s face, nailing him to the back of the sofa with a thud. The shards dig deeper into his flesh.

“Asshole!”

Seb’s face swings back with a bloody smile. “I think the best part was when she bled. Out of her *. Out of her arse. Out of her mouth. God, it was beautiful to watch. The rich and entitled became poor and broken.”

Another blow follows, and this time I hear Seb’s nose crack. He yells, then groans, then swings back up, looking dizzy and disorientated, yet eerily happy. He looks up to me, his head tilting sideways, seemingly unfazed by the thick pool of blood spreading on his white carpet. I can’t stop the tears from falling. I’d give up anything to make him shut up.

“Does he know you fell pregnant?” Seb asks, and my vision clouds with thick black mist. “What we had to do to terminate your pregnancy so that we wouldn’t have any more whores to look after?”

My knees turn to sand and I feel Nate’s gaze slowly revolving in my direction. I lift the hand that holds Seb’s gun to his face, but I’m shaking. Shaking so badly, I’m afraid it’ll be Nate I end up shooting.

“Pea?” I hear his voice, and for the first time, it’s not so peaceful. It’s scary. Edgy. It’s a nightmare. I shake my head, taking comfort in the fact that the tears are invisible under my Frankenstein mask.

“Move away,” I order. He does as he’s told, still looking at me. I know he said guns are for pussies, but maybe I am a *. Seb took it too far. No. I didn’t tell Nate that I fell pregnant when one of these *s—hell knows if it was Godfrey or his son—knocked me up. Because the way they aborted the baby. . .I shoved it so deep into the back of my head, sometimes I’m not even sure it happened at all.

The gun is swaying in my trembling hand, a dance of fire and hate.

“You didn’t know.” Seb licks his swollen lips on a smile. His whole face is disfigured and purple from Nate’s beatings. “Gutted like a fish, thrown in the shower like a whore. She actually wanted to keep that baby,” he says with a cackle. “The stupid little cunt.”

I shoot Sebastian James Goddard three times.

Three bullets.

One in the chest, one in the face and one ends up eating a hole in his sleek ex-white vinyl couch. I stand there for long seconds after, letting it sink in.

I killed a man.

I killed a man who abused me.

I killed a man who killed my baby.

I killed a man who doesn’t look human anymore.

Still rooted to the floor, my feet immobile, I can’t stop staring at Sebastian’s face. Or what’s left of it. There’s a hole where his nose used to be, and dark red blood, slimy clots and other inner waste is pouring from it. It kind of looks like the inside of a minced meat lasagna after you tripped and it spilled all over the floor. What have I done? What has he done?

My baby.

Sebastian’s blood against the contrasting white of everything else in the room is beautiful. Almost picturesque. A calm smile starts making its way to my mouth. But I’m not happy. I’m in shock. Nate’s hand finds mine. He’s dragging me out the door, taking the stairs, and when he realizes how out of it I really am, he yanks me up and tucks me under his armpit, like I’m an envelope he needs to deliver, and paces down hurriedly. When we get to the truck, he buckles me up but stays outside.