Children of Vice (Children of Vice #1)(39)

Rolling my eyes, I stood up, moving to the door.

“Exactly. Ain’t nobody at their f*cking mansion.”

I paused, looking up at the sky. Really, God? Why? Whatever. It wasn’t likely they’d make it past the security anyway.

“Fuck the security. Well, f*ck, you don’t have to piss on my idea like that. Damn.” He spat to the side of him and laughed. “Now you’re talking! I’m sure we could hit up some of the houses…I’m looking through some of the dead’s shit. I already got myself some nice watches.”

Releasing the door handle and turning, I walked down the stairs, praying he’d hear me and at the very least run.

“Na, I got a few crucifixes and wedding rings but nothing much yet. I asked—” When his dark eyes met mine I stared at the man wearing blue scrubs. He hung up quickly. “What the f*ck you looking at?”

I didn’t reply. My gaze dropped to the watch on his wrist.

He looked at it. “A gift.”

This disgusting shit.

“I got work to do,” he said, turning around and trying to open the door to leave. Grabbing him by his shaggy hair, I pulled him back and slammed him against the brick wall right beside the door.

“The dead give gifts now?” I asked, not waiting for him to reply before I bashed his skull into the red wall over and over until it caved in, until blood splattered onto my face, until his body was dead weight, until I f*cking felt better. Then I let him fall.

Bending down over him, I grabbed his phone, which was locked, but thank God for technology. Lifting his hand, I placed his thumb on the reader. Unlocked, I redialed the last number he’d called.

“Mark? How dare you hang up me, you bitch!” a female yelled so loudly I had to pull the phone from my ear. I almost regretted killing the dipshit. I was sure this woman gave him hell as it was.

“Mark can’t come to the phone anymore,” I said into the phone, looking down at the mess I’d made.

“Who the f*ck are you?”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t want to end up like your friend here I’d suggest you stop stealing from dead people and clean up your act.” Hanging up, I threw it back onto his chest.

Chicago always brought out the worst in me.





TWELVE


“I see your bleeding dark side. I feel your angry heart. It reveals forbidden places. More monster yet alive...”

~ Static-X





ETHAN


Taking off my jacket and vest, I handed them to Ivy. She was so engrossed in what was happening, she didn’t even argue. Rubbing the side of my chin, I took a deep breath, turning toward the three stupid f*cks now kneeling in the grass in front of me.

My hands trembled.

“Do you know my family had a rule against killing on Sundays?” I asked them as wind blew through us, sliding the gold brass knuckles onto my hands. “I’m very particular about keeping to the rules. So I’d never broken it…not until today.”

My fist struck, the brass hit into the side of the first, the oldest one’s face. I grabbed onto his collar before he could fall over, hitting him again.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” I hollered as my fist hit his face over and over, flesh ripping out. It took all of my strength not to keep going. Peeling my hand back, dark blood dripped off it. I let go of him, and he toppled over. Reaching up, I wiped the blood from my cheek...or maybe I was spreading it more. Trying to calm myself down, I turned to the rest of them. None of them spoke. Not that they could with the tape over their mouths. Kneeling down, I put my hand on the next man’s face. “Do I really look like I’m the type of man who dies easily?”

He glared at me.

“I don’t like that look.” I frowned, pulling out my knife and stabbing him right in the eye.

“MIGHJ! MEH!” he screamed against the tape, writhing like a worm in pain.

“Much better.” I stepped back again. “You all must think you have balls of steel. You blew up a church. You all are so badass, right? Let’s see.”

One by one my men pulled them to their feet, all of them but Sammy, and pulled their pants down. The moment they did, the three of them panicked.

“Greyson, show them what type of men they really are.” I didn’t have to say it. He’d been waiting for it. His father was in that church. Grabbing onto the first one’s balls, he pulled on them before slicing through them. I was sure they were sobbing now, but I couldn’t hear anything over the thumping of my blood in my ears. The memory of Ivy, her first day out in the world as my woman, stumbling out covered in dust and blood, my grandmother burned, Donatella screaming. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I grabbed the balls on the grass and shoved them into its owner’s mouth before stomping on his mouth and face till he stopped writhing in pain and either died or gave in to the pain.

Taking the knife from Greyson, I grabbed on the second one’s hair, pulling his face back and carving the word fhealltóir into his face. He struggled, only making it worse on himself. Done, I slammed my head against his. No words could express my anger any longer and I was just roaring out in rage. “AHHH!”

Breathing heavily, each one of my men backed away from me as I reached into the back of the car, grabbing the rope and jar. Stomping back to Sammy, he just shook his head at me. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I pulled him toward the tree, tying the rope around it and him, as well as any former Boy Scout should before I ripped his shirt open. His skinny white chest rose and fell over and over again and his fear kicked in. I ripped his jeans off him until he stood in just his formerly white underwear.