Cataclysm (Four Horsemen #4)(85)

The way Stuart seethed at West’s words had him swinging vigorously in his harness. The veins in his temples were popping and his face had gone puce. He was about to open his mouth when his head turned sharply, and he caught sight of Phoebe next to him.

“What did you do to her? What the fuck did you do to my wife?”

“She’s not dead… yet,” Francis said, stepping closer to Phoebe. “But you see here?” He pointed at the cuts Drake had made, the blood steadily flowing from her hands into the large container below her. “For every one of your crimes against us, we’ll make another cut. She’s going to bleed to death because of you.” He shrugged as he looked at Stuart. “But I don’t know why you care. Not like she was faithful to you.”

Stuart was so enraged by Francis’ words, the spittle from his mouth sprayed out with his shout.

“You worthless fucking piece of shit. Let her go!”

Drake tutted and took hold of Phoebe’s wrist. He dragged the knife down, making another slice next to the first one.

“We can’t do that.” He took her other wrist and slid the knife down it too. “You see these? Well, the first one is for when you kidnapped Scarlett. The second, for when you had her mother killed.” He indicated her arm. “This is for the beatings you gave her. And this? Well, this is for locking her in a cold, dark cell to nurse her wounds.” He cut Phoebe again. “You’re lucky she’s unconscious for this, not that she would stay awake for long. Too much blood loss.”

It was dripping down faster now. A red river flowed down her hands.

“This is for when you decided you were going to give her to that cunt Mason.” Drake looked up at Stuart. “She killed him, you know. Stabbed him to death. It was beautiful watching her butcher him after all the pain he’d caused.”

He sliced Phoebe’s other wrist.

“And this one? It’s for you trying to take her again.” He made another cut. “And again.”

Then he stepped back and stared up at the woman I’d been made to call mother for ten years.

“It’s such a pity you underestimated us, Stuart, but your worst mistake was underestimating the girl you stole from us.”

Stuart had been raging at Drake’s actions, but I’d been too busy watching my man explaining each cut he made. It was almost poetic when I thought about it. Phoebe wore his crimes on her wrists.

“Begin,” Drake said, waving at Stuart.

Prescott grinned as stepped up to Stuart and took a hold of his leg. The man tried to kick Prescott away, but West was there, holding onto his free leg, preventing him from doing so. Prescott cut down Stuart’s trouser leg, exposing the flesh. Then he used the butcher’s knife to flay the skin from his leg. Stuart’s scream made me flinch, but I kept watching as Prescott left the flesh attached but hanging off Stuart’s leg. Blood ran down it, dripping into the container below.

“That’s for taking her from us,” Prescott ground out before he spat on Stuart’s bloodied leg and stepped back.

West took the butcher’s knife from him and proceeded to flay another piece of skin from Stuart’s leg. He then gave it to Francis, who did the same, followed by Drake. Stuart was screaming and crying by the time they were done. I could see his bone. It was kind of gruesome, but I didn’t care. The fucker deserved it.

The boys repeated the same steps on his other leg. The blood was flowing heavier now from both Phoebe and Stuart. It was mesmerising.

West took his knife and dragged it down Stuart’s stomach, slicing through flesh to expose his guts. They fell out of the wound. I could see Stuart’s horrified expression. I smiled at it.

“I would feed you these, but I don’t really want to deal with the fucking smell,” West spat at Stuart before stepping back.

I watched Drake, Francis, and Prescott slice through the tendons in the exposed parts of Stuart’s forearms, not bound by Francis’s ropes. He was beginning to lose consciousness now with all the blood loss.

The three of them stepped back. West set a chair in front of Stuart and gestured to me. I walked over and took a hold of his knife. He helped me up onto the chair. Stuart hung there, half-conscious and blubbering incomprehensibly. I patted his cheek.

“There, there. It’s almost over now,” I crooned, my voice mocking. “We thought we’d leave you with one last little parting gift before we send you to hell.”

I gripped his chin between my fingers and pushed his face up, exposing his fat neck. Even so, I met his eyes and smiled.

“They did kill your sons. They killed them for me. And you know why? They tried to rape me. They were going to force themselves on me like they did to all those other girls. The rapes you covered up along with Mason’s dad.”

His eyes flared with pain.

“And they’re buried beneath the foundations of the building you never checked. They drowned them in concrete. I just thought you should know. Goodbye, Stuart. This is for everything you did to me and my men.”

“Death comes to all,” Drake murmured from behind me.

The words settled over me. He was my reaper, but this was my kill. I was the executioner today. Destroying the man who’d abused me for ten years was only right and fair. It was justice.

I sliced the blade across Stuart’s throat, cutting through flesh to end his sorry existence. It took several slices because his neck was so fucking big. After I’d watched Drake slice those guys throats, I knew exactly what to do. It was satisfying seeing the blood pouring down his body.