Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(87)

He’s awake now, red in the face and clearly pissed off.

“You’ll regret this,” he snarls. “You must not know who I am. Or else you’re just dumb fucks who think you can get one over by kidnapping one of the most powerful men in the city. What do you want? Money? Power? You think snatching me will get you anything but a slow death? My people will have me out of here in no time. And then you’ll wish you never fucked with me.”

Ash rolls his eyes. “He’s been going on like that since he woke up,” he says. “Can you just kill him so he’ll shut the fuck up?”

“That’s the plan,” I say.

“You can’t kill me,” Ivan snaps. “I’m Ivan St. James. I own you.”

That specific wording strikes a chord with me, and I approach him, keeping my pace even. Leisurely.

He stares at me, yanking on the chains that hold him to the wall, anger in every movement and every line of his body.

“I know you don’t remember me,” I tell him, surprised by how calm and pleasant my voice sounds. The anger, the hatred, they’re still there, but none of it registers in this moment for some reason. “But I remember you.”

Ivan scoffs. “I don’t remember every whore I’ve ever fucked. Even if I didn’t get to fuck you.” The look on his face says that even though I kicked his ass, he might still want to fuck me.

Fucking disgusting.

“I’m not a whore,” I reply. “And treating women like shit is what got you in this mess in the first place. Do you want to know who I am?”

“Why would I care?” he snaps.

“My name is River,” I continue as if he didn’t say anything. “River Simone. My sister’s name was Hannah Simone. She’s dead now, but you know all about that, don’t you?”

There’s a moment where he looks confused, but then there’s a flicker of recognition on his face as he pieces it together. It’s been years, but I know he hasn’t forgotten.

The anger drains from him, leaving his eyes full of fear and his skin pale with the realization.

I fucking love it. It feeds the blackness in me. That little ball of anger and hate and thirst for revenge that’s been sitting in the pit of my stomach since the day I got away from Ivan and his fucking friends. I want him afraid. I want him desperate. I want him to know even just a taste of the misery and pain he put me and my sister through.

“That’s right,” I tell him. “You remember now, don’t you? You know, you’re down here talking shit about what a big man you are, but you’re really just a fucking coward. A spineless creep who has to live out sick fantasies to this day. As if you can’t get enough of it.”

“Y-you bitch,” he says, going for bravado, but just sounding like he’s going to piss himself any second. “You won’t get away with this. You’ll wish you’d died before when I’m done with you!”

I barely hear him.

Knox has already laid out the tools on the counter for me, but I ignore them. I’ve got my knife on me, like I always do, and I pull it from the little sheath, lifting it so Ivan can see it.

His eyes go wide, and before he can open his mouth, I start cutting him. I cut from ear to ear, slashing at the corners of his mouth, giving him a Glasgow smile and making sure he feels every slice.

Ivan screams in pain, blood pouring down his face.

All of that bluster is gone in an instant. He’s limp in the chains, shaking from pain and sniveling like the fucking worm he is.

“So much for being the most important man in the city,” I tell him. “Where are all your bodyguards and cronies now? You’re not so fucking tough when you’re all alone, are you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just takes wet, gasping breaths of air.

That blackness in me pulses, anger rising.

I can feel all four of the men watching me, their eyes taking it all in, but none of them speak or do anything. They let me have this.

I grab a handful of Ivan’s hair and lift his head up, forcing him to look at me. “You’re not so tough,” I say, my voice low and deadly. “When it’s just you, and you’re not up against some helpless woman. Or a teenage girl. No, when you’re in real danger, you turn into a sniveling. Little. Bitch.” Each word is punctuated by me driving my knee as hard as I can into his balls.

He screams and tries to twist away from me, so I get in one more strike for good measure.

When I let him go, it’s clear the chains are the only thing keeping him upright. He sways and stumbles, falling back against the wall. His face is a mess of blood and tears and snot from his nose.

“You’re fucking pathetic,” I tell him. “If only everyone you’ve ever fucked over could see you now. If only they could see what you really are.”

My anger’s getting the better of me, making me want to drag this out, take every shitty memory I have of this man out on him. But that would take longer than I have.

I remember telling Knox that given the choice, I’d make Ivan suffer. I’d draw it out until he was begging me for death. And also that I just want him dead more than I want anything else. So why am I making this last so long? Why didn’t I come down here and kill him on sight?

I know he deserves to suffer for what he did to me and my sister, for what he does to women like Avalon, but I just want him gone.