Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(92)

I can feel his eyes on me, looking me over the same way I looked him over. We reach the top at the same time, and our eyes meet for just a moment.

I can see the weight of the things he told me earlier in them, eyes the color of spring grass that have clearly seen so fucking much. There are demons behind them, and even though they’re not simmering with rage like usual, I know it’s never far away when it comes to Gage.

I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes. He told me to look at myself before, and I did, but he never said what he saw. All the same, it feels like understanding passes between us in this moment. It seems to stretch on for longer than a minute should be capable of, but then Gage blinks, and the spell is broken.

I turn away from him, dragging fingers through my hair. “Okay, get out,” I tell him. “I need to get cleaned up.”

He snorts, but doesn’t argue that it’s his house and I can’t tell him what to do in it or whatever. He just turns to leave, tucking his cock away as he heads for the door.

“I’ll be out of here by tomorrow,” I call after him.

His steps falter for just a second, a slight hesitation, giving almost no sign that he heard me at all. Then he keeps walking.

I stand there in the middle of the room for a bit, body aching pleasantly. Then I close the door and start up the shower after getting my skirt from the bottom of it. I’m covered in makeup, dried blood, and cum, and I just want to feel clean for a bit.

The water is hot, and I sigh as it washes over me, the mess of the makeup and sex and murder swirling down the drain with the suds as I scrub up. I wash my face and my hair, taking extra care with everything, letting it all go.

When I pull the shower curtain back, the bathroom is filled with steam. I wipe the mirror clean after I dry off, and I look like a woman again. Silver hair, tattoos, nails the color of blood. Not an angel of death anymore.

I pull the picture of my sister out of the pocket of my skirt and cradle it in my hands. Like I always do, I spend a minute looking at Hannah’s face, tracing the lines of it and aching before I turn it over.

All the names are crossed off but one, and I fix that pretty quickly. When the last name is marked off, I stare down at the list. Every single name with a vicious line marked through it, taken off the list like they were taken out of existence.

It’s over.

It’s done.

My quest for vengeance is finished now that Ivan St. James is in a bag at the bottom of the river. I’d say hopefully the fish can get some use out of him now, but the fish don’t even deserve to have to deal with him.

There’s a strange feeling of relief, at knowing I finally accomplished the goal I’ve been working toward for so long, but there’s also a sense of… emptiness that fills me.

I’ve been pointed at this one goal for so long, letting it fill me, feed me, drive me, and now that it’s over, I have no idea what comes next.

I walk back into the bedroom and shake a cigarette out of my pack, lighting it up and taking a long, slow drag. I crack the window to blow the smoke out, and settle on the sill with a sigh.

All of that nice, empty-headed feeling I had when Gage and I were fucking seems to be trickling away, leaving a weird, antsy feeling in its place. Like little things crawling under my skin, making it hard to relax and think straight.

I get up to find one of my knives, putting my sister’s picture down in the drawer in its spot. I suck in a breath and draw the knife over my skin, the sharp burning sensation of cutting myself working to provide some relief.

I let that breath out when I finish the neat slice, and look down at the blood welling on my thigh. It’s not a deep cut, but the knife is sharp, slicing through the skin easily. I draw another line with it, parallel to the first.

I feel more grounded, but my head is still full of too many thoughts. Gage’s words from earlier pop into mind, and my jaw clenches as I think about what he said. How the demons don’t just go away and how freedom doesn’t come just because your tormentors are gone. It sounded like bullshit to me, but he talked like he knew. Like he was in a good position to know.

I cut myself again and again, drawing line after line with the knife. My thigh aches with the cuts, but it clears my head and leaves me with another kind of numbness, just like the sex gave me earlier.

And I really fucking need that right now.

Maybe I lied to Gage before, facing him and myself in the mirror, makeup smeared across my face.

Maybe I am ruined.



THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up on top of the covers with dried blood running in spiderweb patterns down my legs. The knife is still next to me. Apparently I passed out from exhaustion and… everything else last night without cleaning up or anything.

I make my way to the bathroom, pleased when none of the cuts reopen from walking, and use a wet towel to wipe away the blood until my skin is clean.

I told Gage I’d be out of here today, and I plan to stick to that. The deal is up. Ivan’s dead, and I don’t have a reason to be here anymore.

I pack up my things, shoving it all into that duffel bag I brought with me when Knox made me come here. It feels like a long time ago, even though I know it was just a couple of weeks, really. It takes some time to hunt down everything I brought with me, but I have the most important shit.

Hannah’s picture, my weapons, my nail polishes and razor blades. I don’t bother to fold any of the clothes, just chuck them all into the bag, and when it’s stuffed full, I zip it up and head downstairs.