Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 13
“He’s a bit dirty. I would have washed him had I had the time.”
I look up. “He’s perfect just the way he is.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
He nods, his eyes going from me to Boo, then back to me.
I gesture to the porch swing behind me. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?”
He doesn’t answer, just stands and walks over to the swing and takes a seat. He holds it still as I sit beside him. I set Boo down in the center of my lap, leaning him back against my chest. We both sit in silence for a while as Aziah gently rocks us.
“Do you remember that time we caught Trouble shaving his legs?”
He chuckles, the sound rusty and unused, but it’s still marvelous. I can’t help but stare at him. Aziah’s always been handsome, but he’s downright breathtaking right now. There are small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and I forgot all about his dimples until now. I soak in the sound and am amazed at the transformation on his face.
“Yes. He said he heard the older boys saying it would make his hair grow faster.”
I giggle. “And he ended up with like thirty cuts all over his legs. He was so embarrassed and angry when you told him it wasn’t true. He refused to leave the house for days.”
“And only came out because we dragged him.”
I rub my fingers against Boo’s ears, smiling at the memory. “I thought he was going to hurt Larry the next time he saw him. His face was so red and that pulse in his temple was going a mile a minute. Thank God you and Judge were there.”
Our shoulders and legs are several inches apart. Normally, I can’t stand to be this close to someone, but I’m finding it easier and easier to be closer to Aziah. And I even hugged my brother the other day. The last time I hugged someone besides a child was… when I was in Sweet Haven.
Aziah’s hand is resting on his thigh. I peek up at him beneath my eyelashes and find him looking down at me. Slowly, I reach for his hand. My heart skips a beat when I flip it over and see all the scars. New and old, jagged and straight. His skin is torn to shreds, so badly I can’t see the lines in his palm anymore. I trace each scar, and my hearts breaks over and over again with every one.
He clears his throat, and the swing sways once again.
“What about the time we were all out at the fort and you and JW came across the opossum?”
I groan, and he does his rusty chuckle again. Some of the pain in my chest falls away at the sound.
“That was horrible.” I grimace.
One day, we made a fort out of branches and sheets in the woods outside of town. While Aziah and Judge were finishing our makeshift house, JW and I decided to look for berries. We came across a opossum instead. One we thought was dead. I started crying, feeling sorry for the poor animal. JW said he’d bury it for me if it made me feel better. When we approached, it opened its beady little eyes and started hissing and growling. It scared the piss out of me, literally. I peed all over myself. The guys laughed so hard they were rolling around on the ground.
“That was so not funny,” I grumble.
“I beg to differ; it was very funny.”
I jab him in the ribs with my elbow. “You weren’t the one who had to walk all the way back home in wet britches.”
“And I wasn’t the one who had to carry you when you became chaffed.”
I tip my head back and laugh. None of them wanted that task, but they also didn’t want me to suffer with a rash. They played rock, paper, scissors to see who the lucky person would be.
“Judge pitched a fit every step of the way.” I giggle. “That was the highlight of that whole experience.”
It turns quiet after that, and we spend the next few minutes just rocking. I lace my fingers with Aziah’s and lay them on the swing between us. I catch him looking down at them, a frown playing on his face.
“Tell me about that man Gary’s death,” I say into the silence. I don’t know why, but I have this strong need to know.
His hand twitches in mine.
“When we moved back here, we not only changed the name. There were a lot of things we changed. Trouble, Judge, and JW renovated their houses to form new beginnings, but I kept mine the same. The Hall was burned, and the land was used for something good. A lot of the businesses were updated.”
“Why didn’t you renovate your house?”
His jaw ticks and his eyes harden. “Because there wasn’t anything that could have been done to that house to make it good. Everything in it and all the land around it is tainted and soiled.”
I squeeze his fingers and smooth my thumb over the back of his hand. Some of the darkness in his eyes fade.
“We made our own set of laws. Ones that everyone who lives here has to follow. Ones that ensure the safety of the people and protect the town.”
I tip my head, intrigued.
“People who commit crimes aren’t put on official state record. We issue our own punishments. We’re fair and just in handing them out. If a violent crime is committed against someone, whether physical or sexual, we issue the Expiration Penalty.”
He glances at me, his expression closed off.
“The Expiration Penalty is just as it sounds: death. We don’t give the punishment lightly and we make certain we have all the facts. If the person is found guilty, they’re taken out to a certain spot and we perform The Finishing. There are four shots; each of us takes one. Between the eyes, the heart, the base of the neck, and the groin. Each shot is a kill shot to ensure death. After, the body is dumped into an unmarked grave.”
I’m astonished. I never in my wildest dreams would have thought they would have turned into vigilantes. And that’s exactly what they are. They watch out for the people who live here and extinguish the ones who don’t deserve to. In an odd sense, it’s noble. They want their world to be free from violence, and they make damn sure it is.
Am I okay with killing people? Do I think all criminals should be executed? No and no, but people who rape, maim, and harm others are not people. They’re monsters. Hasn’t society always eradicated monsters? From the age when kids start believing in monsters, parents protect their children from the demons in their closets and under their beds.
“Umm… wow. That’s something I didn’t expect.”
He starts the swing again. “The world is full of people like Gary. If we can rid even a few, it makes the world that much safer. It’s a lot for someone to take in, and most people can’t accept the way we do things because they’ve never been in a situation where they need to.” He pauses a moment. “There’s more.”
My eyes snap to his. “More?”
He nods. “Yes. We get calls sometimes from connections we’ve made over the years. For certain crimes, if it looks like the perpetrator will go free, we come in and take care of the situation.” He glances down at our joined hands, a look of concentration on his face. His thumb slowly starts moving over the back of my hand, just as I was doing to him a moment ago. “There’s been a few times we’ve had someone in prison get rid of people too. Those are the ones who get shit for a sentence. We’ve also been hunting down the ones who got away the night of the raid,” he finishes quietly.
My eyes widen, momentarily shocked at this news. “How many got away?”
“Twelve.”
I swallow. “And how many are left?”
“Six,” he growls, like the number angers him.
“Wow,” I breathe.
I look off in the distance, taking in all he just said.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask curiously.
“Eleven years. Since we moved back here.”
A chill runs down my spine, and I barely suppress a shiver. “What about Deacon?” I croak through a dry throat. Even saying his name sends disgust and terror through me. “What happened to him?”
The look that crosses Aziah’s face almost has me shrinking back in fear. If I didn’t know he wasn’t capable of hurting me, I would have.
“My father got away.”
My skin turns clammy, and fear slithers through me at the thought of Deacon out in the world. He could be anywhere right now. He could be hurting other innocent children. I was with Gabriela and Marco more years than I suffered at the hands of Deacon, but it’s him I fear the most. Gabriela and Marco were horrible people, but they were sickeningly sweet as they hurt me. Like they believed it would somehow make it better. Deacon was the opposite. He was purposely mean and cruel with his abuse. It wasn’t often that he touched me himself, other than small touches, but every time he forced Aziah to touch me, he brutally abused Aziah.
Sensing my distress, he squeezes my hand, and I look up at him.
“There’s no need to fear him. He’ll never hurt you again.”
There’s no doubt in my mind he would do everything in his power to protect me. Other than when I’m with Trouble, I’ve never felt safer than when I’m in his presence.
“Are you going to kill him?” I don’t know why I ask. It’s just something I need to know, even though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
Just as I suspected, he says darkly, “Slowly and painfully.”
No part of me feels remorse for the man who’s caused so much pain. I’m not normally a brutal person. I hate violence with a passion. But I do secretly hope I’m there to witness the end of Deacon Masters.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMO
I’M JARRED AWAKE FROM a light sleep by low moans. I immediately get up from the mattress I dragged into Rella’s room. From the sliver of light coming from the bathroom, I can see that her face is flushed. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her damp hair sticks to her cheeks. Her brows are pinched together as if she’s in pain or scared.
When she whimpers again, my heart stutters. Every night this happens. Every single fucking night. And every night, it tears my insides to shreds. She suffers in her dreams, and I suffer along with her.
She starts to thrash, her whole body twisting and turning, her head flipping back and forth on the pillow.
“No,” she cries softly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. Please don’t make me. It hurts.”
Her pleas are my undoing. I drop to my knees, and just like every other night, I gently run my fingers over her cheek.
“Rella, please wake up.” I give my own plea, desperate to pull her from her nightmare.
Except for that first night, my touch usually calms her down. Sometimes she wakes up, and other times, she just settles down, the nightmare leaving her. But tonight, it doesn’t work.
“Aziah,” she sobs. “Oh God, Aziah, please save me.”
I freeze, my throat closing constricting, pain gripping my body so tightly I can barely breathe. She’s never said my name before in her dreams. Hearing it now as she begs for me to save her crushes the tiny bit of soul I have left.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Forgetting my own pain, I lean closer to her. “Rella.” I call her name hoarsely. “Can you hear me? I’m right here.”
All at once, she stops moving and her eyes snap open, her gaze landing on me. Her eyes widen in terror, and she grips the sheet to her chest as she scrambles up against the headboard. I’m not sure what hurts the most; seeing her absorbed in her nightmare or seeing the blatant fear on her face once she’s awake.
I sit back on my heels, my heart lying on the floor between my knees. I don’t move or speak. But I do pray. I pray so fucking hard that she comes out of the horror she’s currently living in.
Rationally, I know she’s not seeing me right now. It’s either Marco, Gabriela, my father, or me when we were little. It still doesn’t make it any easier though.
We both sit there and stare at the other, our chests pumping rapidly. Her eyes are still glazed over, and I’m sure mine reflect agony, because that’s exactly what I’m feeling. My hand ends up in the pocket of my sleep pants, but instead of gouging my hand, I grip the key and dig it into the muscle of my thigh. It punctures through the thin fabric and into my flesh. For once, the pain isn’t soothing enough.
After several tense moments, she blinks slowly. Each time her eyes open, some of the fear fades away.
“Aziah?” she croaks.
“I’m right here,” I grunt, my throat still tight.
Her shoulders slump, and tears appear in her eyes. It crushes my heart all over again. Hasn’t this girl been through enough? She may be away from her tormentors, but they’re still very much causing her pain. My gut twists, because I’m one of them.
“Are you okay?”
Her fists unclench from around the blanket, and it falls to her lap. She agitatedly wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Yeah.”
I hesitate for a moment before getting to my feet. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shakes her head slowly.
I turn to go back to my mattress, because I don’t know what else to do. I want to tell her everything will be okay, but I can’t stop her nightmares. She’s physically safe from harm, but emotionally, there’s not a damn thing I can do.
“Wait!” she calls out quickly. I turn back. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” Her voice is so small and shaky it makes me want to weep.
“Yes. Let me grab the chair.” I’ll sit by her every night if it’ll help her sleep better. I’ve already done it several times.
“No.” I frown and tilt my head. She licks her lips before continuing. “What I mean is, will you lay with me? And maybe hold me?”
Shock leaves me immobile. My heart stops along with my breathing. It’s not that I don’t want to give her what she’s asking. It’s the fact that she is asking. Holding hands and slight touches to the face are a lot less than holding one’s body against them. I know it’s only because the dream has her spooked and she needs comfort, but it’s still astounding she would ask for something she’s obviously afraid of.
It’s the uncertainty in her eyes and the wobble of her bottom lip that make up my mind. I can’t leave her like this and not offer the comfort she obviously craves. Except for the fact of who she’s asking to give her comfort, her request is perfectly normal. It’s me who’s not normal, not the situation.
My eyes must convey my decision, because the worry fades from her face. She watches me as I walk around to the other side of the bed. I take a deep breath when she lifts the covers and waits for me to get underneath with her.
I lie on my back for a moment, unsure of what to do. She asked me to hold her, but I don’t know exactly what she meant. I’m so far out of my element here, and I’m scared of making her feel uncomfortable.
After several seconds of us looking at each other, she rolls away from me. The bed is small, only a twin size, so it leaves us both on the edge of the mattress. I figure once she falls asleep, I’ll move back to the mattress on the floor so she’ll have more room and not fall off the bed during the night.
I tense when she reaches back and gingerly grabs my hand. I’m stiff as a fucking board as she tugs until I’m forced to roll over toward her back. Although she’s slightly stiff, her body is warm and soft against mine. I try to relax, but it feels so strange to be lying with her. I’ve never lain with someone like this. Grace and the other women know of my preferences in bed, and snuggling is never an option. Not that what Rella and I are doing is anything remotely sexual, but it still feels intimate and very fucking foreign.
Tenderness is something I never received as a child, and it was never something I allowed as an adult. It was something I never felt I deserved.
“Thank you.”
Rella’s softly spoken words have my heart faltering. I should be the one thanking her. She’s unknowingly given me a gift by allowing me to comfort her.
Unconsciously, I tighten my arm around her waist, and she relaxes back against my chest. My legs curl up until they hit the back of hers. I wait for any signs of discomfort, but it never comes. Uncaring that it’s wrong of me to do so, I bury my face in her soft hair and breathe in her clean scent.
Something soothing settles inside me, and for the first time in my life, I feel something other than the huge black void that resides in the depths of my soul.
“Thank you.” I repeat her words into the dark room.
A DEEP GROAN LEAVES my lips when something velvety and warm penetrates my subconscious. I want to hold on to it, savor it, and never let it go, because it feels so good and I haven’t felt something good for as long as I can remember.
I briefly wonder what it could be, but decide to just enjoy it for a moment instead.
My dick twitches and starts to fill with blood when something soft presses against it. I flex my hips, chasing the feeling and wanting more of it. In the back of my mind, I think about the strangeness of whatever’s happening. I don’t have sex dreams. Hell, I don’t even like sex. I only fuck when I need the distraction when my mind wanders too far down its dark path.
Peaches and cream invade my senses. I’ve always loved peaches. I can almost taste them now. I breathe in deep, needing more of the scent.
I squeeze my hand against something pillowy, the softness a contrast against the roughness of my mutilated palm. I want to crawl inside whatever is against me and never come out.
A gasp sounds at the same time whatever is in my arms stiffens. I tense. My last memory is of me lying in bed with Rella after she had a nightmare.
All of a sudden, I become fully aware of my surroundings. My eyes snap open, and I’m met with a head full of dark-brown hair, my body plastered against Rella’s back, my hand on her fucking tit.
Fucking hell!
I snatch my hand away from the softness of her breast and immediately roll away. I keep going until I’m flat on my back on the floor staring up at the ceiling. I hastily climb to my feet, horror and anger making my movements jerky.
My eyes land on Rella, who’s huddled with the blanket around her shoulders. She watches me warily. I want to gauge the fuck out of my hands for touching her.
