Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 25
Her throat contracts as she swallows. Leaning forward, she grabs the neck of the bottle of whiskey and takes another sip, this one smaller so she doesn’t choke. Her face flushes red when the burning liquid hits her throat.
“So, what have you been doing with him this whole time?”
I feel like smiling, but hold it in. I’m sure I already come across as a psycho; I don’t want to add to it by showing how much I enjoyed the shit I’ve done to my father.
“Different things, depending on my mood. But he suffered through every single minute. Because of what he did to us.”
“And what are you going to do with him now? Why haven’t you killed him yet?”
I grab the bottle from her hand and toss back a couple of swallows. I set it back on the table.
“Having him down there, accessible to me any time I wanted, was palliative. Any time my mood turned too dark, that’s where I went. It was one of the only things that helped calm me. Torturing that bastard eased some of my rage. He is my atonement for everything he made me do to you.”
“Do you plan to continue to keep him down there?”
“No,” I grunt. “It’s time I destroy the son of a bitch.”
She nods, like my answer is no surprise. I level her with my eyes.
“Now it’s time for me to ask you a question. Deacon has caused us both a lifetime of pain. You slit your wrists and ended up with Marco and Gabriela because of him. I’m… the way I am because of him. He deserves every form of punishment imaginable. I need to—”
“Yes.” She cuts me off before I can finish.
I tilt my head and regard her. “You don’t even know my question.”
“Yes. I want to be there,” she says, her voice harder than I’ve ever heard before. She practically growls the next words. “Yes. I want to help punish him.”
I lean forward, making sure our faces are level. As much as I want Rella with me when I finally rid the world of my father, I need her to understand the full ramifications of being there.
“You need to think about this, Rella. It isn’t going to be pretty or quick. It’s going to be bloody and messy, and I plan to take my time.” I can already feel the adrenaline running through me at the prospect. “You have every right to be there, but you need to know what you’ll be walking into. The last thing I want to do is traumatize you.”
She’s already shaking her head, her eyes hard and her jaw set. “I want it to be bloody. I want that bastard to pay for every single thing he’s done to us. I want him to suffer in the cruelest of ways.”
I watch as she gives her spiel, and I know she means every word. It may be sick of me, but her wanting to be part of eliminating my father sends a huge amount of pleasure through me. I would never push her to take part if she chose not to, but I’m so fucking glad she did. It’ll give me more satisfaction knowing she’s there beside me. It’ll give his death more meaning.
I nod. “Then so be it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EMO
the Past
I STARE DOWN INTO A PAIR of green eyes filled with so much pain. Tears leak from the corners, soaking her hair. Her face is red from crying so much, but she doesn’t make a sound. She and I both know it won’t make a difference. There’s nothing either of us can do that will change our situation.
That doesn’t mean I won’t try though. I always try. I have to.
My father is by her head, petting his nasty hand all over her naked chest. He groans when he bends down and starts licking her. My stomach twists and turns, the food I ate earlier threatening to come back up.
Rella continues to cry, but she never moves her eyes away from me. I keep mine on her too, silently letting her know that even though I can’t stop what’s happening, I’m still here. She’s not alone in her nightmare.
My father continues walking around the small table, his fingers touching places no person should ever touch a girl. When he makes it around the table and is behind me, I try to spin around and push him away, kick him, punch him; anything to stop what I know is going to happen next. All I manage to do is shove him and deliver a weak punch to his chin before he has me spun back around with my back to his naked chest. His thick hand is around my throat and his hot breath fans against my ear as he cuts off my air. My head starts to throb with pressure and my face feels hot.
“You know what I want. Either get fucking to it,” he growls in my ear, “or I’ll shove my cock so far up inside her it’ll rip apart her insides. You or me, boy. The choice is yours.”
Violent shivers rack my body at the visual he just put in my head. I can’t ever let him touch her like that. He wouldn’t care if he killed her. And he would get away with it because of his status in the Council.
He lets me go and I fall to the table, my hands on either side of Rella’s waist holding me up. I drag air in through my bruised throat.
I don’t nod or say yes, but I don’t fight when he yanks my shorts down and starts touching me. Because of the pill I’m always given, my penis begins to grow. My stomach churns again and my mouth waters, but I force down the need to throw up. It’s a struggle I go through every Hell Night.
I hate myself for getting hard, even though I know it’s not my fault. It’s those stupid fucking pills. I’d cut my penis off so my father couldn’t force me to use it, but I know he’d just rape her himself.
I bite my tongue and swallow down blood when he puts me where he wants me. Rella’s bottom lip and chin tremble as I’m forced to hurt her. I try to pull away, but my father has his body pressed against my butt, keeping me in place.
He pulls away, but seconds later there’s a sharp pain in my backside. I grit my teeth and bite back my scream. My eyes turn watery, but I blink the tears away. There’s no way I’ll show my father just how much he’s hurting me.
“Fuck yeah, boy.” His disgusting groan meets my ear. “Goddamn, but that feels good. And I just bet you’re loving the tight feel of her cunt too.”
His words make me sick and have rage filling me. I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles hurt. My arms tense and I use all my strength against the table to shove myself backwards. He doesn’t move an inch. I regret my action immediately, knowing the consequences will be dire.
His hands appear in front of me and he grabs Rella’s thin legs. The next second, he pulls her to us at the same time he jams his hips forward. It feels like a huge tree trunk is being shoved up inside me. Rella screams so loud it pierces my ear.
Tears slide down my cheeks, and I’m uncaring if my father sees them. Not from my own pain, but for Rella’s. It’s my fault. I should have just stood there and let him say or do whatever he wanted to me. I should have known better. My father likes to try to get a reaction out of me. He thrives on it.
“Try that shit again, and I’ll be fucking another hole,” he grunts, out of breath.
I close my eyes and pray this night ends soon. It’s a stupid prayer. My father will keep us here all night long.
Opening my eyes again, I look down into Rella’s, hoping she can see how sorry I am. I do the only thing I can do; I give in to my father and try to make the rest of the night as painless as possible for her.
And hope tonight isn’t the night she starts hating me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
RELLA
MY KNEES ARE PRACTICALLY knocking together, and I’m sure my scalp is soaked from sweat as I follow Aziah through the hunting lodge door. My hand clutches his so tightly I feel like my bones are going to snap in half. Good thing he’s a tough man, because if he weren’t, I know I’d be hurting him.
I’ve only ever been inside the lodge once, so I don’t really have any recollection of what it looked like before. But knowing the type of man Aziah’s father was, it looked a hell of a lot nicer than it does now.
It only takes me a moment to find the brittle old man sitting in the chair. Disgust and anger rolls in my stomach.
When Aziah opened the basement door two days ago and I saw my living nightmare lying on the bed, my first instinct was to huddle in a corner in fear. Seeing Mr. Masters again brought back every painful night in the Hall. Since then, that fear has disappeared, because I know Aziah would do everything in his power before he let anything happen to me. My brother, JW, and Judge would as well.
Deacon Masters has no power. He’s been stripped of everything and is now… nothing.
I take him in, and I’m satisfied when I find he’s been strapped down to the chair by his legs, arms, and around his neck, his mouth covered with tape. His shirt is missing, showcasing a bunch of scars and scabbed-over lacerations. His ribs and collarbone poke out of his torso, as if he’s been starved.
On closer inspection, I note it’s not rope that’s tying him to the chair, but some type of wire with spikes. His wrists where the wire digs into his skin are bloody. I have no doubt his ankles are in the same condition underneath his pants. The wire around his neck isn’t as tight, so there’s no blood, but I can tell it’s close to cutting into him. I wish it would. I want it to saw all the way through to his spine.
My eyes move around the room to find Trouble with a hard scowl on his face standing directly behind the chair, JW leaning casually against a wall, and Judge with his arms crossed over his chest. All eyes are on Mr. Masters.
I feel my hand being squeezed, and I look up into Aziah’s bottomless black eyes.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice deep and tone serious.
“One hundred percent.”
His jerks his chin up. Palming the back of my head, he tugs me forward and plants a kiss on my forehead.
Feeling eyes on me, I look over and meet Trouble’s concerned gaze. I nod at him to let him know I’m okay. I’m more than okay.
Aziah turns back to his father and stalks across the room. I follow behind him at a slower pace. He rips the tape from his mouth and tosses it to the side. I stop until I’m standing just behind him to the right. Mr. Masters’s eyes move from Aziah to me, then back to Aziah.
“Did you know?” Aziah asks, his arms relaxed at his sides but his hands balled into tight fists. “Did you fuckin’ know Rella was alive?”
Mr. Masters releases a sinister laugh, and it reminds me of the times he would laugh during Hell Night. Nothing ever boded well when he laughed like that. A chill races down my spine, and I step closer to Aziah.
“Oh, I knew.”
He coughs, then groans when the wire bites into his neck. Satisfaction shoots through me when a bead of blood rolls down his throat.
The look in his eyes turns evil when he hisses out his next words. “It was my idea to send her to the Moores’ friends. And I enjoyed every fucking second you mourned her loss.”
The words barely leave his lips before Aziah is launching forward, his fist hitting his father and knocking his head to the side. Mr. Masters screams, and call me whatever you want, but I relish the sound. I’ve screamed hundreds of times because of the things he made Aziah and me do. It’s about time he screamed for us.
When Aziah takes a step back, I see why Mr. Masters screamed. It wasn’t from Aziah’s fist, but from the wire now implanted into his neck. Blood runs from the wounds, covering his torso. He’s not dead though. His chest still rises, and he’s moaning low in his throat.
Aziah’s face is calm as he casually walks over to a table and picks up a roll of duct tape and tears off a strip. Mr. Master’s eyes slit open, and he lets out another groan when Aziah sets his head back straight against the chair and slaps the tape over his mouth.
“That’s all I needed to know,” he grunts. He steps to the side and turns to me. “You said you wanted to help. He’s yours to do with whatever you want.”
I feel like a child on Christmas morning. I don’t even question the immense thrill filling my veins. Maybe I should be concerned for my mental state. Maybe I should be repulsed by what I’m getting ready to do. A normal person wouldn’t be so excited about the thought of hurting another person. But I’m not a normal person. I’m fucked-up. And Mr. Masters played a big role in making it so. He made me like this by forcing Aziah to touch me. By hurting his own son in front of me. By making me believe the only way to get away was to kill myself. By sending me away to live with people who abused me for fourteen years. By taking me away from my brother and Aziah.
It only takes me a moment to figure out what I want to do. My feet carry me over to the table Aziah grabbed the tape from. On it are a couple of knives, some rubber gloves, a handheld propane torch, a saw, a pair of pliers, a black bag, and a few other tools I don’t know the names of. I pick up one of the knives. It’s about six inches in length and should work perfectly.
I turn to walk back over to the chair, but spin back at the last moment and grab a pair of rubber gloves. I certainly don’t want to touch him with my bare hands.
All eyes in the room are on me as I approach Mr. Masters. I stop in front of his chair and look at him, letting all my hate for the man blaze in my eyes.
“I was going to ask if you regret what you did, but going by your response a moment ago, I already know the answer.” I press the tip of the blade to his sternum, right over his heart. I push until I feel the tip sink into his skin. He grunts beneath the tape. I shrug. “It really wouldn’t matter if you did. You’ve already committed your sins, so you need to pay regardless.”
His hands begin wiggling underneath the wire, and Aziah tenses beside me. Trouble, who’s still standing behind the chair, walks around and kneels beside one of the arms, then twists some type of dial. Mr. Masters eyes widen, and he tries to scream behind the tape. I’m mesmerized as I watch the wire tighten around his wrist, cutting deeper into his flesh. Trouble walks around and does the same to the other wrist.
I pull the knife away from his sternum and drop my eyes to Mr. Masters’s lap. My lips curls up in disgust, remembering the pain he caused Aziah every time he forced himself inside his son, which in turn forced Aziah deeper inside me.
I look over at Aziah. “I think we should cut it off,” I state evenly.
With a clipped nod, he takes a few steps until he’s beside me. Grabbing the knife, he starts cutting away Mr. Masters’s pants. His father begins bucking in his chair, further embedding the wire into his skin. Grunts come from deep in his throat as he continues to freak out. I want to laugh in his face.
Once his pants are cut away enough for his limp penis to be exposed, Aziah takes the knife and buries it into his father’s thigh.
“Sit fuckin’ still or I’ll force feed you your dick once Rella cuts it off,” he growls in his face. He flicks his eyes up to Trouble, and a moment later, the wire around his neck tightens. More blood seeps down his neck and onto his chest. I’m surprised he hasn’t hit the carotid artery yet.
He stops moving when he realizes his neck will be severed if he doesn’t. Aziah yanks the knife out of his thigh and stands back up. When he grabs the rubber gloves from my hands, I hold on to them.
“No. I want to do it,” I state quietly.
“Rella,” Trouble warns, and I shoot him a look.
“That… thing is the root of both my and Aziah’s pain. I want to hear his screams behind the tape, knowing I was the one who removed it from his body.”
His jaw clenches and his eyes move back and forth between mine. After a moment, he gives me a clipped nod. I glance at Aziah. It almost looks like there’s pride in his gaze.
I slip the gloves on and hold out my hand for the knife. There’s a light twinkling in his eyes as he puts the knife, handle first, in my palm.
I feel a calmness sliding over me as I turn back to Mr. Masters. Never in a million years would I have thought I would be looking forward to cutting off a man’s penis.
I look into the eyes of the man who used to terrify me and has traumatized me and Aziah for life. We’ll never have normal lives because of him. He stripped us of so many things.
His wide, frightened eyes watch me just as closely. Except where mine show utter loathing, he actually has the nerve to use his to plead with me. As if I could ever feel anything other than hatred for the man.
I drop my eyes from him, and they land on the repugnant piece of flesh between his legs. Vomit rolls in my stomach when I grab the head with my thumb and pointer finger and pull it away from his body. Blood from his neck has dripped onto the base. I grip the knife tighter and bring the edge of the blade to just above his pubic hair.
Mr. Masters begins shaking, and his chest rises and falls in quick succession. I gladly ignore the pathetic whimpers coming from him, doing the same as he did when he was hurting Aziah and me.
My hands tremble as I press the knife harder against his flesh. I’m forced to grab the head with my fist and pull it further away from his body to make it more taut. I saw the knife back and forth, and blood begins to seep from the cut.
His muffled bellows fill my ears. In any other circumstance, the agonizing sounds would scream to my heart and beg me to help the person in such pain. These don’t elicit any emotion in me. No remorse, no heartache, no compassion, no pity. Nothing.
I’m sure I probably look crazed as my eyes stay glued on my task. But I know there’s no judgement in this room. We’ve all been through hell and back.
Blood and gore are all over both of my hands and halfway up my arms by the time Mr. Masters’s penis comes loose from his body. Blood gushes from between his legs and runs off the chair. I glance up when I realize his cries have silenced. His eyes are closed. I don’t know when it happened, but he must have passed out. His chest moves, so I know he’s still alive.
I start to shake, and a cold-sweat breaks out on my forehead. My chest heaves, but no matter how much air I pull in, it’s not enough. I blink several times to clear my cloudy vision, but it doesn’t work. Black spots start to dance before my eyes. A clatter sounds somewhere, and my knees become weak.
Just before they give out and my vision turns black, I look up at Aziah. His eyes grow wide, and he mutters “Fuck” before he’s darting my way.
