Page 141 of Pretty Little Threats

Rose ignores him, and I hold her a little tighter.

“What, no last words for your dad?” Joseph taunts.

Glancing around me, Rose says, “I feel sorry for you.”

“Fuck your pity. You’re as stupid as your mother was,” he snarls.

Rose’s body is tight and her eyes drift to meet mine. I see his voice penetrating through her walls, slithering inside her head and ready to tear her down, waiting to control her.

I shake my head. “No more.”

Exhaling, she nods. “No more.”

“Remember your promise.”

She cups my face and brushes her lips over mine in a way that has me wondering if Joseph can’t wait to die another day. “I won’t hate you. Make him regret it.”

“You’re so bloodthirsty for a princess,” I say, recalling all the times I told her the same thing.

She presses her lips to mine again, pulling away before I can deepen the kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.” Rose rakes her fingers through my hair and tugs. “Husband.”

I never thought I’d be hard in front of her dad, yet here I am, cock straining for her as Joseph waits to die. “Remy. Make sure my wife gets home safely.”

“Rosalynn!” Her dad’s voice pierces through the air.

She holds her head high and walks away from him, as if his death is as inconsequential as that of a cockroach.

Joseph scrambles off the floor and starts to rush for the other door, but the warehouse is so big that he won’t make it before I descend upon him.

I release a heavy sigh. “They always try to run.”

Joseph’s pants fill the air. The idiot probably doesn’t even realize those doors are locked. I wait until the door shuts behind Rose and Remy before I grab the rope Joseph tied around her wrists and tuck it into my pocket. Pulse pounding, I stalk after my prey.

Joseph finally reached the door at the other end of the building. He yanks on it a few times and shouts for help.

“Aw, Joseph, screaming already?” I sprint toward him, and his eyes widen. He dashes to the side. Course correcting, I close the distance between us as he tries to run, but Joseph is out of practice and, soon enough, I’m hot on his heels.

“Help!” he cries.

Malice rushes through my veins.

“No one is here to help you.” I tackle him, and the air rushes out of him with a hard wheeze. Wrenching his head back with one hand, I use the other to cover his mouth. “No one is going to come save you. It’s just you and me. Even your daughter left you here to die.”

Sweat beads on my forehead and my chest heaves, years of pent-up anger surfacing. This man stole my family. He ruins everything he touches.

My palm muffles his next shout.

“Mmm. Sorry, the time for talking is done.” I take the rope from my pocket, hold two ends, and shove part of it into his mouth. I pull hard enough the gag yanks the skin around his mouth back, then secure it with two tight knots. Joseph’s protests are a series of rough but unintelligible sounds. Now no one will hear him screaming as I break every bone in his body.

He killed my parents.

He hurt my sisters.

And when I finally allowed myself to love someone, he tried to kill my wife.

This man is going to wish he’d never been born by the time I’m done with him.

Standing, I haul him up and drag him to the middle of the warehouse, where the light pools, and toss him on theground. He skids across it, and right before he stops, I slam my boot into his gut.

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