Page 28 of Until the Ink runs Crimson

His shirt is ripped down the center, streaked in blood, the fabric clinging to his torso where fresh bruises rise beneath the skin. Blood seeps from a gash on his brow, trailing down his temple in jagged rivulets. Despite it all, he stands upright, teeth clenched so tight the veins in his neck strain beneath his skin. He looks like hell—like a man crushed, but not broken.

"Get out," I order the guards.

They hesitate only for a breath before the door clanks shut behind them.

This is personal.

Riven straightens, spits blood on the floor between us, and meets my stare with venom. "You gonna kill me, Laz?"

My fist answers for me. The first hit lands across his jaw, snapping his head sideways. The next crushes into his ribs, and I feel the crunch of cartilage beneath my knuckles. He groans, staggering—but he stays on his feet. He always does.

I drive him against the wall with a brutal slam, hand tightening around his throat.

"You were my brother. You bled with me. You swore an oath in fire and steel. And you fucking spit on it."

His split lips stretch into a bitter grin. "Your father killed my sister. You inherited his empire, but you never questioned the cost."

I slam him against the wall again, fury ripping through me, but this time my voice cracks—not with weakness, but with the weight of a thousand unanswered questions.

"You could’ve told me," I say, breath sharp. "You could’ve talked to me— said anything. You know I would’ve listened. I would’ve done something for me. Did you hate me this whole time?"

His chest heaves. He tilts his head, eyes dark with something I can’t name. "Yes. I did. Every day. You never saw it. That’s what made it easier."

A bitter laugh escapes my throat. Not amused. Just empty. "Then there’s nothing left to say, is there?"

He nods faintly. "There never was."

And somehow, that truth hits harder than any blade ever could.

Another punch. Then another. My fists move without thought, each blow more savage than the last, fueled by a fury I can’t contain. Bone smashes into bone, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber like gunfire. His skin splits under my knuckles, blood pouring in thick rivers, metallic and warm,. A groan escapes him, but I keep going. His head jerks back with the next blow, his mouth open in a soundless scream as another fist meets his already broken nose. His blood coats my knuckles, slick and hot, dripping down to my wrist, painting me in betrayal. Still, I continue. I want him to feel every second of what he's done. I want every bruise, every break, every drop of agony to brand him with the price of his disloyalty.

He collapses to his knees, gasping, ribs heaving violently, sweat mingling with the streaks of blood running down his chest. I reach for the knife tucked into my belt—its steel glinting under the dim light—and step closer.

"You’re not worthy of a clean death."

I kneel beside him, gripping his shoulder with one hand while pressing the blade into his side with the other. I don’t stab—it’s not that quick. I push, inch by inch, letting the steel tear through muscle and sinew. His scream shreds the air, guttural and animalistic, a sound that echoes through the cell like it came out of hell itself. His back arches from the pain, limbs twitching. Blood bubbles at the wound, spilling over my hand. I twist the knife cruelly, dragging it slightly before pulling it out with a wet squelch.

"You should’ve aimed higher," I say, twisting the knife, driving the point in deeper until his body convulses.

He chokes, gasping for air, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I did," he hisses through gritted teeth. "But she was stronger than you expected."

My heart stutters. For a second, I go still, the force of his words hitting me like a freight train.

Calista. Of course it’s her.

I rip the blade free with a violent jerk, blood slick and warm on my palm. Riven slumps forward with a strangled groan, limbs twitching as his strength begins to drain.

I stare at him—this traitor, this liar, this brother who’d sold everything for revenge—and suddenly, the thought of her in his crosshairs fuels the fire in my chest like nothing else ever has.

I raise my gun. No speeches. No forgiveness.

This isn’t vengeance. It’s justice.

One shot. Echoing.

Riven collapses.

And the hush that follows is heavier than the bullet I fired.

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