Page 144 of Avenging Devil: Part 2

It suddenly hits me. Fuck me, but Saffie hadn’t been looking around in disgust, she’d been looking for something to use.

Dusty, who’d cottoned on faster than me, helpfully gets the bat she must have seen, and brings it over to her.

Duke, at last, manages to get oxygen into his lungs once again. As he looks up, Saffie’s in front of him, holding tight to that bat.

“Look who it is,” he sneers. “My property.”

“I think the tables have turned, Duke. I’m not yours anymore.” Saffie’s voice sounds strong and I’m proud as fuck of her.

“You haven’t the fuckin’ guts,” he mocks.

But seeing Saffie’s face, I think he’s being optimistic as he underestimates her.

I’m in two minds. What she does here will never be able to be undone. Should she be anywhere near this, or kept far away? If she lets loose her demons, will they haunt her forever, or does she need this? Does she need to take control and destroy the man who once tricked her into thinking she was in love?

I’m still undecided when Saffie takes the first swing with the bat. It’s not half-hearted, she’s put every ounce of heartache in it.

Duke’s head whips to the side and I’d be surprised if she hadn’t broken his jaw. But he’s hardly able to bellow in pain before she swings again.

“That was for me, you bastard. For tricking me.”

The bat now meets his skull with a sickening crack.

“And that was for my baby you kicked out of me.”

She widens her stance and takes a breath. “And this is for my son who never knew life.” The bat rises, falls, then rises again. Blow after blow is dealt until Duke’s unconscious, his face nothing but pulp, his skull crushed for certain.

“Saffie, Saffie.” It’s Swift who stops her, holding her arm mid-swing. When Saffie turns to her, I’m worried by the expression on her face. It seems to take a moment before she comes back to herself.

It’s Bones who pushes forward and crouches by the thing that barely resembles a man and places his fingers on his neck. “He’s gone.”

All this time I wanted to be the one who took him out. My months of planning and hoping for vengeance, my thoughts of it being by my hand that Saffie became a widow, and now my chance has gone. Am I pissed? Hell no. A more fitting ending there could never be. A misogynist taken down by two women. I’m proud as fuck of Saffie. My only fear is that what she’s done today will haunt her.

At Bones’ words though, Saffie raises her chin. Then her gaze turns to land on the other man, Grit. He’s been silently watching the proceedings without saying a thing, probably knowing there was nothing he could say in defence of his ex-VP.

Saffie with a strength that surprises both me and Swift, wrenches back control of the bat, and approaches the ex-fed.

“You, Grit. You stood by and watched everything he did to me. You helped him to find me, knowing what he’d do when he was successful.”

“Sapphire,” Grit starts. “Duke made me—”

“Duke made you?” she screams. “You’re a fuckin’ man. You could have stood up to him. You and the rest of the club. He forced you to submit when he made me give you that blowjob? You know, the one where you came all over my face?”

Oh fuck, Saffie.I realise that five years is a fucking long time and I’ll probably never know everything that happened to her. I’m not even sure I could stand it if I did.

As brothers growl and swear from all directions, Saffie takes a firm hold of the bat once again. Putting all her might into a swing that would hit a ball not just out of the park, but probably out of the city, it lands between Grit’s shackled legs.

The scream is ear piercing. But Saffie’s not finished yet. She starts swinging again, first on the ribs, then his legs, then his face. Each hit is accompanied by a name. “Take this for Slit… for Knife… for Croak… for Slinger… for Stoat… for Weasel…”

Grit is a complete mess, but still not dead. Moans are coming from his throat, a gurgling sound coming from his lungs.

Saffie turns away, hands the bat to Swift and turns pleading eyes to me. “Finish him for me, Niran. Do it for Jude and for Kid.”

I don’t know who the fuck Jude is, but I certainly know Kid. Grit might not have personally killed him, but he was in the room.

I push myself forward, examining the remains of the man hanging in front of me, satisfied to see he’s still conscious.

“This ends now, with you,” I tell him. “You’re the last of the Crazy Wolves. No man who rode with them deserves to live or to die pain free.” Reaching out my hands, I undo his belt, then his button, then finally lower his zipper. His scrawny white dick is shrivelled and small, almost hidden by the size of his swollen scrawny balls.

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