Page 81 of Cruel Revenge

“I went into that house after she left. She cut off his hands and put them to boil in a pot.” I tuck the phone away, stepping back into the shadows as a car that looks like hers pulls onto the far end of the street.

When the person exits the car, it’s not her, and my chest gets just that bit tighter.

Andrew shakes his head. “Okay, so that’s sick, but it’s not like you didn’t know that she kills people. You’re no better than she is.”

I grind my teeth together.

I hate it when he’s right, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Skyla is no different than I am, at the end of the day. She might be a little more brutal, but there’s something to be said about her methods.

If they work, they work.

Andrew jerks his chin in the direction of the alley. “She’s here.”

Sure enough, a car parks in the alley, and she gets out, walking down the street with a tote bag slung over one arm.

There’s a plastic bag that peeks out of the top of it while she stands beneath the neon lights, unlocking the security door.

I take off across the street, stepping into the doorway just as she turns to close the door.

Her eyes widen before she sighs and pushes the door open wider, letting me inside.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here since I told you to stay out of my business.”

“And I don’t know why you cut off a man’s hands.”

“Don’t play stupid.” She closes up before heading to one of the washing machines. She sets her purse on top of the one beside her, hauling out the plastic bag of bloodied clothing. “You know that she killed people and left them at Aiden’s doorstep. This was nothing but payback.”

“Really?” I lean on one of the machines behind her, crossing one ankle over the other. “Because what I saw in that house seemed personal.”

“You don’t know the things her family has put mine through.”

“I’ve heard about the sleeping with each other’s family members, the alleged killing each other, alleged territory wars, the Rinaldos going into hiding and coming back.” I study her for a moment, watching for any sign that the careful mask she has in place is ready to slip.

“And that’s not even the half of it.” She opens the bag of clothing and dumps it into the machine. “If this blood doesn’t come out, that’s going to be the start of my mental breakdown.”

Is she joking?

The corner of her mouth twitches, her eyes crinkling at the very edges. She hums to herself, dumping laundry soap in—probably more than she needs—and slams the machine shut before starting it up.

Still humming, she takes the blood-stained bag to the metal garbage can in the corner, tossing it inside before wandering over to the office at the back.

I stand there, heart racing and hand hovering near my gun.

She comes back out with a bottle of lighter fluid in one hand and matches in the other. Without a word, she douses the plastic bag before striking a match and tossing it inside.

She might actually be insane.

Although, there’s something about her crazy that calls to the darkest parts of me. Like we complement each other in a weird way.

She understands me in a way that nobody else does, and I think in some ways, I understand her.

“Why were you with Logan tonight?” My hand stays near the gun as she stands there and watches the fire burn.

I don’t think I can hurt her, even if I have to, but I have no idea what is going on here.

I still watch my words, careful not to say anything damning in case the place is bugged. I wouldn’t put it past the feds to hide a few microphones in here before they gave the place back to her.

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