Page 14 of Fiend
Seems fitting.
I step back to admire the mess in front of me. Blood, mangled flesh, a sorry excuse of a fucking man.
Only thing missing is the smell of his burning flesh.
The sound of the front door opening has my gaze snapping to Leo’s large build maneuvering through the door frame with two gas cans in each large hand. “Think this will be enough?”
“Yep. This place could burst into flames with a single ember landing on the floor.” He holds out two of the cans but as I try to take them, he doesn’t release his grip. My gaze snaps to his, finding him staring at me with that fuckinglook.The parental one and I want to vomit.
“How do you feel?”
“Oh, fucking Christ, Leo. How the fuck do you think I feel? This isn’t goddamn therapy.”
He just stares at me, seemingly right fucking through me, to the mess of a man I’m standing in front of. “If you say so.”
“I do. Quit being so fucking chatty, and let’s get this shit done. I miss my baby doll.” Leo laughs, then sighs and walks toward the back of the house. I hear the guzzle of the gas pouring from the nozzle, and it’s not long before the fumes begin to mingle with the stench seeped into every inch of this shit shack.
Holding a can in each hand, I stare at what’s left of Trey Conley. Slumped over, head sunk forward with his broken jaw touching his chest. The muscles and stringy tendons in his legs are exposed through the torn cloth of his pants.
This man, who caused so much motherfucking shit, is gone. Just like that.
I feel fucking elated.
I whistle happily as I douse him in gasoline, soaking every inch of him, the chair, and the entire floor around him. Once one can is empty, I throw it to the side and use the other to douse the garbage and decrepit furniture until it’s gone.
My head swims from breathing in the fumes, but I welcome the smell. Anything is better than the fucking stench of B.O. and rotten garbage.
“You got the matches?” Leo asks, and I nod, patting my pocket for them. I pull out the book and tear one off. Leo steps out into the night as I swipe the matchstick over the strip to ignite it. With a deep inhale of sulfur, I smile as it burns my nostrils.
With my eyes locked on the glow of the small flame, I toss it and watch as it sails through the air before landing on Trey’s body. The immediate, hotwhooshof fire shoots out, flames licking at every available surface, crawling their way around the house. Fucking devouring everything in sight.
I breathe in again, this time smelling what I didn’t truly realize I was craving until this very moment. His flesh. Burning. Charring a deep black right before my eyes.
The smile on my face is unmatched as I witness it all unfold. But it never lasts long enough. The threat of smoke and well, burning down with the house, kicks my ass in gear, and I hightail it out of there without a backward glance.
Meeting Leo back at the car, he’s in the driver’s seat, a cigarette already between his lips. I plant my ass in the passenger’s seat, and before I can even get my door shut all the way, he’s shoving a lit cigarette into my hand.
“Thanks,” I grumble, sucking in the nicotine. It’s heady—the smell of gas and cigarettes lingering. After placing the cigarette between my lips, I rip off my gloves and shove them into my pocket.
“Let’s go,” I rasp with a nod. Leo starts the car, and we drive a few hundred feet through the shallow ditch before gaining speed and pulling back onto the road. I keep my gaze locked on the burning house in the rearview mirror, watching the flames devour every last inch of it while black smoke curls into the air, thick and pungent.
SEVEN
JAX
“Goddamnit, Vincent! Answer the fucking phone!”I scream hysterically. My phone falls from my hands as I reach for my hair, tugging the strands in a desperate plea. A plea for what, I don’t fucking know anymore. For Essa to be okay. For one of those fuckers to answer the phone when I call. Fucking something!Anything!
I fall into one of the chairs in this wretched waiting room where I’ve been for the last three hours. Waiting.
My eyes burn, and a sob escapes my lips as I lose it all over again.
This cannot be happening. It can’t.
I release my hair, my scalp burning from my constant abuse. I blindly reach for my phone on the floor, but when I glance down, all air is sucked from my lungs. Red stains my hand, thick enough to almost cover my tattoos completely—that’s how much there is.
“Oh, fuck.” I retch, vomit spewing up my throat. It burns as it rips from my mouth, covering the floor in front of me. My stomach rolls and clenches painfully as I heave uncontrollably. Sweat trickles down my spine, burning a path in my skin.
Finally, the pain subsides, and I’m able to sit back in the uncomfortable chair. I rest my head in my palms, focusing on breathing, on what to fucking do because right now, I’m utterly clueless.
