Page 183 of Boy of Ruin
But it’s okay.
He’ll be dead soon.
And if he’s fucking hurt her while I’ve waited to get her, again, it’ll be a slow death. I’d hate for her to have to see that. Hate the ways it might scar her, but she knows who he really is. What he really is.
I’m nothing compared to his darkness.
But that’ll all be over before the sun comes up.
I exhale smoke from my nose, think of what we’ll do after that. Go on a trip. Greece. Spain. Fuck, we can head back to California and keep it in the country. Just so long as she’s by my side, I don’t care.
I’ll need to get a nursery set up.
Crib, fucking change table, rocking chair. All the shit I looked up springs to my mind and I almost don’t hear the soft whimper behind me.
Almost.
I take one last inhale, toss the joint out the cracked window, and snatch up the twine in the passenger seat as I turn to face Maddox, blinking his swollen eyes open, drool down his mouth.
It takes him a minute for his gaze to meet mine, and when he does, he moves fast. He bolts upright, but that was clearly the wrong thing to do, because his complexion turns green and he’s clutching his bare stomach, still hard and fit because when you’re a fucking perverted bastard, you seem to have all the time in the goddamn world to take care of yourself while you let everyone else burn.
Epstein comes to mind.
Maddox leans his head back against the seat as I watch his abs convulse.
“You puke in my car and you’ll be licking it up before you get out of here, Maddox.” I keep my tone quiet, enjoying his suffering.
“Why are we…” He gags, one hand clamping over his mouth as his eyes, lined with silver, meet mine.
“I’m warning you,” I tell him with a little laugh. “I don’t make empty promises.”
He closes his eyes tight, bows his head as he tries to breathe. Get himself together. I avoid looking at his dick, because it’ll just be too tempting to cut the fucking thing off.
Later.
“Why are we here? What are you going to do to my son?” he demands, his eyes still closed, hand on his lap, one still over his belly. His neck is bent, a crease lining his brow. Botox must be wearing off.
“Your son?” I whisper in the darkness of the car, the only lights from the dashboard and center console system.
He shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “What are you—”
“Your fucking son?” I repeat my question quietly, my hand shaking all over again as I curl my fingers around the thin twine. Thin, but strong enough that he’s not fucking getting out of it.
He slowly picks his head up, and the confusion on his face makes the anger burst through the surface of my brain. I tried to keep it down, but the fact that he doesn’t even think of her, that he doesn’t even see her as someone to protect…
I leap through the fucking seats, and there’s not much room in the back of my car, but I don’t give a fuck.
I wrap the spool of twine around his throat, crossing my hands as I cross it around his neck. His own hands come to my arms, trying to force me back. He doesn’t stand a chance with my weight crushing him against the leather seats.
“You remember you’ve got two fucking daughters?” I whisper, pressing my brow to his, smelling iron and rot from his mouth.
“Jeremiah, I didn’t mean—”
I pull the twine tighter and he can’t breathe, his face turning red.
Fuck, I want to kill him now.
After everything he did to her, everything he let happen to me. My hands are both shaking now, and not from nerve damage.
