Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

This is insane.

Certifiable.

Batshit fucking crazy—even for me.

Everything about this is ludicrous—from both the outside looking in and the inside looking out.

I didn’t think we’d actually pay McGill a visit tonight. I thought I’d have to spend weeks planning and making contingency plans in case Kohen bails. But he’s here. And he planned it all while I was playing makeup in the bathroom. I’m not sure whether that surprises me more, or the fact that I agreed to spider-monkey this shit by hopping onto his back so he can carry me all the way to McGill’s place so I don’t have to use my injured foot.

Kohen said I’d slow us down and I’d breathe too loud. Either the vodka has well and truly gone to my head, or I’m a woman full of agreement, because I then lift my arms up and let him bundle me up in his hoodie and beanie.

I’m not sure how Kohen knows, but apparently, McGill lives at a house just outside campus. He started renting the place earlier this year after his wife left him, and he still hasn’t finished unpacking.

Shock. That’s the only thing that can explain why we’re about to do Lord knows what, and I have my head shoved against his neck to breathe in patchouli and mint from the source. I’m not sure at which point the shock started. When I was thrown into frozen waters yesterday. When he confessed to a crime he wasn’t being questioned for, and told me about everything he did for me I had never realized days before. Or when he offered to kill McGill for hurting me?

I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t make me a tad bit aroused. Who knew he just had to murder a man to get me compliant. A giggle bubbles out of me just as he jogs down the concrete steps into the courtyard, rattling me against his back. The alcohol and anti-inflammatories have numbed most of the pain, but even without those two, the adrenaline would be enough to keep the hurt at bay. The only thing that would make this moment seem perfect is a bump. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s hard not to.

Just one line and I’ll feel like a million bucks. Undefeatable and able to conquer the world. But I won’t get my revenge if I’m too high or strung out to function. I need my focus.

“Be quiet,” he scolds as I play with the neckline of the sweater he’s wearing to focus on anything other than the fact my body is itching for a hit. I pinch the cotton collar between my fingers. Pity there’s no lipstick stain on this shirt. Seeing the smile drop from Sarah’s face when I walked into prom with him on my arm was amazing. But if she saw us right now? I almost wish I could take a video of us like this. We’re the parody version of the James Bond movies.

Scratch that. We’re more like a cartoon TV series with two incompetent fools pretending to be spies. Or assassins.

We haven’t even started causing mayhem yet, and I can’t contain the smile that keeps breaking out across my face.

Out of all of Kohen’s admissions, seeing his dedication in action makes me want to kiss him the same way he always kisses me, so he knows that somewhere deep down, I appreciate him for being there on the good days and the bad days. It’s making me all mushy inside.

What made me swoon even harder was when he returned to my room in the middle of the night after he dropped me off from the dance. He had a big duffle bag full of snacks and a heat pack, pestering me as he complained I needed to start keeping myself warm. I fought for a solid two seconds, then almost started twirling and fluttering my eyelashes from all the attention. When Kohen started dressing me in his clothes, I felt like a goddamn princess. He looked like he was borderline concerned for his safety.

I drag my fingers over the chain around his neck as he keeps us to the sides of the buildings, dashing into the tree line in the opposite direction of the church.

The night is still except for the sounds of our heavy breaths and the crunch of spring beneath Kohen’s boots. The moon is hidden behind sheets of clouds, obscuring light from reaching our path beneath the trees. I keep thinking he’s going to trip over a hidden root or slide through the mud, but he keeps carrying me like I’m a backpack. I barely have to use any muscle to hold on because he’s gripping me with frightening ease.

This is like a fucked-up bonding session. A couples therapy exercise even though we aren’t a couple. What’s the next thing we’ll do? Summon a demon? I might be down for that too, if he keeps spoiling me like this. I feel like I’m on a power trip and never want to come down.

“This is so much fun,” I whisper-yell, loving the exhilaration coursing through my veins. “Do you do this often?”

Kohen halts and angles his head to give me a perplexed look. “Shut up, Blaze.”

I make the motion of zipping my lips shut, and he starts walking again. “But seriously, do you?”

He sighs.

“Okay, Mr. Drama.” I roll my eyes. “Chill out. It’s a genuine question. I’m just trying to figure out whether I’m murdering someone with an amateur or a pro.”

“No, Blaze. I do not commit homicide often,” he says, exasperated.

I push my bottom lip out and wiggle my feet in the air. “That’s disappointing.” I pat his chest, feeling the ache spread across my knuckles at the movement. “Still time to change that, bud.”

“I’m not your bud.” I can practically hear his molars grind as his gloved hands tighten around my thighs. Glancing down, I notice him wearing a pair of shoes I’ve never seen before. Antiforensics? Nice.

I rub the top of his head, which is covered by a hat. “You’re right. We’re acquaintances at best.”

“I know how your pussy tastes. What you feel like when you come on my cock. That you prefer fast over hard. How you look when you squirt, and the way your legs shake after I fuck you. I’d say we’re beyond friends.”

“Frenemies—”

Kohen pinches my thigh.

“Ow! What was that for?” I flick his ear. “Plus, I already couldn’t walk properly. So it doesn’t count.”

“Stop talking, Blaze.” He sounds like he’s regretting this adventure.

Too bad I want to see this through.

I groan quietly. “Boring.”

“I can use the tape on you, if you prefer.”

Grinning, I nip at his jawline, making him tighten his hold. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, lover boy.” My voice is saccharine, promising a night of fulfilling his deepest, darkest desires. Bloodlust really is a thing.

“If you don’t stop talking, I’m going to fuck you against this tree over here.” He points to the left. “Then you’re going on your hands and knees on that boulder over there.” He nods toward the right. “After that, we’re going to the med bay so I can stretch your pussy out with a speculum while I fuck your ass.”

My face burns with the image, and I subconsciously roll my hips. Maybe I might be interested in a speculum after all. “Where does murder fit into this schedule?”

“One or the other, Klepto,” he says with an air of finality. “Behave or be punished.”

I consider my options for a moment.

“Both.” I nod. “I pick both.”

Kohen shakes his head and lowers me onto my feet as we reach a steel barred fence with spikes decorating the top. It has to be at least eight feet tall. I don’t think I could scale it on a good day, let alone when my foot is screwed, and I’m still feeling run-down from the past three days.

“Not to be a buzzkill or anything, but how the fuck do you expect me to get over that?”

He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. They reopen on an exhale, and he gestures behind me. “The gate, Blaze. The gate.”

“Alright, alright.” I hold my hands up. “Drop the attitude, smart-ass.”

Leaning against the gate, Kohen unzips the front pocket of the duffle bag to retrieve an old-fashioned primary key that looks like the ones the groundskeepers always have on hand. He stands back to let me hobble through after unlocking it, then stuffs the key back in his bag and shuts the gate behind him.

The princess treatment has well and truly gone to my head, because I place my hands on my hips and wait for him to carry me again.

Independent young woman, my ass.

I doubt my mode of transport is practical, but I let him pick me up and carry me against his chest like I’m a little kid. It’s kind of sad to admit that my inner child is preening at the way I’m being held.

“It’s easier,” he explains as he cups my ass in both hands and gives it a solid squeeze.

“Yeah,” I agree breathily, dropping my head against his shoulder when he uses his hold on my ass to grind me against his length. “Not hard at all.”

His steps don’t falter and neither does his breathing when I squeeze my legs around his middle, and all but choke him with my elbow against his esophagus. Moving probably hurts me more than it hurts him, but the black and blue marks covering my body are keeping me grounded. They’re the reason why we’re trekking through the forest in the middle of the night. As the bruises fade on me, I will bring them upon those who have made me suffer.

The rise and fall of his chest slowly steadies as we hike through the forest. Watching him grow calmer the closer we get to McGill’s house is fascinating. This is his element—not murder or home invasions. He looks like he has the thing I’ve been lacking: purpose. Vengeance. It looks glorious on him.

I was wrong to think that I didn’t deserve a prince. They simply were never made for me. I don’t want the prince. I want a villain.

Holding on to Kohen tighter, we approach the property. It’s not the type of home I expected McGill to live in. For some reason, I thought he’d live in a shack or a mansion that’s barely holding together. I’m not too far off on the latter, but this place looks… homey, I guess. Fresh cream weatherboards, two stories, a brick chimney, coral roofs and awning, a flag swaying in the wind at the side of the house. A few bushes line the deck’s front, and several enormous pine trees circle the structure. It’s everything you’d expect from a country house.

All the curtains are closed, so it’s impossible to see what might greet us once we’re inside. A single light is on in one of the rooms upstairs, and Kohen lifts his pointer finger to his lips in the universal sign of shut the fuck up, as if the situation isn’t obvious enough. I pull the finger in return, and the bruises on my hands immediately make me regret my decision.

Kohen quietly settles me down on the first step of the back porch, then creeps in front of me to try the handle. When it doesn’t budge, he raises his fist toward the door like he wants to smash the window in.

I roll my eyes and push him aside. Sure, let’s alert McGill to our break-in. If you want a job done right, send a woman and all that.

Huffing, I drop down to my busted knees and pull out gloves and the two paper clips I brought for this exact reason, but the latex gloves make the thin material harder to grip and mold. Only a slither of moonlight shines on the brass door handle, making it trickier to see what I’m doing. Kohen crouches beside me to monitor our surroundings as I shape the paper clips and slip them into the keyhole. I hold my breath to listen for any sounds from inside, and all that comes is the classical music playing from another part of the house.

Tsk, tsk, McGill. You shouldn’t be up this late on a school night.

My lungs fill with cool air as I try to calm the roaring in my ears and focus on the task at hand. It’s been a while since I’ve picked locks, and if Kohen’s impatient glances are any indication, I’m taking far too long. He glares at me whenever the door rattles as I try to depress the pins, but I shrug him off. There’s enough wind to make the noises unsuspicious, and frankly, I’d like to see him try to do a better job. At least I wasn’t the one who was about to break a window.

“Score,” I whisper when the telltale click sounds through the night.

Kohen helps me to my feet and then reaches into the large duffle bag. I survey our surroundings and keep an ear out for any movement inside when he pulls out a bat with nails hammered into it. Without a word, he pushes it into my hand, then whispers, “I recommend the knees, but the face works too.”

When the fuck did he have time to organize this? I gape at him as he ushers me behind him and takes the lead. He sent two guys to the hospital for me? Blew up a building as a birthday present? Now he’s helping me murder a man and making me my very own weapon to do it?

And here I was, thinking that chivalry was dead.

Hugging the baseball bat to my chest, I can’t help but smile to myself as butterflies let loose in my stomach. It makes this whole situation all the more perfect—aside from the pain that explodes through my knuckles when I grip the cold wood. Biting the inside of my cheek, I push aside all thoughts of the bruises and scrapes to concentrate on the next few minutes. I wonder what McGill will look like when he sees me with the bat. What will it look like when his bones cave beneath my new present?

The anticipation tastes so sweet, and the impending bloodshed so bitter—it’s an intoxicating combination I never thought I’d experience.

Either from arrogance or delusion, dread hasn’t wormed its way into my veins. Kohen’s presence is a safety net I never thought I’d be able to latch on to, and I’m greedy for it. If worse comes to worst, I won’t be alone in this. No one can say I forced him to do this. No one can accuse me of doing this alone. If I go down, he goes down with me.

I, however, hate that he’s pretty much like a bodyguard or hired gun. While having a partner is nice and all, I don’t love the reminder that my flesh limits my physical strength. It’s unnerving that I’m relying on him for my safety. What if red and blue lights start flashing, and the police raid the house? He might bolt and leave me behind. Or if McGill pulls out a gun? It’d be every man for himself.

The door creaks open, and we collectively wince, pausing to wait for a reaction. When nothing but music sounds through the house, Kohen creeps forward, holding a hand out to keep me behind him.

Jesus Christ, I need even more psychological help if that alone makes me blush.

The back door opens into the hallway shared with the main entrance. There’s a bathroom directly to our right, and boxes marked with illegible handwriting scattered everywhere. I focus on steadying my breathing and keeping my footsteps light on the old wooden floor that groans beneath our feet as we head toward the stairs that hug the wall shared with the living room. It smells vaguely of smoke. There’s nothing special about the space that screams “headmaster of a pompous school.” It’s the type of farmhouse I’d expect from a late-nineties movie—minus the excessive photos hanging off the floral wallpaper. So far, the nicest thing about this place is the fully stocked liquor cabinet in the hallway.

A haggard cough rumbles through the walls, followed by lip-smacking, and we still. But Kohen doesn’t move forward even though the coast is clear.

I tap my fingers against the bat. Can Kohen move any faster up these steps? It’s going to be Christmas by the time we get to McGill.

Poking Kohen in the back to urge him forward does nothing but make him give me the “Are you fucking kidding me?” look. So I drop the bat and let it swing around as I shuffle up the steps behind him. He keeps stopping every time the staircase makes a sound, but Old Man McGill doesn’t seem to notice.

We break onto the second floor, where yellow light floods the hall from an open door. More boxes and Bubble Wrap are littered around the place, and my fingers itch to take a thing or two… Okay, just one.

With all Kohen’s attention forward, I reach into the next box we pass and grab the first thing I wrap my fingers around. A… Oh, that’s stupid. I’ll still take it though.

He whips around, looks at me like I’m insane, and then shakes his head when I shove the used candle into my pocket, then continues on his slow, creeping pace.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

Sighing, I push past him to the door into what looks like McGill’s office and throw up a little in my mouth. The ripped, moss-green wingback office chair is reclined all the way back while his ankles are crossed on the desk. His blue, checkered shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his hairy beer gut that’s partially covered by a pale hand and an unlit cigar. A crystal tumbler is in his other hand, with only a couple sips of the amber liquid left.

Drinking on a school night too? We’re really setting good examples here.

A fireplace crackles against the wall I’m leaning against. Directly opposite it is a ratty couch with an equally ratty blanket. The empty cigar case on the desk is balancing on a piece of paper. Paperwork and bills are strewn across the room, a pile of wood lies haphazardly next to the fireplace, and more boxes are stacked in the corner labeled Court Docs. A blue leaflet is open on the desk, and the familiar red logo staring back at me makes my mouth go dry.

Whitlock Investment Banking & Partners.

He… My jaw hardens. McGill isn’t old friends with my grandfather. McGill is his fucking client. It makes so much more sense. The shitty house, the bills all around the room, the court files. How much trouble is this man in? Has he sold his soul to my grandfather just to fix it?

The headmaster has a noose around his neck that’s controlled by Jonathan Whitlock Sr. Without my grandfather, how deep would McGill’s grave be with all the overdue bills he has lying around? My grandfather owns him.

The man who held me down and tortured me looks pathetic like this, with his guard down and completely vulnerable. Something twisted inside me curls with pleasure, knowing that no one will miss him when he’s gone. He has no more wives. There’s not a single photo of any of his children anywhere. None of his kids want anything to do with him. How many different child supports must he be paying his ex-wives? Four? Six?

He’s the image of a man who’s lost everything. So I’ll be doing him a favor by finishing the job.

The smooth brass vibrates through the floors as the flute patters against my eardrum. “Is this Beethoven or Mozart?” I muse.

McGill’s eyes snap open. He scrambles in his seat, dropping the cigar and tumbler.

“Prokofiev,” Kohen grunts, shouldering past me through the doorway and sending me a death glare.

“Who?” I ask as McGill leaps onto his feet, sending the chair careening into the wall.

“What are you doing here?” he stutters, using the desk as a makeshift barrier between us. He clamors to button up his shirt. I assume it’s to preserve the little dignity he has left.

I swing the bat onto my shoulder and push off the wall to stalk toward him as Kohen attempts to corner him. “I was so excited to have our discussion that I decided, why wait?”

McGill’s eyes flick back and forth between me and Kohen as if trying to gauge who’s the bigger threat. Me, he decides. I guess I’m just that intimidating. I tip my head to the side and watch as he fumbles, straightening his shirt. He draws his stiff shoulders, putting on a mask of faux confidence.

God, the smell of his anxiety is enough to get drunk on. Is this what he felt when he ordered men to hold me down? Or when he summons me, knowing the level of pain he will inflict? My grip tightens at the memory of all the bruises that have formed on me because of him and my grandfather.

“Neither of you are allowed here.” The words come out wavered as I hum, swinging the bat around the air as if it were a toy. “I’m calling security to have you both escorted back—” His fingers tremble as he reaches for his phone.

Kohen cuts him off without an ounce of emotion on his face. “That isn’t happening.” McGill halts in his procession. He eyes Kohen as if realizing his mistake in thinking I’m the bigger threat when the pyromaniac is only a couple feet away from him.

“Whatever prank you two are pulling, it ends now.” He looks at me as he says it. I assume it seems like I’m the mastermind of all of this, what with Kohen standing there stoically, arms crossed. Weaponless. I’m sure that makes him all the more frightening.

“Kohen doesn’t do pranks,” I sigh with disappointment as I block McGill between us. “But I assure you, this is very serious.” My hands tremble in anticipation when I turn to Kohen. “Hey, Pyro. You said knees, right?”

He nods, sneering at McGill. “Face works too.”

The headmaster raises his arms with a cry when I use every fiber of my muscles to smash the bat against his shoulder. My body screams from the movement, but I don’t let it stop me. My rage takes hold of the swing, pouring months of bottled-up torment into my veins.

Kohen narrows his eyes at me as if he can tell I’m just going to do the opposite of whatever he wants. McGill’s howls rip through the room as blood splatters onto my face. Elation fills my marrow and makes my body feel as light as a summer breeze. The pounding in my ears is still there, but I’m convinced that invincibility exists.

McGill crashes into the wall and crumbles onto the floor, clutching his weeping shoulder, refashioning his blue shirt into scarlet. Another sob cracks out of him when he looks at the red covering his hands. “Stop,” he pleads.

I can barely look at the morbid sight. It’s a scene from a horror movie where the victim’s skin is dotted with holes, and the arm doesn’t look like an arm anymore. You did that, I tell myself. You’re making him suffer.

“What was that?” My eyes flash. “Stop? Stop? Come on, McGill. You didn’t think your words held any meaning, did you? I always knew you wouldn’t be a fighter. You get other people to do the hard work for you while you sit on your lazy fucking ass.” He flinches as I wave the bat in his direction. “You’re a lazy, useless coward.” I glance around and continue goading him. “Where’s your family, by the way?”

McGill shakes his head as the music starts to reach a crescendo. “You don’t want to do this, Blaze. You won’t get away with it.”

I throw my head back and let a maniacal laugh rumble through me. “Oh, now I’m Blaze? How convenient that this is the first time you got my name right.” I follow the bat’s momentum, driving it into his shoulder again. The scream that follows pierces my eardrum and rushes down my spine. Flesh splits beneath the force of the nails, lodging deep enough for a crunch to vibrate up my arms. My dinner lurches up my stomach when the blood makes a suctioning sound as I pull the bat out.

“Please!” he sobs, rolling onto his side against the wall.

“Please,” I mock. “How many times did I beg? I cried, and I screamed, and I prayed.” I kick him after each word. “I pleaded for you to let me out until my throat burned with the words. I told you that you would all die if you left me there. I made you a fucking vow.” My voice comes out guttural, as if on the precipice of losing all sense of reality. “And you left.”

“I’m sorry,” he grits out between cries.

I drop the bat on the floor and feel my muscles rage as I rip the blood-spattered hoodie off. Layer after layer, I strip down until I’m in my bra and the sweats, baring all my battle scars to him. McGill’s eyes fall to the floor by my feet as the heat from the fire warms my pebbled skin. “Look at me.” I snarl as he huddles closer to the wall. “I said, look at me!” I point my gloved hand at the bruises on my ribs and along my shoulder. “You both did this.”

He shakes his head. “I was just doing as your grandfather—”

I yank the bat back off the floor, and his eyes slam into mine, then fall to the evidence of my pain written on my skin. I swear I almost see guilt on his face.

“Do you fucking hear yourself? You don’t believe those lies.”

How fucking dare he deny it when I have the marks to prove it? He could have refused. He could have lied to my grandfather. He could have done everything in his power to keep his students safe.

“Tell me, what is it Jonathan offered you in exchange for torturing me?”

McGill’s skin grows paler with each passing second as his blood soaks into the wooden floor. “N-nothing, he’s my friend, and I was looking out for—”

“Liar! All you do is fucking lie.” I hit his cheek with the top of the bat and shove the Whitlock Investments folder in his face. “Jonathan doesn’t have friends. If he did, he wouldn’t call some lowlife piece of shit like you his friend. No property, no money, no family. You’re a fraud with nothing left. So I’m going to ask you. One. Last. Time. What is my grandfather offering you? Confess, McGill.” I raise the bat, ready to strike.

“A loan!” he sputters out through his chattering teeth as Kohen rummages around behind me. “He’s wiping my credit card debt clean and helping me get back on my feet. No bank wants to lend money to me. If I go bankrupt, I’ll lose my job! Jonathan offered to fix everything as long as I petitioned the court to have you sentenced to Seraphic Hills and let him choose your treatment.”

I drop the bat to my side and take in a deep breath. So that was the price of my sanity? It’s not even a clean slate or a fresh start. It doesn’t even help him stay above water, and he still took it, knowing it could cause me, a fucking child who he doesn’t know, irreversible damage. He’s left out the second part of the truth; I was his scapegoat. With no kids, no friends, no wife, who else would be his free punching bag?

“Say you’re pathetic.”

McGill glances at Kohen and then back to me, taking shallow breaths. “W-what?”

“Tell me how every relationship you’ve ever had has failed. Tell me how your kids won’t shed a tear for you. Look at me and say that you’re a pathetic, spineless old man.” He screams when I push the end of the bat into his wound. His screams hit the high notes at the exact same time as the music.

“He’s going to go into shock,” Kohen says from beside me.

My nostrils flare as I release pressure and let the bat fall back to my side.

“Blaze,” McGill whimpers. “Blaze, please. I-I had no choice.” His chest quakes with each breath he takes. “Jessica took everything!”

“Why?” I force the syllable out, feeling the moisture from my hands build within the gloves.

“I mean, we—we separated, and she took me to court and got the kids—”

“Why, McGill? Why are you living alone, in your own filth, surrounded by empty bottles? Why did she leave? Why did she get it all?”

He stutters, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

Kohen shows me a stack of papers, turning each and every sheet for me to read. “Gambling?” I say, looking at page after page of transactions, overdrafts, and payment claims from casinos, bookmakers, and banks. Then the final page: an advance of $400,000 from Whitlock Investments. “You wrecked my soul to pay off your gambling debts?”

I’ve never felt so cheap in my fucking life. Adrenaline has my grip shaking around the bat. I want to hit him again. I want to do it over and over until he’s a mangled pile of bone.

Fuck him.

Fuck my grandfather.

Fuck all of them.

McGill raises his one good arm as the bottled-up rage comes bubbling out to fuel each swing of the bat. I do it over and over until his entire shirt turns a haunting shade of crimson, and even then, I keep hitting his shoulder, screaming my frustrations as I do. Cursing him. Cursing my grandfather. Cursing my parents. It all comes out. I don’t let up until his arm is barely attached to his shoulder and the rug beneath him is soaked in his blood.

“I was thinking about how I saw this all play out. Whether I’d break your bones one by one, or find some loose wiring so you know what it feels like to have your brains fucking fried. Whether I’d let Kohen finish you off or if I’d do it myself.” My voice wavers as I speak. “No one gets to take my revenge for me. I thought about torturing you, drawing it out for hours—days— just like you did to me. But if I thought my life was sad?” I scoff, clutching the bat in both hands. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. Tell me.” I tip my head to the side. “When you take your last breath tonight, will you die knowing what love feels like? Or will you die knowing that your own children don’t want you?”

Tears gather along his lashes. “Please.”

“You’re crying? How sad.” I step on him, pressing my weight to his side and watch him squirm beneath me. “You tortured me, McGill. You made me suffer for your own twisted pleasure because it’s the only time you get to feel powerful during your own pitiful existence. Now, my face will be the last one you ever see. My voice is the last you ever hear.”

I raise my shaking arms and he squeezes his eyes shut like a coward.

“One more thing.” Kohen stops me mid swing with a hand on my arm, then drops down onto his haunches in front of McGill. “I did burn down her house, almost killed Elijah for touching her, then blew up the Science building because I wanted to impress her. And you see those nails in that bat? I put them there for her. You once asked what Blaze is to me. She’s my vice. My fire.” McGill’s lips part as Kohen rises to his feet.

“Don’t worry, McGill. I take your treatment plan very seriously, and I’ve already decided you need to be put down.”

This time, when I aim, the nails bury into McGill’s face. One pierces his eyeball as another caves into his skull, splattering blood up the walls and around the room. The crunch that resonates through the air melts with the fading music.

I keep hitting and hitting and hitting. His head. Shoulder. Hands. Stomach. Legs. Chest. The rage rolls through me with the force of a hurricane as I scream, letting the weapon loose on every inch of him. Blood splatters all over my skin, and each shattering bone feels more sickening than the last.

Warm liquid falls from my cheek to my chest that’s aching from my haggard breaths, and drips down my bare stomach. I choke on a sob as I bury the bat into him one last time, bile rushing up my throat.

Power floods through my veins as I sway back and watch the bat slowly dislodge itself from his head and clunk onto the floor, McGill spurting blood from all of his orifices.

He’s dead. I did that. I killed him.

I fucking killed him.

He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t run and tell my grandfather about all my crimes. He can’t hold me down or lock me in ice water.

For the next few weeks, I have no warden watching my cage. No one to coat my skin in black and blue for the sake of fucking gambling debts. All that’s left is Boris and Dr. Van der Merwe. The former will have his time. The latter? He will suffer, but death will not be his ending.

For the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve finally won a battle.

I stumble back and crash onto the floor, grabbing the trash can to empty out the contents of my stomach. The acid burns up my throat and chokes me as my eyes water and the tears fall into the plastic bin. My stomach muscles contract with each heave, and ache with each breath of the putrid air. I jolt when something soft touches my lower back, but I keep going, dry heaving like I might be able to rid myself of my sins. All the while my eyes stay glued on the first domino, ingraining the sight into my memory; every wound and broken bone, mangled and distorted against the rising tempo of the music.

The bruises on my body are still there, and in time, they’ll heal. McGill is forever immortalized to be an unrecognizable creature, turned by the very monster he helped create.

I’m not sure which part is making me sick, the fact that I murdered someone, or that one of the locks on my cage is gone. It feels like freedom is finally within reach, and I don’t know how to cope with that knowledge. The only time I’ve felt free was at the bottom of a bottle or a couple grams deep. Now that I’m sober, it feels surreal, as if at any second McGill will wake or my grandfather will walk through the door.

But I’m not free yet. Not until they’re all dead.

I don’t care how many times I have to throw up, or lose a part of myself each time I spill blood, my grandfather doesn’t get to live after what he’s done.

Kohen’s hazel eyes greet mine when I turn to face him with tears streaming down my cheeks. “Blaze, you know what you did to my place? Do it again. Without the bat this time. Destroy it all.” Kohen drops the six letters of demand for payment from casinos and gambling companies nationwide. “We’re here to collect your debt. So collect, Thief.”