Killian might have been the one with a gift for torture, but I’m rather proud of how well I’ve managed to fuck up this piece of shit all on my own.
“Answer me.” I kick Tremaine’s knee and am rewarded with a grunt.
“Old enough,” he wheezes, the unrepentant bastard.
“Be specific.” My prisoner doesn’t respond. His bloodshot eyes find mine. There’s only a lantern on a peg for light down here. The flickering glow cuts across his battered face. I read guilt, disgust, and despair.
Doubt stays my hand. The possibility of redemption shines in those rheumy orbs.
“Can’t remember. Been drinking, trying to forget.” He spits.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Tremaine gasps when I shake him. “Being stuck in that crumbling old house with two daughters to provide for, and no money to do it with. Wife dead and buried. No son and heir. Not a whore to be found in that quaint little town. I had no other outlet.”
“I don’t pity you.” I am utterly disgusted.
“Don’t expect you to.” His labored breaths through cracked lips make speech difficult. “She was quiet. Easy to corner. Always hated myself after the act.”
“Didn’t stop you though.” I pace before his slumped body, ready to lash out. I don’t want to know all this, but the more he speaks, the more vindicated I feel about hurting him.
“When she was fourteen or fifteen, her belly began to swell. As badly as I wanted an heir, I couldn’t marry my own stepdaughter without raising eyebrows. With Drucilla on the cusp of her debut, the risk was too great. I gave Ellie a potion, and that took care of the problem.” He coughs. Blood spatters his chin.
Rage blinds me. I haul him up and slam his head against the stone.
“Took care of theproblem?” Slam. “Monster.” Slam. “Elinor was achild. You were supposed to protect her from predators like you.”
“I never?—”
Slam.
“—touched—”
Slam.
“—her—”
SLAM.
“—again.”
His legs give out, dragging his body down, leaving a gory streak on the stone. Not just blood. Gray matter and a clear fluid are mixed into the mess. I drop Tremaine’s body and take one step backward. My hands tremble with unspent rage.
“You weren’t supposed to die yet, you miserable fuck.”
I kick him viciously. It’s like kicking a side of beef. No reaction. Not a grunt or a wheeze or a flinch. The hideous sound of his breath has stopped, and the dungeon fills with silence.
“Fuck.”
Now I have to figure out how to dispose of a body without anyone seeing it. The obvious solution is to feed Tremaine to the monsters that live in the moat. But getting him out of here will be difficult. He’s oozing fluids from every orifice. Rigor mortis will set in soon. After that, the smell will be impossible to conceal.
I don’t regret what I did. But Elinor will be furious with me if she finds out I killed her stepfather, no matter how badly he deserved it.
Shit.
Killian would have cleaned up this mess for me.
What am I going to do?
15
