I don’t even speak. I just move. A sharp shove to the side of the chair with the flat of my boot sends him crashing onto the concrete—his skull connecting with a satisfying crack.
I turn back to her.
“I don’t want you in here.”
I can already see the damage unfolding behind her eyes—his words slithering in, trying to rot their way beneath her ribs.
“Go upstairs. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“No.” Her voice is iron-wrapped fury. “You lied. Yousaidwe’d do this together. This ismyfight too.”
Her stare locks with mine, unflinching. Unapologetic.
Stubborn to the fucking end.
But she wants to be here? She wants to be part of sending this motherfucker back to hell. I can only imagine what she’s faced over the years with him, and there is part of me that wishes I could hand him to her on a silver platter for her to have her wicked way with.
But that would mean compromising her soul and sanity. And I don’t think this girl has the stomach for it, not for what I want to do to him.
24
Nell
This ismymess—and I intend to be part of the cleanup.
I brought it to his doorstep, and now, true to form, he’s taking over. Mr Control. Mr ‘Let me handle it.’
Not this time.
He doesn’t know what Adam did to me. Not really. Not the full extent. So, I get a say in how this ends.
“Don’t fight me on this,” he warns, his voice like steel.
But if I’m good at anything, it’s ignoring warnings I’ll argue about later.
I knew something was off the second I realised he never came to bed. Sneaky, brooding, stalker-boy routine. Good thing I brought my rolling pin—I had a feeling it might come in handy.
I shove past him, ignoring the low growl vibrating in his chest, and march straight toward Adam. In my head, I look like vengeance incarnate—a hooded reaper descending on the guilty.In reality, I probably resemble a furious child with a kitchen utensil.
No matter. The intent is the same.
“You haven’t got it in you,” Adam sneers, smirking even now. “You’re weak. Pathetic. Just a hole to fill.”
I swing.
The rolling pin connects with his shin, solid and sharp. His jaw locks, teeth bared—but he doesn’t make a sound. No yell, no scream. Just a flicker of pain behind the bravado.
I hit him again. Harder this time.
Still nothing.
This is actually harder than I thought.
“Nell—” Cameron’s voice is behind me now, close and low. But I don’t stop. My swings rain down—shins, thighs, knees, anywhere that will hurt without knocking him out completely.
Cameron dodges one. Then another. Until finally, with an exasperated sigh, he steps in and lifts me by the waist like I weigh nothing at all.
I kick once in protest, the rolling pin dangling from my hand like a warning.
