“How thoughtful,” Aaron deadpanned, walking over to stand with us at Antonio’s front. They were waiting for me to take the lead, none of them fully knowing how I was planning on ending the man who’d caused so many to suffer.
Luckily, the chair Antonio sat in had a low enough back to give me the access I needed.
I’d fantasized about killing this man for all of my adult life, and most of my childhood. Death by hanging, by mutilation, by firing squad. I’d even considered flaying him alive after seeing Aaron in action with Alec. A bullet wasn’t enough. Neither was a knife.
I sucked in a fortifying breath of stale cabin air and allowed each molecule of oxygen to hit every muscle in my body before speaking. The black pits my father had for eyes bore into me, challenging me to be the brutal man he’d raised, even as he faced death.
A good man would dig into himself and find a way to forgive, or at least a way to move on. I was not a good man. I didn’t need that label to feel good about my life or my purpose.
I needed Antonio’s fresh blood to run between my fingers and stain my skin—then, I could forgive whatever godforsaken forces had given me to this man, and move on with my family.
“You ruined my mother,” I said, the acknowledgment still a stone in my throat all these years later. “But she still lives in my body.” I waved at my blond hair, blue eyes, large stature, and at my gun still clenched in my grip. “I am far more of a Viking than aGuecha.”
I handed Old Faithful to Aaron and brandished the sharpened machete hanging from my belt, raising the blade in the dull glow of the oil lamp light. “In Norse mythology, there is a particularly brutal form of execution, reserved to avenge the killing of a family member.”
I stalked closer to Antonio’s seated form, unable to hold back the smirk as he shrank back into his chair, small trickles of blood trailing from his ankles and wrists with every movement.
“It’s known as the Blood Eagle. Have you heard of it?”
Apparently, he had. His eyes widened in horror, but he still refused to speak, his pride outweighing his fear, if only for the moment.
“You killed my mother,” I repeated, circling the chair to stand at his back. “You tried to kill my family.” I pointed the machete past his head toward Hillary, Aaron, and Lauchlan as they observed in silence. “You’ve destroyed thousands of families for your own greed.”
Sweat poured off his skin now, and the stench of his fear filled the cabin, masking the metallic scent of the blood dripping from his limbs. But his ego was his kryptonite, and he couldn’t help himself from speaking.
“Your mother was weak.” His scornful scowl was as bitter as battery acid. “Youare weak. I spent my life training you into a man, but you are nothing but a boy in man’s clothing, believing your ideals are above the empire that could have been yours.Patético.”
I lowered my head to his, so close I could see the blood pumping furiously through his jugular from his heart. The man was terrified and struggled to hide it.
“If I am so weak, why do I scare you so much?” I murmured, my tone soft and coaxing. “Why do you cower while I claim your throne?Patético.” I echoed back at him, unable to control the taunt. His gaze stared forward, refusing to look at me, so proud he wouldn’t beg for his life. I’d expected as much.
I could draw out his torture for days, bleed him out slowly, starve him, burn him. I didn’t want any of that. The people I loved waited on the other side of his chair, and we had a full life ahead of us. After tonight, Antonio wouldn’t take another moment of my peace.
I stood to my full height and eyed every one of my lovers, each of them staring back at me with solidarity and care. The amber in Aaron’s eyes showed his understanding—he knew firsthand the peace that would come from my vengeance. Hillary’s cool blue eyes were as dark as mine in this light, but they shone with wicked intent—she relished this kill almost as much as I did, but she stayed on the sidelines, so I could give my version of justice. Lauchlan’s—Lucky’s—sea-glass stare held nothing but curiosity, like he was enjoying learning this last little bit about me.
I dipped my head in a solemn nod, acknowledging their presence and recognizing their place in this part of my life. In sickness and in health, in darkness and in light—this was us.
I shoved my father forward, exposing his back to the open air. Muttered curses escaped him as Aaron’s blades cut harder into his skin.
I sheared his shirt off his back, exposing the sun-kissed skin beneath. His back vibrated with shudders from his ragged breathing, and still… no sound.
If he wouldn’t beg for his life, it was time to hear him scream.
“Ge tillbaka för gammal ost.” I declared and shoved the eighteen-inch knife beneath his shoulder blades until it hit air on the other side, then sliced it upward along his spine. Forcefully, I pulled it back out and stabbed along the other side, breaking the ribs and puncturing his lungs, widening the hole that would bring the Eagle’s wings to life.
His gargling screams enveloped us all in the small space, high-pitched and unbearably shrill. I soaked them in like music as the blood frenzy took over me, fully immersed in the supposed animalistic ritual of my people.
I reached my hands into the opening to grip his broken ribs from behind and yanked them back, the reverberating crack of bone snapping melded with Antonio’s sobs.
I turned to my three observers, each one of them put in harm's way by my father.
“Come.” I beckoned them forward with a tissue-covered hand. Not one of them hesitated, moving in sync to stand beside me.
I pulled a bone through Antonio’s skin until it stood upward outside of his body. I pointed at the rib with a savage smile. “Be my guest.”
Lucky’s eyebrows hit his hairline, but he was the first to move, reaching into the cavity to haul a rib up to meet the other. “You fucked with my family, you miserable teet.” He spat. He grabbed another for good measure, and didn’t shrink when Antonio’s screams vibrated through the bone. His willingness to be a part of this ritual, the least violent of the four of us, stirred something within me, and I vowed to show him just how much it meant to me later.
My Killer reached in after him, her trademark ferocity darkening her angelic face into one of brutality. Dainty hands brought up two ribs, one after the other.
