CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
ZADE
I only stand up from the chair once I am absolutely certain that Mio is grounded and Nate has the room secure.
I look down at Alice one last time,
leaning over the rails to press a lingering kiss against her cold knuckles, and then against
her feverish forehead, before forcing myself to turn on my heel and step out of the recovery ward.
Harry is already standing flush against the wall by the door, his eyes scanning the corridor.
"Keep your eyes on every single person who steps onto this floor, Harry,"
I command, my voice a low, hard edge.
"Guard her with your life."
"With my life, boss," he replies instantly.
I walk down the hall and exit into the freezing night air, finding Julian leaning against the hood of the Porsche
A cigarette glowing between his fingers.
His long trench coat billows slightly in the wind.
This motherfucker is a psycho–both relatively and figuratively speaking–but right now, his complete lack of empathy is exactly what I need.
He looks up, a sharp smirk cutting across his face.
"I kept him at the remote warehouse.
Your father already called asking for the exact coordinates, by the way. I denied him, of course."
I open the door of the Porsche and climb into the passenger seat, followed closely by Julian.
My father already knows what has to be done; he just wanted to see if I'd handle it myself.
"Drive," I say.
The journey from the hospital to the desolate outskirts feels so fucking long.
Every red light is a test of my restraint.
My button-down shirt has grown stiff, the fabric hardened by the dried blood coating the chest...the blood of my Wildfire.
It rubs against my skin with every movement, a constant, abrasive reminder of why I am drawing breath tonight.
When the car finally screeches to a halt outside the rusted corrugate gates of the warehouse, I step out calmly.
The cold air hits my face, but I don't feel it.
I walk inside the dark, echoing structure, step through the inner security doors, and immediately turn around, locking the heavy iron bolt straight in Julian's face.
He raises an eyebrow through the reinforced glass, but I don't care.
I don't want him in here with me. This isn't business.
This is personal.
The view waiting for me in the center of the floor is so fucking satisfying.
Marcus is hung by heavy chains rattling from the high ceiling rafters, his arms pulled taut and bound to heavy anchor bolts on opposite sides of the concrete walls.
Every few minutes, an automated industrial valve releases, slamming a torrent of freezing, icy water directly over his head.
Despite the bruising on his face and the violent shivering tearing through his limbs, he manages to lift his chin when he hears my boots approach.
A sickening smirk twists his lips.
"Well, well, if it isn't the King himself," Marcus mocks, his voice echoing off the high, hollow corrugated metal above us.
He tries to spit blood onto the floor, but he's too weak; it lands miserably on his own chin.
"Come to beg for mercy? Or did your little red-headed bitch already breathe her last breath?"
I don't say a single word.
I walk forward slowly, stopping just
at the edge of the harsh yellow cone of light overhead, staring down at him with
an expression that has completely emptied of humanity.
The man standing in these boots isn't a boyfriend, a son, or a brother. It is the executioner.
I reach down, methodically rolling the stiff sleeves of my shirt up past my forearms.
Turning away from him, I walk over to a small metal workbench where my guards have laid out a collection of tools.
My eyes trace the glinting blades, the heavy steel rods, and the pliers, but my fingers stop on a thick, solid iron pipe.
It's rusted, rough, and entirely unforgiving.
I wrap my knuckles around the cold iron, lifting it off the wood.
The heavy balance feels exactly right in my hand.
I turn back around and step fully into the light, the end of the iron pipe dragging against the concrete floor with a slow, screeching scrape that cuts through the warehouse.
The sound makes Marcus violently flinch.
"You really thought you could own what's mine, didn't you?" I ask, my voice dead, flat, and hollow as I walk toward him.
Right then, the automated system fires again.
Icy water splashes over his head, making his teeth chatter uncontrollably to his absolute end.
"You're nothing but a parasite, Marcus. A fucking leech that leaves everything it touches completely hollowed out," I say.
Before he can respond, I swing.
The first hit connects squarely with his right knee.
He doesn't even scream.
The air is violently forced from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
He just breathes heavily, his chest heaving under the strain, his face hardening as sweat and blood drip down his nose onto the concrete.
"She was mine from the beginning," Marcus rasps out through his chattering teeth, a sick, insane delusion burning in his eyes.
"I was just looking for the right moment to make her mine... but then at the party, you kissed her. And you know what? That was the exact moment I decided I was going to take her from you anyway."
He smirks again. It's a broken, manic look.
The bastard is completely mad, entirely consumed by his own obsession.
"You know what I am going to do with you, Marcus?" I ask, stepping directly in front of him, bringing my face mere inches from his.
"I ain't going to kill you," I whisper against his skin.
"I am going to make you beg for death. So fucking hard that you'll be praying for the mercy of a grave."
With a sudden, explosive rotation of my hips, I drive the iron pipe into his left knee.
I swing with so much force that the distinct, sickening crack of the bone shattering echoes off the rafters.
His leg warps at a ruined, unnatural angle, completely broken under the impact, as a raw, blood-curdling scream of pure agony finally breaks from his throat.
I drop the pipe, letting it clatter loudly against the floor, and reach back onto the table to pick up the heavy pliers.
I snap the metal jaws together once, making a sharp, rattling sound before walking to where his hands are chained to the wall.
I don't hesitate.
I secure my grip, and with a ruthless, steady pressure, I systematically strip him of his defenses.
Marcus screams, the sound tearing at his vocal cords as I move from finger to finger, completely breaking his hands until they are nothing but a ruined, bleeding mess.
By the time I am finished, the clean bandages wrapping my own knuckles are completely soaked through with his crimson blood, but this time, the wetness brings me absolute satisfaction.
Blood drips steadily from his fingertips, pattering against the wet concrete like rain.
His head hangs low against his chest, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
But he isn't dead. Not yet.
I pick up a heavy, razor-sharp blade from the bench, walking back into his line of sight.
I grab him by the hair, forcing his head up until his unfocused eyes meet mine.
"This is the last time you'll ever hear anything in this life. Even your own voice," I whisper darkly into his ear.
I drive the steel down, executing his final punishment with cold, lethal precision.
Marcus lets out a scream so raw, so utterly primal and undone, that the sound itself shatters the remaining silence of the room.
The dark void inside my chest is finally, completely satisfied.
I leave him hanging there, turning my back on the pathetic, broken sight as I walk over to the heavy door. I throw the bolt open.
Julian is still standing exactly where I left him, leaning against the doorframe.
He looks past my shoulder into the dimly lit room, evaluating the carnage.
"Well... that's beautifully gruesome," Julian says, a dark glint of approval in his eyes as he pats my shoulder.
"Well done, cousin. You're absolutely making me proud."
"You know what to do after this," I state, my voice completely devoid of emotion as I step past him.
"Make sure he gets to the hospital. Let him live the rest of his life without his legs, and without his ability to hear."
"Oh, don't worry, Zade. I know exactly what to do with this piece of shit,"
Julian murmurs, a lethal smile touching his lips as he steps into the warehouse.
"And I'll ensure his father's fortune belongs to us before the sun comes up."
I walk out of the building and into the clearing.
Suddenly, the crushing weight on my chest vanishes.
The cold night air rushes into my lungs, filling me with a sharp, clear clarity.
I look up at the vast, dark sky, the stars cutting through the blackness.
I am coming, Wildfire.