Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Ahh, I see you remember me,” I murmured quietly.
I could feel Creole close to my back as she peeked at him around my arm.
But Creole’s dad pushed all of us to the side as he barged into the room, took two fast steps, and punched Goodwin so hard in the face that he fell backward.
His arms, which had been tied to the chair behind him, took the brunt of the fall, causing him to howl in pain.
“Fuuuuck!” he cried out, tears now streaming down his face.
“Oh, whoops,” Dima said as he helped sit Goodwin upright again. “Let me set your target back up for you, good sir.”
Week smiled. “Thank you.”
He went for another hit, though this time it was to the solar plexus.
The breath wheezed out of Goodwin.
Creole came out from behind my back, and she had her picture frame tucked close to her chest.
She took a deep breath, then walked up to where Goodwin was openly bleeding from a cut above his lip.
Goodwin’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m sure that you don’t have any clue,” she said softly. “How badly you hurt me.”
Goodwin wisely chose to say nothing.
“But more than hurting me, you ended up hurting my baby.”
I waited, wanting to reach for her, but forcing myself to stay still.
“You ignored the call,” she whispered. “I called. I begged your parents. They said that since his blood type was so special, he’d need a close relative, most likely his father, to donate to him. And you know what you told me? What your father told me?”
My stomach sank.
I hadn’t heard this.
What was she talking about?
“Everyone was tested,” she breathed. “My mom. My dad. My cousins. My aunt. And even our close friends. I even had my best friend get her best friend tested, though he had no clue what it was for. No one was a match. So I swallowed my bile and called you. Begged you to get tested. Do you remember what was said?”
Still he didn’t answer.
Anger tightened my fists as I stared at him in horror.
How could he…
“You laughed,” she whispered. “You laughed and said ‘what would you want to do with a kid from a whore like me.’” She leaned in, but didn’t get any closer, almost as if her stomach hurt and she couldn’t stand straight anymore. “You said, ‘let him die. He’s probably an abomination that shouldn’t have been here anyway.’”
She started to cry then. “You were right. He shouldn’t have been here. Because you shouldn’t have raped me.”
Creole’s dad made a noise in his throat like a wounded bear.
“The worst feeling in the world is knowing that you can’t take care of your child,” she whispered. “But I think, maybe, we should let you live. But take away your ability to father children.”
With that, she threw the picture frame down on the floor, and the glass shattered.
She looked at the table of instruments that were in front of her, and she picked up gloves that she quickly fit onto her hands.
They were three sizes too big, but that didn’t seem to bother her as she grabbed the largest piece of glass out of the shattered picture frame and said, “Can someone help rid him of his pants?”
Dima happily did that, cutting the expensive-looking pants off of him at the seams with a K-Bar knife he pulled off the table.
Then, with very little preamble, she yanked the glass across Goodwin’s dick.
It came away bleeding.
Everyone stood and watched in horror as she rid him of the weapon he’d used to hurt her all those years ago.
“I guess I don’t have anything else to offer,” Week said as he stood beside me and watched as the man went into shock.
I was in shock, and that wasn’t even happening to me.
Yet, I stood where I was and allowed it to happen anyway.
But really, it wasn’t because of the horror of watching a man get his dick cut off with a shard of glass.
It was because my sweet, innocent little Creole looked so goddamn sexy doing it.
I shouldn’t be turned on by that…but I was.
“She needed this,” I said as I watched her throw his member to the floor and make an attempt to stomp on it.
“Whoa.” Dima halted her. “I’m gonna need you to not do that. I don’t want to have to get rid of anything else I don’t need to. Your shoes have your DNA on them. Wouldn’t want you connected to this scene.”
Agreed.
I pulled her to me and said, “Let’s let Dima finish this up. We’re not needed here anymore.”
She let me pull her back, but she did level him with one final parting shot. “I hope Dima makes you wish for death. I hope that you beg. Scream. Cry. I hope that you pray to God, and when he doesn’t answer your calls, because you’re a disgusting human being, I hope you rot in hell. I hope no one takes mercy on you, whomever might be dealing out your punishment for the next however long. And last, I want you to think about how I called you. Begged and pleaded with you. And you told me to fuck off.”