[REBECCA]
My shoulders slumped under the weight of his words, and I exhaled sharply, feeling his warmth withdraw as he pulled away. Against the door, I remained rooted, my eyes fixed on him, absorbing his presence.
“You both are meant for each other,” he continued, his voice a soothing balm in the tumult of emotions. “I’m genuinely elated that Artemy discovered you-”
He paused, his eyes gleaming mischievously, a spark of playfulness igniting within them. “Or perhaps it was you who stumbled upon him.”
A playful wink, a fleeting moment, and memories resurfaced, memories of the time I first crossed paths with Artemy. He was right. It was me who found him, the inception of it all within the confines of his car.
“I’ll endlessly tease Artemy about that. Poor guy. He needed his woman to rescue him from his sea of self-pity.”
His laughter reverberated, dissipating the tension that had gathered within me. “Hey, now. That’s not fair,” I chided, swatting at his arm. “I doubt you’re eager to meet your demise, Brayden.”
His laughter deepened, a low and melodious rumble. “Nah, he loves me too much to harm me. Jokes aside, I’m like his first love.”
Shaking my head in amusement, I tenderly caressed my baby bump, the gesture calming me. After the waves of laughter subsided, his gaze directed me toward the staircase.
“After you, my dear,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips, accompanied by a playful wink.
This was the Brayden I knew-the one who felt familiar, whose essence resonated with me. The other version from before had confounded me; he was a stranger in Brayden’s form.
With a murmured gratitude, I moved away, Brayden shadowing my steps closely. His soft words reached my ears. “Lucky devil,” he mused under his breath.
Shaking my head, I carried on, determined not to overanalyze the situation. Brayden’s concern for me was genuine; I had no doubts about that.
His loyalty to Artemy was unshakeable, a bond between brothers that transcended any doubts. And in turn, he’d never betray me either.
Brayden was Artemy’s kin, their trust cast in iron. My trust in him was equally unwavering.
As Lynda enveloped me in her embrace and Brayden bestowed affection upon Nona, planting kisses on her cheeks, a smile bloomed on my lips.
Together, we were a family.
Perched on a stool, I observed Lynda and Brayden’s playful banter over trivial matters. But amidst the mirth, my thoughts gravitated toward Artemy. A pang of longing clenched my chest.
I’m waiting, Artemy. I ache for you, yet I will stand by your side.
I simply had to endure, to await the return of my gentle lover.
In this interim, I knew he sought retribution in the darkest corners, his thirst for vengeance clouding his mind.
But I welcomed it all, every facet of him, no matter how dark.
For I loved him unconditionally.
Because, just as Artemy proclaimed, he was my Devil. And I, his ethereal Angel.
[ARTEMY]
I sensed the bone give way beneath the power of my blow, a guttural crunch reverberating and resonating through my ears.
His agonized scream reached my ears, a raw energy that only kindled the flames of my anger, propelling me forward.
With a grip on his hair, I relentlessly rained down blows upon his visage, a relentless barrage of violence.
48 hours had elapsed since that vile wretch was apprehended and subjected to an unrelenting onslaught of torment at our hands.
Yet, my thirst for his retribution remained unsated, the fury within me simmering, poised to shatter him utterly.
My work was far from complete, nowhere near its culmination. In truth, I was merely embarking on this malevolent journey.
His suffering would be inscribed in blood, a debt to be repaid in the most ghastly of currencies.
The road ahead stretched long, a winding path to satiation.
Unbeknownst to Raffaele, my own sanity was now inextricably intertwined with his twisted psyche.
A forceful shove propelled his head backward, the resounding crack against the chair’s frame a symphony of his torment. Loosening my grasp, his head sagged forward, moans mingling with the rhythm of his oozing blood.
Twisting my fingers through his hair, I jerked his head back, forcing his gaze upon me. His eyes, swollen almost beyond recognition, met mine, a deep gash on his forehead revealing bone beneath peeling flesh.
I took hold of my blade, the hilt poised upon the jagged wound’s precipice. Raffaele writhed within my clutches as I twisted the handle into the crevice, his vocal cords strained from relentless screams.
His pleas were now but pitiful whimpers, a symphony of agony resembling that of a wounded child.
Halting my motion as crimson life-force surged, Avim moved in, staunching the crimson tide with a towel. The prospect of his demise by hemorrhage was unthinkable.
Not yet.
His survival was imperative, an insurance policy against unfulfilled vendettas.
“How does it feel?” My voice dripped with scorn, a conduit for the abyssal animosity festering within. “A taste of the other side, perhaps?”
Raffaele coughed, convulsing in pain, met with a forcible shove that snapped his body back against the chair. My blade kissed his chest, poised but not plunged into flesh.
I toyed with him, mirroring his malevolence towards my Angel.
The blade trailed along his chest, its coolness caressing his flesh without breaching it, a dance of malice.
His frame quivered in torment, his consciousness teetering on the precipice. My hand met his cheek with a resounding slap, a stark reminder of the brutality that restrained his fate.
“Do not even contemplate surrendering to oblivion. Cross that threshold, and your manhood shall be the price.”
His eyes snapped open, a smoldering resentment meeting my gaze. A sardonic chuckle escaped my lips, his audacity even now clinging to him like a tattered cloak.
The blade dug deeper into his chest, his sharp intake of breath a testament to its intrusion. The skin remained unbroken, already marred by a mosaic of prior cuts.
But my designs transcended mere lacerations.
The blade traversed his shoulder, a frigid pathway to trepidation, descending his arm. With every inch it moved, his resistance waned.
Upon reaching his hand’s nape, I paused, eyes locked onto his, relishing the specter of fear that flickered within their depths.
“Please… don’t… spare me…” his plea emerged, a whisper hanging on the precipice of desperation.
“Did Rebecca plead with you in the same manner? Did she beg you to cease?” I bellowed, my grip tightening around his throat, the rage within me palpable.
With my hand clamped around his windpipe, I could distinctly feel the contours of his trachea beneath my fingers, the fragile architecture of his neck bones. A mere exertion of force, and I could have effortlessly crushed his windpipe.
As his visage shifted from a flushed red to a suffocating purple, I relinquished my hold on his delicate neck, allowing him a breath of reprieve from impending asphyxiation.
“You exhibited no restraint. Therefore, why should I?” I hissed menacingly, a knife poised against his trembling hand. Positioned behind him, Avim steadied Raffaele’s arm, rendering him immobile.
The tip of my spiral-edged knife grazed the skin at the back of his hand. His gaze remained transfixed upon the glinting blade, his body quivering in the grip of fear. Blood began to well, and I savored his suffering.
My laughter resounded sadistically as I drew back the knife, driving it down with a resounding impact.
His anguished cries filled the room, forming a symphony that resonated with my malevolent delight.
Raffaele struggled to withdraw his hand, but I twisted the blade, immobilizing his hand. My eyes remained riveted to the tableau of torment before me my blade embedded halfway into Raffaele’s hand.
Crimson fluid spilled, a macabre tableau that failed to solicit even an iota of concern from me. Such trifles paled in comparison to my objectives.
“Do you comprehend my affinity for this blade?” I inquired with a sinister grin. “It specializes in agony an exquisite suffering. Your hand must feel as if it’s on the precipice of disintegration, am I right?”
A strangled cry escaped Raffaele’s lips as I subjected him to another twist of the knife. The sound of flesh yielding, bones fracturing, amalgamated into a grotesque cacophony.
“There, there. No need to fret,” I attempted to soothe in a mocking tone. “Your hand won’t detach just yet.”
“Pl… ea… se…”
Expressing my derision through a tsking sound, I drew back, my gaze unwavering upon him. “Oh, dear. Is this your attempt at begging? It’s a melody to my ears, Raffaele. Go ahead, beseech me. If your supplication pleases me, I might grant you mercy.”
The spectacle of his writhing beneath my torments validated every ounce of effort expended.
“Pl… ea… se… no… more… pl… ease…”
His pleas tugged at a vestige of sympathy within me, for they echoed the same pleas Rebecca had directed towards him. Rebecca had implored ceaselessly, yet he persisted a relentless cycle of torment.
“You beg so eloquently. It’s almost moving,” I mused aloud, retracting the knife from his hand only to thrust it back in. “Sadly, your manner of beseeching doesn’t resonate with me.”
“Fetch the cutters,” I growled. Leon obeyed, presenting me with the crimson-hued cutters I had meticulously honed the previous night. A token of my affection for Raffaele.
“Those very fingers,” I intoned with simmering disdain, “the same fingers that violated my Rebecca. These repugnant fingers…”
Raffaele’s head shook with desperation, his swollen eyes widening impossibly.
With Avim holding his right arm steady, I positioned the cutter against his pinky. “Perhaps you should tally this one. It might aid your predicament,” I suggested, a sardonic grin playing upon my lips.
Swiftly, I acted pressing the cutter against his pinky and severing it.
But my actions did not halt there. In a single motion, I cleaved off all his fingers, a visceral display of vengeance. From pinky to thumb, they fell.
In a matter of seconds, the horrific scene unfolded as his right hand lost all its fingers.
My gaze remained fixed on the grisly spectacle, blood dripping down while his severed fingers landed at my feet.
Raffaele’s hand hung in front of him, a portrait of shock. Then, as the waves of excruciating pain crashed over him, his shock transformed into a primal roar.
Avim relinquished his grip on Raffaele’s arm, and I stepped back, granting him the cruel indulgence of his newfound agony. I retrieved a towel to cleanse my blade and cutter of his blood.
In the background, the door creaked open, and Avim exited. Taking his place was Brayden, who positioned himself behind Raffaele.
My eyes met Brayden’s, and in that fleeting connection, a nod passed between us.
Rebecca, thankfully, remained unharmed.
As thoughts turned to her, my mind revisited the moment she had shot Raffaele.
A swelling pride filled me a pride reserved for a worthy equal. She was more than capable.
In that instance, she embodied a vengeful angel, resolute and fierce.