Shadowman (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 5), page 57
“Right!” I bark at him. “You did! Because you agreed with me… You wanted revenge on Felix Darcey as much as I wanted it on this wanker.”
“Okay, fine. You’re right. Is that what you want me to say??” He gets up in my face. “At first, I wanted to make Darcey pay for what he did… But can’t you see by now that it’s pointless?? Vengeance doesn’t solve anything, Trevel! It doesn’t change the past, and it sure as shit won’t make you feel any better about the future!” His chest is heaving, and I’m just staring at him blankly. Refusing to admit that I feel his words. “When does it end…?”
“It ends when they stop breathing!” I hiss at him. “You have no idea the kinds of things I’ve had to endure… The kinds of things I’ve had to live with because of other people, so don’t tell me revenge is pointless! It’s all I have, Byron.”
His fury melts into sorrow so fast that I witness it. The anger in his gaze softening, slipping into vast, shining sadness.
“You’re right.” His shoulders slump. “I don’t know what you’ve been through… Because I don’t have a damn clue who you are.”
His brown eyes glisten, and they fall to hide the emotion. That one look slices me open.
It stabs me, poisons me, chokes me…
It kills me the way I’ve done to others. Revenge.
Reaching for him, I mumble, “Baby, I didn’t mean—”
“You’re right, Trevel.” He pulls away. “Revenge is all you have left…” He sniffles, refusing to look at me. Then he grunts, “This is done.” His voice is shaking, though he’s fighting to disguise it. Putting up a wall between us. My heart is bleeding out in my chest. “Whatever we were… It’s over.”
And then he walks out.
Turns and storms away from me. He fucking leaves me, in the tombs with my vengeance. And nothing more.
Emotion pounds in my skull, so hard I can barely see. My vision is blurring, tears welling in my eyes.
I look around for Leo… But he’s not fucking there.
“You’re your own worst enemy, Trevel,” Dr. Love says.
Like dropping a match into a pool of kerosene, I ignite in blazing wrath.
Storming over, I launch myself at him. Shoving him onto his back, my hands are immediately around his throat.
“You think I don’t know that?!” I roar in his face. “This is all your fault!”
“How do you figure?” He chokes a laugh that boils rage in my bloodstream, so thick it’s visceral.
“All you had to do was stay,” I seethe. “But you chose to come here, because you’re just as sick as the rest of us! You’re a bloody junkie for this shit… The depraved and the twisted. The darkness you study sets your blood on fire, doesn’t it, Doctor??” I’m shaking as my grip tightens around his neck. “You brought this on yourself! You were too cocky, and now you’re paying the price. So why shouldn’t it be me, huh?? Why shouldn’t I be the one to make you suffer??”
He simply gazes up at me, as stone-faced as ever. It’s so infuriating, I could snap his neck right now with my bare hands.
“You’ll lose him if you keep giving him reasons to go…” he croaks. “Just like Alice.”
“Shut up,” I snarl, my limbs vibrating.
“I’ve known you a long time, Trevel,” he mumbles. “You’re not worried about hurting him physically, like you were with Alice. Because you know he can handle you. So instead, you’re destroying him inside. If he’s too strong, he could break you down… And that terrifies you.”
“I’m not paying you for this head-shrinking garbage,” I simmer.
“When are you going to stop hiding from who you are? Sabotaging any and all chances at happiness because you don’t feel worthy…” He keeps going, bloody needling at me until I’m overflowing crimson from my goddamn pores. “The only way you’ll ever move on and feel something real is by accepting it…”
“Accepting what?”
“That you don’t need to be put back together,” he hums, as if it’s the simplest thing ever. “No amount of revenge will ever fix you, Trevel. Because you can’t be fixed. So let him love you broken… Or spend forever alone, looking for a partner in crime who doesn’t exist.”
My face pales. I feel the color drain as I stare at him in shock.
Fuck you.
My muscles stiffen. My chest burns.
Fuck you fuck you—
“Fuck you!” Growling out loud, I lift and slam his head down onto the concrete floor.
He winces in pain, but it doesn’t feel good like it’s supposed to, and I hate it!
“It was supposed to feel better than this,” I choke out, jumping off of him. “Where are you, Leo?! Stop hiding every time I need you, selfish bloody bastard!”
Staggering away, tripping over my feet, I race back upstairs, going straight to the room where Dr. Johansson and Dr. Hassan are working. I fly in like a bat out of hell, and they both look up, startled.
“Get down there!” I roar, wheezing and shaking. “Right now! Make him fucking bleed. I want him to rue the day he ever stepped into my life like he could fucking help me, because he can’t!” I’m heaving, fisting my hair as I breathe out ragged, “No one can.”
Their faces are the picture of baffled uncertainty, but I just growl again, “Go. Now.”
And they nod, grabbing their bags of supplies and sauntering off to obey my orders. But the power in it is doing nothing for me. I feel nothing but impotence and insecurity.
Storming to the kitchen, I ransack the place for anything that will numb me. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to feel anything.
What I wouldn’t give for some bloody heroin right now.
The Ivory’s cartel blokes must be able to get it. Maybe I could blow one of them for a bag…
The way my brain goes to this so easily, like a physiological response, only makes me angrier, and makes me hate myself more. After several minutes of tearing through the mansion like a twister, I stumble upon The Ivory’s bar. Grabbing the first bottle I see, I unscrew the cap with trembling fingers. I’m about to dump the entire thing down my throat when I feel something buzzing in my pocket.
I pause, bottle at my lips. Huh…
Pulling out the cellphone, I stare at it in shock. It’s ringing. It’s on and actually ringing.
I take too long balking at it, and end up missing the call. Placing the bottle of booze down with a thunk, I rush around a corner for some privacy, taking a deep breath. And then I redial the number that just called.
It rings only twice before a male voice answers. “Hello?”
My lips part. But I say nothing.
“Hello?? Joy??” the person asks frantically.
Well, that explains whose phone it is.
And that voice is awfully familiar…
My heart rate evens out, lips sloping into a grin. “Hello… Luthor.”
I’m wading through emotional muck, waist-deep and sinking.
Byron… ended things. He hates me.
Dr. Love is still trying to help me, despite my having him tortured.
And then that phone call…
They’re not dead.
I just spoke to Luthor on the phone. He and Ren are very much alive. I’m not sure how, or where they are. Those are questions I would have asked if I were a good person. But I’m not.
Luthor and Ren are worried about their friends, about Byron. Because they are good.
But me?
I’m pure black mold.
I barely remember what I said to Luthor. Just raving resentment and disdain while rippling with the need to make something happen. If anything, it sounded much more like Leo than me.
But the part I wasn’t exaggerating about was Velle being at a disadvantage. I just can’t see how he and his men could overpower The Ivory. There’s no defeating the devil.
And if that’s the truth, wouldn’t it make sense to stay in his good graces?
I have no ties to Velle, Joy, or the others. Sure, they seem much more interesting than The Ivory’s dead-eyed soldiers. But if staying on his side keeps Byron and me alive, I’ll do what needs to be done. Even if that means playing the part of the enemy.
Hell, I’ll be the slimy, untrustworthy newcomer. If that’s what they want.
Except that it’s not that simple, apparently. Those people are Byron’s friends. He cares for them, and clearly, they care for him. But they’ve cast him aside…
Because of me.
“No amount of revenge will ever fix you, Trevel… Let him love you broken… Or spend forever alone, looking for a partner in crime who doesn’t exist.”
I cover my face with my hands, growling and crying into my palms.
Sod it all. What am I doing??
Giving up Byron for this? I don’t want this…
I’m not in love with Lemuel, and I don’t care that he left…
The conversation with Luthor was the last straw. I told him that Byron wanted revenge on Felix… But he doesn’t. He doesn’t need it anymore, and neither do I. Because there’s something so much better here…
“If it weren’t for Dr. Love… you wouldn’t have met Byron…”
Picking myself up is difficult. I’m so heavy with regret, lightheaded from unnecessary anger. But as soon as I’m standing, I feel sturdy once more. I’m determined.
I rush back down to the tombs, immediately hit by the sounds of my doctor being tortured. It sheets my flesh with chills.
Emerging from the darkness, I wander over to where Hassan and Johansson have Lemuel chained to the wall by his neck, wrists, and ankles. Bag over his head, he’s shirtless, decorated in electrodes and burn marks. They’re using hot pokers—some sort of pain measurement test that seems like overkill.
Of course it is. It’s just torture and humiliation. They stand to gain nothing with this… Nothing but revenge.
The Ivory’s revenge, not mine.
This isn’t for me. I don’t need this.
“You’ll never come first. Your wants, needs… They’ll all take a backseat to his. Because he is all of it.”
“The best revenge is not needing it…”
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Hassan grins, taunting, “Where’s your pretty monster boyfriend, Lemuel? If only he could save you like you saved him… From Templeton. And me.”
Dr. Love is grumbling, but his words are muffled, most likely by a gag in his mouth.
“I was disappointed that you burst in that day… Before I could finish my experiment,” he goes on, sadistic glee in his eyes turning my stomach. “If only Felix knew how much shit you’ve been taking because of him… He might come out of hiding.”
Johansson flicks on a device and murmurs, “One-sixty.”
He presses a button, and Dr. Love jerks violently.
Electroshock… Jesus.
“Let me,” I grunt, stomping over with my hand out.
They both look up. Hassan steps aside, watching as I grab the long, pointed metal rod he’s been using to burn and pierce Lemuel’s skin.
I rip the bag off of his head. “Look at me, Doctor,” I growl. His eyes slowly creep open. “I want you to see all of this…”
Our gazes lock, his amber irises housing the same rage and helplessness I’ve been seeing for weeks on end. And yet, still, he shows no remorse…
Like he said to me, in the woods. “No qualms, or hesitations.”
And I get it now. I do know that feeling.
“Now we’re even,” I whisper.
And I spin fast, stabbing the metal rod right through Hassan’s neck.
Blood squirts from the wound, his eyes wide and bulging as he falls to the floor with a thud.
Johansson’s face morphs in shock and terror. He stumbles backward, attempting to flee. But tackle him to the ground. Reaching for the chain of Lemuel’s shackles, I wrap it around Johansson’s neck. I pull with all my might, choking him brutally, using my body weight to hold him down.
A guttural roar leaves my lips as I yank both ends of the chain. There’s a distinct crunch. And Johansson goes limp beneath me.
Panting, my breathing echoes through the cold, damp space as I feel a weight being lifted from my shoulders. Interestingly, it’s the same kind of release I felt when I killed the four men who raped me. When I killed Andres. It’s freedom from my own chains.
I’m flying, higher than the best hit I’ve ever had.
The best revenge is not needing it anymore.
Wiping my forehead with my hand, I look over the bodies beside me… The pool of blood seeping closer to where I’m slumped on the floor. I peer up at Dr. Love. His eyes are round.
“I suppose it really was inevitable, yea?” I breathe out, stuffing my hand into Johansson’s pocket and pulling out a set of keys to the cuffs and shackles.
Standing up on shaky legs, I remove the gag from Lemuel’s mouth and free him from his chains. He stares down at the dead assholes, spitting out some blood right on Hassan’s body.
“Thank you, Trevel,” he says sincerely after a beat.
“I didn’t do it for you.” I pull him out of the way before Hassan’s blood reaches his foot.
“I know,” he hums. “But still. I owe you.”
I give him a skeptical side-eye. “I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”
“No. You were right,” he grumbles. “I’m here because I chose to be. And I deserve it, just as much as the rest of them.”
“You didn’t deserve that.” I gulp, guilt easing out in my tone. “No one does…”
“Maybe not, but it’s not your fault.” He stares at me until I eventually meet his gaze. “I am sorry, Trevel… For leaving you the way I did. I want you to know that I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for you. Having you as a patient… it changed everything. You were a gift I didn’t deserve.”
My throat is closing, chest constricting so tightly I can barely breathe. I’m astounded… That after everything I’ve done to him over the past few weeks, he’s actually standing here, thanking me.
Giving me credit for being his first monster.
And it dawns on me. This is the revenge I wanted. Better than weeks of spilling his blood and inflicting him pain.
All I’ve ever wanted was to be seen.
I clear my throat, fighting off the pressure building up in my skull. “We’ll have to do something with the bodies…”
“I can help.”
My face springs up at the sound of Byron’s voice. He’s standing there, lips pursed to dampen his smile.
My real partner in crime… He’s here.
Dr. Love nudges me, and I peek at him. “Share the burden. He’s strong enough to help you carry it.”
We spent all night debating our next moves—Lemuel, Byron, and myself. Together.
Quite the turn of events.
We’ve also been debating what to do about the very dead twats formerly known as Doctors Johansson and Hassan. I suggested hacking them up and inconspicuously burying one piece at a time in the garden, and while we all agreed that seemed fun, ultimately we decided it might arouse suspicions if Byron and I took up gardening out of the blue in the middle of a war.
I suppose I’m still trying to figure out which is the lie from our game all those weeks ago… It’s between loves gardening and has never sneezed, and I just cannot fathom that the latter is true.
At any rate, our primary focus was tending to Lemuel’s wounds and getting him cleaned up, since he was in pretty rough shape. We did what we could with limited options, brought him some clothes from the guards’ quarters, and I must say, he’s much better off. Still, there’s an air of wrath about him, decorating his aura in a palette of flames.
While we were fixing him up, Lem told Byron and me about what these doctors had done to Felix when he was away—evidently dealing with the aftermath of my killings. As a sexual assault survivor myself, I felt a deep pang of empathy for The Carver. I can say with full sincerity that Dr. Hassan will be rotting in Hell right alongside this Templeton character—whom Felix and Lem already exacted their bloody revenge on—and his boss, Johansson, whose lack of interference makes him just as complicit, as far as we’re all concerned.
The thing is, Lem’s collar was removed when Hassan and Johansson chained him up, meaning he can escape if he wants to. But as eager as he is to find Felix, he’s insistent on being patient, and smart.
The Ivory quite literally has eyes everywhere, his mob of cartel men scurrying to and fro at all times like busy insects. I’m not certain they even sleep. Sneaking out would be a highly dangerous venture, and once The Ivory realizes Lem is gone, he’ll be out for blood… Most likely mine to start.
We weren’t able to locate the remote for the collars anywhere on either of the bodies, but the good news is that few people know the tombs even exist. Nobody comes down here.
That’s not to say The Ivory won’t decide to pop in on Lemuel just for funzies, so we are on a bit of a timer to figure something out.
Byron and I aren’t exactly itching to leave the way Lemuel is, though. After all, he’s a direct enemy of Manuel Blanco, and he has someone out there waiting for him. Velle sees us both as enemies now, and if The Ivory finds out I killed the doctors, there goes our good graces.
I’ve isolated Byron in a very precarious position. The guilt of causing so much strife and impending doom for him is heavier than cinderblocks stacked on my shoulders. Whether I chose it or not, I’m indebted to Manuel Blanco; trapped in a labyrinth of calamity, and unable to see a way out.
“You’ll never come first… Because he is all of it.”
Those words keep coming back to me, from the hushed voice of a stranger behind a thick metal door. It makes me think about the cage in the aviary…
“So we just… leave the bodies here?” Byron asks, frowning at them.
Lem nods. “It’ll make it more believable that I was the one who killed them.” His amber eyes sparkle with veracity.
Apparently, he’s been gunning for the doctors since Felix was assaulted, hence his defecting to Team Velle. Losing the trust of Manuel Blanco threw a wrench into his plans, but then I killed them. Unknowingly doing him a solid while also sparing him from excessive torture. And now he’s in my debt—his words, not mine.
