Eric Spellman is still unconscious while we drag him into the abandoned shed, the place we claimed as ours many years ago. There’s no power here, out deep in the middle of the woods, so the floodlights are our only source of light. Everything is wrapped in plastic. The floors. Even the walls. Except for the wooden chair in the middle of the room.
Binding his limp body to the chair with ropes, anger erupts through me. I backhand him, again, and again, until his eyes flutter open.
A look of intense horror crosses his face as he looks over his surroundings.
“What the fuck,” he slurs, suddenly panicking. “Where am I?” he demands, struggling to break free from the ropes. His horrified eyes meet mine. “What the fuck is this?”
“Shut the fuck up, you piece of shit,” I threaten, pulling out my knife. “You really thought you could get away with it. With putting your filthy fucking hands on her—”
“Who?” he begs, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights.
“There’s more than one, isn’t there?” Jensen asks, hitting him hard.
Without warning, urine trickles down his ankle, pitter-pattering against the plastic covering on the floor.
I laugh, with no humor intended. “You’re fucking pathetic,” I spit out, jumping forward and pressing the tip of the blade against his throat.
“Please,” he cries out, shaking, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Usually, I enjoy taking my time with my kills,” I sharply breathe, ripping off his mask and glaring straight into his eyes. “But it’s almost midnight, and we intend to make sure that you don’t get one single fucking breath of the New Year.”
Plunging my knife into his stomach, he lets out a low grumble. Twisting the blade inside his flesh, I cut into him further. Adrenaline consumes my entire being the moment I see the defeated look on his face.
Quinn unexpectedly comes to my mind, and I remember how hard she cried to us after telling us what he did to her.
Red. Red. Red.
That’s all I fucking see.
Blood seeps through his white shirt, but it’s not enough. Going into a fit of rage, I continue to stab him. Again, again, and again. Until I completely lose my mind, right on the verge of blacking out.
Dropping my knife to the ground, I push over his chair and straddle him. My fists slam against his face, over and over. Blood splatters everywhere, painting the walls. The sound of his bones crunching doesn’t faze me. Doesn’t make me stop. Even though at this point, he’s unrecognizable.
“Damien,” Jensen repeats, blow after blow. “Damien.”
Yet, I can’t seem to stop.
“He’s dead,” he loudly urges.
Holding up my fist, I lean back, staring down at the mess I’ve made in silence.
Contentment.
“What time is it?” I ask, savoring the sharp pains of my broken knuckles.
“We have time,” he tells me.
“I almost blacked out again.”
He looks down at the lifeless, unidentifiable body beneath me, and nods. “I know.”
Quinn
My eyes flutter open.
“Damien,” I breathe, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace.
He sits on the edge of the bed, holding me close. “I’m here,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have your gift.”
My eyes light up with excitement. “Really?” I ask.