Page 122 of Touch of Hate
But…
One lash, another, another.
Quick, brisk, stinging.
He’s going to break the skin.
He’s going to scar this kid.
This child.
Rebecca… William… they need to die. This needs to end, and the best way to do that is to kill them. Now, while we have the chance.
Crack! Crack!
The crying ceases, but the fucker is still beating him.
That’s what makes me burst through the door rather than continue to the main house. It’s what makes me seek out the sadistic prick lashing a little boy for being a little boy, lashing him long past the point of punishment.
I’m snarling, panting like a rabid dog by the time I burst into the shower room, where a tall, lanky man hardly older than me holds a belt looped in his hand while a small, skinny little boy—naked from the waist down and covered in crisscrossing welts—lies face down on the tile floor, breathing but otherwise still.
“Who are you?” He’s breathing hard, his face flushed, and his eyes glittering.
I know that light. I’ve seen it before. Pure fucking evil.
Scarlet squeals in the moment it takes me to raise my arm. “Ren!”
Too late. I’m already squeezing the trigger, already firing on all the monsters of my youth. Monsters who still live and breathe in my subconscious and probably will for this little boy, too. This poor kid.
The bullet is already leaving the barrel, crossing the room, and tearing its way through the bastard’s head.
The sound is deafening against so much tile. Tile painted red when the back of his head explodes and splatters the wall behind him. His eyes are wide open, staring in sightless surprise by the time he hits the floor.
My ears ring too loudly for me to hear what Scarlet is saying, but whatever it is has her tugging my arm. Her eyes are wild, and her face pale.
Finally, her voice begins filtering through as the ringing fades. “We have to go. It was too loud.”
Fuck. She’s right.
By the time we burst outside, lights are flipping on behind two windows in the longhouses.
“Shit!” I take her by the hand, sprinting for the nearest longhouse again, running full-out in the narrow space before the wall and the fence.
We have to reach the gate before somebody closes it.
I shouldn’t have brought her.
I shouldn’t have shot him.
He shouldn’t have hit a kid.
I knew you would fuck this up.
River’s voice gets me moving faster, bolting straight for the gate and finding it standing open once we’ve cleared the longhouse. They haven’t discovered the empty guardhouse yet. There’s still a chance.
We pass the arsenal shed at a full run; the sound of raised voices and slamming doors drowns out Scarlet’s panicked gasps for breath.
Just a little farther. A little more.