Page 93 of Decimation

There’s no fear in me in this moment. Only a deep, perverse amusement.

“And if I don’t?” I reply. My voice is a soft, silken taunt. I’m enjoying this. Every second. I’m prodding the beast, seeing if the chains will hold, seeing how close he is to truly tipping over the edge once and for all.

A sneer twists his own lips. “Then I will have you hauled back to your little cell,” he whispers, his voice a razor’s edge. “I will have you tied back up just as you were before.”

He pauses, leaning closer, letting his venom drip into my ear. “And you can watch as I fuck that bitch within an inch of her life. You can watch her forget your name, you can watch her scream mine.”

My smile vanishes. The amusement in my eyes doesn’t just die; it’s murdered, replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated rage. For a single, triumphant heartbeat, he knows he’s won. He’s pierced my armour.

Then my fist connects with his jaw.

The crack isn’t loud, just a damp, sickening click of knuckle against bone, but it unhinges the room. His head whips sideways, a rope of spittle spinning from his lips, and for a split second I feel the deep, savage satisfaction of impact singing all the way up my arm. Then his weight crashes into me, a full-body lunge forged from a lifetime of hatred, and we go backwards. The drinks cabinet meets our combined bulk with a shriek of splintering wood. Glasses explode; a decanter rolls, gushing amber across the floorboards. I can smell the whisky soaking into my shirt as he drives a knee into my gut, folding me over with a grunt that tastes of bile and fury.

I grab a fistful of his hair and wrench his head back hard enough to see the cords of his throat strain. A wet sound tears from his mouth, more animal than man, and he answers by slamming his elbow into my ribs. Pain bursts white and immediate, a star shell behind my eyes. I don’t let go. I can’t. Somewhere in the tangled mess of our limbs I hear my own breathing, ragged as a saw, and underneath it the whisper of his last words still curdling in my blood; scream mine, scream mine.

We go to the floor in a scramble of broken glass. The carpet bites my back, shards grind under our shoulders. He’s on top now, all sinew and spite. His fist is a piston that catches my cheek, my brow, the bridge of my nose. Each blow is a punctuation mark of rage, a full stop pressed into my flesh by the brother I was taught to love. I can taste metal where my lip has split, feel the hot drip of something trailing into my ear, but I don’t fade; I twist, buck, and swing blindly. My knuckles find his throat. He chokes, eyes bulging, and in that tiny window of air I see everything he is; nihilistic, desperate, a Grand Master mouldering from the inside out, and I know he sees the same in me. Then he rears up, both hands fisting the front of my jacket, and smashes my skull against the floorboards.

My head rocks back, a spray of blood, his or mine I don’t know, arcing into the lamplight.

And then he sees it in my eyes. Not fear, not even anger anymore. It’s a calculation. A cold, chilling assessment. I see it in his, too. The abyss. The absolute, nihilistic void of a man who has nothing left to lose.

I push myself off the wall. I don’t speak, I just straighten the cuffs of my jacket, a gesture so profoundly me, so controlled in the face of this carnage that the rage almost surges back. I wipe a smear of blood from my split lip with the back of my hand, look at it for a moment, then turn on my heel.

I walk to the door, I pull the heavy oak door open and for a second I pause, my profile a stark, bloody cameo against the dim light of the hallway.

I don’t look back, I can’t. I just step through and am gone, leaving the door ajar.

“Now. It has to happen now.”

I snarl, not caring that I’m being irrational, illogical too.

The steering wheel feels like a live thing in my hands, vibrating with the force of the engine as I tear down the dark country lane. The headlights cut through the dimming light, illuminating the narrow road ahead, but it’s not enough. The shadows twist and shift, playing tricks on my eyes. My foot presses harder on the accelerator, and the car lurches forward with a growl.

Ezekiel’s voice is tinny and distant over the roar of the engine. “Lazarus, there are things that need to be put in place. We can’t rush this.”

I swerve around a sharp bend, tyres screeching against the asphalt. My grip tightens on the wheel, knuckles white.

“Put in place?” I snap, my voice sharp and cutting. “You’ve had more than enough time, Ezekiel. I don’t give a shit about your plans or your excuses. This needs to happen now.”

The car fishtails as I take another turn too fast, gravel spraying up against the undercarriage. I correct the wheel, but I don’t slow down. I can’t.

Ezekiel says something, his voice muffled, and I don’t catch it. It doesn’t matter. I’m done listening to his half-assed reassurances.

He claims to be a prophet, and he can’t even organise a basic fucking kidnapping?

“If you can’t handle this,” I growl, the words spilling out like venom, “then I’ll act myself. And when I do, you’ll be out of everything. Do you understand me?”

The threat hangs in the air, and I can hear from the way Ezekiel breathes that he knows I’m not bluffing. He also knows I’ll tear him apart if he gets in my way.

“I can handle this,” he says finally, his tone more serious now. “I’ve received word that they’ll be traveling back to the U.K. We’ll strike then.”

I let out a harsh breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. The car jerks as I hit a pothole, and the wheel twists violently in my hands. I wrench it back into control, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“Good. Make sure it’s done,” I bark, my voice raw with frustration.

He murmurs something else, but I don’t wait to hear it. I end the call, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat with a clatter. The engine roars louder as I press the accelerator to the floor, the car surging forward like a beast unleashed.

Antonio’s wife is the key to all of this. If Ezekiel can’t get to her, then everything falls apart like a house of cards, and I can’t afford for that to happen. Not now. Not when I’m so damned close.