A tear leaked out of my eye. This time it was one of grief and not pleasure.
“He had Mason kill her and stage it as a break-in gone wrong. He stabbed her to death, Scar. It was brutal and bloody. It’s an unsolved killing because that fuck was good at covering his tracks, but we knew. We fucking knew it had to be Stuart’s doing. When we found out Mason had done it on Stuart’s orders, that he was the one who killed her, we were fucking livid. But we couldn’t touch him because of his fucking daddy.”
Mason had killed my mother. He’d killed my fucking mother. Rage, hurt, and pain echoed around the void in my chest where she should be.
“I’m sorry, my little Scar. I’m sorry you have to find out this way, but I’m done hiding the truth from you. Done with secrets. You need to know why we hate him so much. Why we wish he was fucking dead.”
They’d asked me to kill him once. Or, at least, they made me think I was killing him. And now? Now I wanted to rip his fucking face off. I wanted to tear him to pieces. The red mist descended. I did nothing to stop it. Nothing at all.
“Let me up.”
West moved off me and the table without hesitation. He tucked himself away as I crawled off the table. I could feel his cum leaking out of me, but I literally did not give two shits about it. Pulling my clothes back on, I zipped up my jeans and stared at West. His expression almost decimated me. As if his words hadn’t already done the trick. But I wasn’t angry with him. No, I was fucking livid at Mason.
“Give me your knife.”
“Little Scar.”
“Thank you for telling me. Now give me the knife and don’t get in my way.”
West slid it from his pocket. I knew he would have it on him. He never went anywhere without it. I put my hand out. He placed it in my palm but didn’t let it go.
“You’re not angry with me, are you?”
I shook my head, then I reached out with my other hand and ran my fingers down his chest.
“No. I promise I’m not.”
He released the knife. I stared down at it. Then I flipped it open and gripped it in my fist, my eyes turning towards Mason. He was looking between us with confusion. I had enjoyed Prescott and West fucking me in front of him. It gave me a high to see him so tortured over it after all the shit he’d put me through.
And now… now I was going to kill him because he’d killed my mother. I was going to avenge her death. It was the least I could fucking do. My mother would have never given up searching for me. Never. Mason had taken her away. That was unforgivable.
I walked around the table with the knife clutched between my fingers and approached Mason. I don’t know what he could see in my expression, but it couldn’t be anything good. Then I ripped the fucking tape off his mouth.
“Scar—”
“Oh no, I didn’t take that off so you could fucking talk,” I ground out, cutting him off.
“I’m—”
I slapped him across his face.
“You killed my mother. You killed her in cold fucking blood.”
He tipped his face up towards me as the blood drained from it.
“I…”
“Now you can’t talk? Fuck you! Just fuck you.”
“I’m sorry.”
The fact he’d even tried to apologise to me was rage-inducing.
“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry? You murdered her for him. You took away my only fucking family after he stole me.”
The abject misery on his face didn’t fill me with sympathy or compassion. In fact, it made me want to kill him more. To make him feel every ounce of pain my mother must have felt. She’d looked for me. She’d wanted me back, and he made sure I could never be reunited with her. All for fucking Stuart Carver.
“Scarlett…”
“I hate you!” I screamed in his face. “I fucking hate you!”
My hand came up with the knife in it. It sailed through the air and hit my target. It hit him right in the fucking chest. For a moment, neither of us did anything. Then he looked down at the knife. I choked on my own breath before I ripped it out of his chest.
“I hope you burn.”
Everything went still for the briefest of moments, then I stabbed him again. And again. And again. It reminded me of killing the man in the warehouse, but this time, I was in control. I knew what I was doing.
I was aiming to kill.
“Guess what, fucker? They killed your friends for me. They fucking murdered them. And now you’re going to die. Die drowning in your own fucking blood.”
I heard footsteps followed by an exclamation behind me, but I ignored it. Mason’s expression was horrifying, but I didn’t care. My heart was frozen over. He had shown himself to be nothing and no one. A selfish piece of shit who never cared about me. He only cared about himself. And I was his fucking reaper.
He choked a minute later, blood gurgling from his mouth. I watched the life drain from his eyes. They were wide with shock like he never expected me to be the one to take his life. Well, it served him fucking right.
“Scarlett!”
Drake’s voice broke through my blood-fuelled haze. I stepped back, ripping the knife from Mason’s chest one last time. He was a dead, bloody mess. And it was fucking glorious.
My chest heaved as my arm dropped to my side. I turned my head and saw the four of them staring at me.
Francis had a proud look in his eyes, but he was trying not to show it. Prescott’s pupils were blown and his lips curled up into a smile, like the sight of me murdering Mason was hot as fuck. Drake looked like he wanted to blow a fucking fuse. But West? Well, he looked at me the way he had always done. Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. And he loved me.
My feet advanced forward before my brain even registered I was on the move. I dropped the knife on the table then I was on West, my bloody hands in his hair tugging him down until my mouth crashed against his. I pressed myself against him, forcing him into accepting my affection. Into accepting my kiss.
West was frozen for a long moment, clearly unprepared for me to attack his face like this. Then his arms were around me and his tongue was in my mouth. He backed me up against the table, shoving me down on it and covering his body with mine. He kissed me like he was drowning, and I responded in kind, moaning into his mouth. His fingers tangled in my hair, clutching me to him as if his whole life depended on it. I couldn’t get enough of this feeling. Of the sensation of his tongue against mine, devouring my mouth with each swipe. It was messy. My hands were in his hair, covering him in Mason’s blood, but neither of us cared. All I could think, see, and feel was him. All I could do was grind against his body and kiss him until I could hardly breathe.
West pulled back slightly, his amber eyes full of heat and his mouth smeared with blood.
“There’s my little warrior,” he murmured.
Then his mouth was back on mine, kissing me with such gentleness, I almost cried. It was the way he’d kissed me when we’d been sixteen. His grip on me was still rough, but his mouth was so soft and sweet.