I froze, and pulling my eyebrows down, I stated, “I know. You killed Brother Moses.”
“But I’ve killed a shit ton more. A shit ton, Maddie.” His eyes flicked away, then looked back. “And I’ve liked it. I… fuck… I like it. I like killing. There’s just something in me, Maddie, that wants to kill. That has to. I can’t imagine it ever going away. I think… I think all that was done to me as a kid made me need to kill.”
Dropping my hand, I pulled myself further up his body, and said, “But only bad people. Yes? You only need to kill the ones that do bad things?”
Flame shrugged. “It’s always our—the club’s—enemies. Men we use to get information. People that fuck the club over.” His chin nudged in my direction. “People who fuck with you.”
My stomach turned at the slightest thought of taking a person’s life. Flame’s hand touched my face, his gaze searching mine. “What are you thinking, Maddie? Your face has changed but I don’t know what your expression fucking means.”
Sighing, I responded with the truth. “I cannot imagine taking someone else’s life. I know it is the way of the Hangmen; Mae and Lilah have explained this to me many times. But… I do not know. I do not know that if it came to it, I would have been able to take Brother Moses’ life. I do not believe that it is within me to kill another human being, no matter how deserved. I suppose… I suppose it makes me wonder what is within you to actually go through with it. What goes through your mind to want to do it?”
Flame was silent for many long seconds. The arm remaining on my waist increased its grip, then he whispered, “Him. Every time I kill, I’m fucking killing him. I see him in place of them. I fuck them up. I hack them to fucking pieces with my knife, but I’m only seeing him. Every time I kill, I kill him in my head... for my mama... for Isaiah… for me… for what he turned me into. For what he fucking did to me in that cellar.”
And just like that, my heart clenched on receiving his confession. At the pain he must harbor in his heart, caused by the man he thought he could trust. Stroking my hand through his hair, I said, “You are a good man, Flame. You were dealt a bad hand.”
He shook his head. “I’m fucking not, Maddie. I’m a killer. Deep down I like to kill, because of him. I’m as fucked up as he is. I like to cause people pain.”
“No,” I argued, but Flame froze beneath me. “Flame!” I whispered louder.
When his eyes slowly turned back to me, he asked, brokenly, “What if he is there tomorrow?”
And my heart broke again. Flame reached up and held onto my wrist, and he elaborated, “What if we get to that fucking house tomorrow and he’s there? What if he’s still in that fucking house? Still fucking living and breathing like nothing ever happened? Still fucking going to that bastard church? Not even caring about the shit that he’s done? Not caring what he made me into?”
Flame’s eyes had grown impossibly wide. He swallowed hard. And then I knew. I knew that he was awake and fretting, because he was terrified. Although he did not show the emotion on his face or in his voice, I knew that real fear was coursing through his veins. And I realized that it was probably the first time in many years that he had felt this particular emotion. He was Flame from the Hangmen. He was the brother most feared by their enemies. The one that cut people up with his skillful blades.
But right now he was scared.
I tried to imagine how I would feel if Brother Moses were to suddenly walk out of the trees, at this very moment. I could feel shivers accosting my body, just at this brief thought. But for Flame, in the morning, his tormentor may very well stare him in the face. And he was frightened. Flame, my strong huge protector, was terrified at the very thought.