57. Fifty-Six

The crunch of gravel beneath my boots seemed deafening as Shepherd and I approached the old factory. Its crumbling brick facade loomed in the darkness, partially obscured by skeletal trees that clawed at the night sky. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket, fingers brushing the cool metal of one of my knives. A small comfort.

Shepherd strode ahead, his broad shoulders squared with determination. Always so fucking sure of himself. I envied that.

Yellow light spilled from a few windows, casting eerie shadows across the weed-choked lot. The Laskin's “kill factory,” as the family so lovingly called it. My last visit there hadn’t gone so well. Maybe this time would be different.

As we neared the heavy metal door, my heart started hammering against my ribcage. I didn't trust Algerone as far as I could throw him, especially not after he’d held a gun to my head. I was surprised Shepherd was even willing to meet with him. Whatever peace offering he claimed to have for us, I had a sick feeling it was just power play.

Shepherd grabbed the big metal door and slid it aside, only to pause when he saw Xander and Xavier waiting for us.

Xander cocked his head and flashed us a cheeky grin, sitting on a pile of boxes in a miniskirt and stilettos, makeup on point. Xavier stood beside him, his hands tucked into the pockets of a black leather jacket. He had the heavy boots, and the artfully ripped up jeans to match.

Shepherd glanced between them. “What are you two doing here?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Xavier offered, running his fingers through his dark hair.

“We’re the ones who ran the fucker down.” Xander hopped down from the boxes, somehow managing to land gracefully in those heels.

“Who?” I demanded, stepping forward.

“Father Ezekiel.” Everyone turned at the sound of Algerone’s voice as he strode into the hallway. He looked just as he had the last time I’d seen him, wearing one of his expensive charcoal suits, not a hair out of place. He walked over, holding out a beige file. “It’s all there, put together by Xavier over the last few weeks with the resources and backing of Lucky Losers Inc. Everything you ever didn’t want to know about the biggest monster in your past.”

“This is your peace offering?” Shepherd scoffed, taking the file.

“No, Father Ezekiel is,” Algerone said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “He’s strung up in the next room, courtesy of a joint effort between Xander and Xavier. The two work surprisingly well together. When they work.” He shot his son a glare.

Xander shrugged. “Xion and Boone helped. They just didn’t want to drive all the way out here. I think Boone’s scared of you, Shepherd.”

I stared at Algerone, my mind reeling. After all these years, Father Ezekiel was finally within reach? Part of me couldn't quite believe it. The fucker had been a ghost, always ten steps ahead of us, leaving nothing but misery and chaos in his wake. And now he was supposedly trussed up like a fucking turkey in the next room, just waiting for us? It seemed too good to be true.

Shepherd was already flipping through the file, his dark eyes scanning the pages rapidly. I edged closer, trying to get a look over his shoulder. Grainy surveillance photos, bank statements, property records, transcripts of phone calls... Shit. The Laskins and Lucky Losers hadn't cut any corners. This was the motherlode we'd been after for years.

My gaze flicked back to Algerone. The smug bastard just stood there with a slight smile, like a spider surveying a fly caught in its web. I didn't buy this sudden generosity for a second. Algerone never did anything that didn't benefit him in some way. I'd learned that the hard way.

“So what's the catch?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “You just hand over everything we need to take down Ezekiel, no strings attached? Forgive me if I'm a little fucking skeptical.”

Algerone spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture, but his shark's smile never wavered. “No catch.”

Xavier sighed. “The catch is that you have to forgive him. At least, that’s what he wants. And believe me, it’s not out of the goodness of his heart. Dad’s a bona fide psychopath. He literally does not give two shits about you. But I believe he cares about me, Xander, and Xion, even if it’s only because he wants us to preserve his legacy. It’s a little twisted, but…”

Xander snorted. “We’re already more twisted than a pack of pretzels as it is. What’s a little more fuckery in this fucked up little family of ours?”

Algerone frowned and took another step forward. “The point is this. I am prepared to recognize, however begrudgingly, that you are an important figure in my sons’ lives. That isn’t going to change. I reasoned it would be better for everyone if we found some common ground and moved forward from this unpleasant business.”

“Better for your bottom line, you mean,” Xavier quipped, drawing a warning glare from his father. “Look, Shepherd. I know you don’t like him. You don’t trust him. But Dad’s got a shit ton of resources and, like he said… He’s not going away. We’ve all got to figure out a way to live and work together to some degree. So…” He shrugged.

“So Dad’s kind of like a cat,” Xander explained. “He brought you part of his kill because he wants you to like him. Plus, Xavier kind of made him do it.”

Algerone sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

I stared at Algerone, trying to wrap my head around what he was offering. Father Ezekiel, the sadistic fuck who'd tortured me, Daniella, and countless other kids in that hellhole of a cult, served up on a silver platter by the man who'd held a gun to my head not too long ago. It was almost too much to process.

I glanced at Shepherd, who was still intently scanning the file, his brow furrowed in concentration. He seemed to be looking for any holes or inconsistencies in the information, any sign that this was a trap. I knew he wouldn't let his guard down easily, especially not around Algerone.

Xavier cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him. “Look, I get it. This is a lot to take in. But we've been working our asses off to track down Ezekiel and gather all this intel. Xander and I, we did this for you and Daniella. Because believe it or not, we actually give a shit about you guys.”

Xander nodded, his usually playful expression replaced by something more serious. “I know we've had our differences, but at the end of the day, we're all fighting the same enemies here. The Laskins and Lucky Losers, we could be a fucking powerhouse if we worked together.”

I chewed on my lip ring, turning their words over in my mind. As much as I hated to admit it, they were right. The Laskins were a force to be reckoned with, but with Algerone’s connections and his money? We could do a lot of good for a lot of people.

I let out a slow breath, my gaze drifting back to the heavy metal door that supposedly led to Father Ezekiel. After all these years, could it be that easy? Just walk through that door and confront the monster who'd haunted my nightmares for years?

My fingers twitched with the urge to reach for my knife again, to feel its reassuring weight in my hands. But I forced myself to be still, to keep my face neutral even as a tornado of emotions raged inside me. Rage, fear, disbelief, a tiny flicker of hope...

“Eli.” Shepherd's deep voice cut through the chaos of my thoughts. I glanced over to find him watching me intently, the file tucked under his arm. “Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's just... let's do this.”

Shepherd studied me for a moment longer before turning back to Algerone. “All right. We'll play along for now. But if this is some kind of trick...” He let the unspoken threat hang in the air.

Algerone simply inclined his head, that infuriating little smile still playing about his lips. “No tricks. Father Ezekiel is my gift to you. What you do with him now is your business.”

With that, he stepped aside and gestured toward the door.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my fucking throat as I stared at that metal door. Part of me wanted to bolt, to get as far away from this place and these people as I could. But a bigger part, the part that had been screaming for vengeance all these years, propelled me forward.

I reached for the door handle, my fingers trembling slightly as I curled them around the cold metal. I could feel Shepherd's presence behind me, solid and reassuring. He had my back, like always.

With a deep breath, I wrenched the door open and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood. And there, strung up like a piece of meat in the center of the room, was Father Ezekiel.

He was naked from the waist up, his pale skin mottled with bruises and crisscrossed with angry red welts. His arms were bound above his head, his wrists bloody where the ropes had dug in. Duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes... those dark eyes that had haunted me for years... they snapped to mine as I entered.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. It was like I was a scared teenager again, cowering in the corner of the punishment room as Ezekiel loomed over me. The sour stench of his sweat, the clink of his belt buckle as he pulled it free.

I stood frozen, my heart jackhammering against my ribs as those same eyes bored into me. Ezekiel's gaze held a twisted mix of malice and disdain, even trussed up and beaten to hell.

Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I'd played this moment over in my head a thousand times, dreamed up a hundred ways to make him suffer the way he'd hurt so many of us. But now, faced with the reality of him, I felt like that scared, broken kid again.

“Eli...” Shepherd's low voice and the weight of his hand on my shoulder grounded me. Reminded me I wasn't alone this time. I had people in my corner now, people who'd fight for me, kill for me. Die for me.

I shrugged off Shepherd's hand and stalked forward, snatching a knife from the table of torture implements laid out so thoughtfully by the Laskins. The blade glinted in the harsh light and Ezekiel's eyes followed it, something eager in his expression.

I pressed the knife to the bobbing hollow of his throat. The silver chain of Ezekiel's rosary lay splayed across his sweat- slicked chest. How many times had he made me kiss that same fucking rosary, press my split lips to the cold metal as I choked out tearful thanks for his beatings, his violations? The memories threatened to pull me under, to drown me in that same helpless rage and terror I'd felt back then.

I pushed the knife harder against his throat. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, you sick fuck?”

A muffled noise escaped from behind the duct tape, Ezekiel's eyes blazing with that self-righteous fire I remembered too well. Like he was the goddamn victim here. Fury ignited in my veins and I ripped the tape off with my free hand.

“You insolent boy,” he spat, working his jaw. “I showed you the path to salvation. I cleansed you of your sins. And this is how you repay me?”

“Cleansed me?” A harsh laugh ripped from my throat. “Is that what you call it? Beating me, having me raped, telling me I deserved it? That it was God's will?” I slashed the knife across his chest, reveling in his sharp intake of breath as blood welled in a thin line. “Well, I've got news for you, Padre. Your god’s not here. I am.”

I pressed the blade deeper, watching with sick satisfaction as crimson bloomed across Ezekiel's pale flesh. He grunted in pain but kept that defiant gleam in his eyes, like he was a fucking martyr.

“You were an abomination,” Ezekiel hissed through gritted teeth. “A sinful, unnatural creature in need of correction. I tried to save your eternal soul. I showed you the Light!”

“You showed me hell.” I slashed him again, deeper this time, taking savage pleasure in his choked off groan. Hot blood ran in rivulets down his chest and arms, dripping onto the grimy concrete floor.

Behind me, Xander made a low, impressed whistle. I'd almost forgotten they were there.

I glanced at Shepherd and found him watching me steadily, no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. He knew the demons I carried, the scars that went far deeper than flesh. He nodded once, a silent signal to do what I needed to do.

I turned back to Ezekiel, my grip tightening on the blade. I grabbed a fistful of his silver hair, yanking his head back to bare his throat and pressed the knife just above where the rosary chain hung. Leaning in close, I could smell his rancid breath, feel the heat of his panting exhales against my cheek. It made my skin crawl, but I didn't pull away.

“I want you to beg,” I demanded. “I want to hear you plead for mercy, the way I pleaded all those times you had me on my knees. Beg for my mercy.”

Ezekiel's cracked lips twisted in a sneer. “I will never beg a degenerate sodomite like you for anything.”

White-hot rage surged through my veins and before I could think, I plunged the knife into the meat of his shoulder. He let out a strangled scream, but I didn’t care. He deserved worse after everything he’d done. I yanked it out and stabbed him again, and again, painting his chest in a gory canvas of revenge. I slashed the knife across his face, splitting his cheek wide open. He howled, thrashing against his bonds, blood sheeting down his front.

I cut into him again and again, moving on automatic, both mesmerized and terrified of the violence I suddenly found myself capable of. Yet no matter how much I carved into him, it would never be enough. No amount of shallow cuts could make Ezekiel truly understand the kind of soul-deep pain he'd inflicted on me and so many others. I could flay the skin from his bones and rub salt in the wounds, and still it wouldn’t match the suffering he’d inflicted on the rest of us. No torture was enough to balance the scales.

My chest heaved with effort. The knife slipped from my blood-slicked fingers, clattering to the floor. My gaze fell on the silver rosary still draped around his neck, now flecked with crimson droplets.

I reached out, curling shaky fingers around the chain, the metal cold against my heated skin. Ezekiel's eyes widened, something like fear finally sparking in those icy depths. Good. It was about damn time he felt even a fraction of the terror he'd instilled in me.

With a vicious yank, I pulled the rosary taut around his throat. He made a choked, gurgling sound, his bound hands scrabbling uselessly at the air. I pulled the chain tighter, feeling it bite into my palms as Ezekiel sputtered and gasped. His face turned a mottled purple, eyes bulging in their sockets. He made these awful, wet choking noises, his body convulsing and jerking like a fish on a hook. But I didn't let up. I couldn't.

“This is for everyone you ever hurt,” I snarled. “Every gentle soul you tried to break. “This is for Daniella, and for Noah.”

The silver bit deeper into his neck, splitting the skin.

“This is for Shepherd, for Keres and Bryce and Dex…And for Azreal.”

A wet, rattling sound emerged from his ruined throat.

“But this? This is for me .” I tightened the chain until I could hear it straining, until the metal bit into my palms deep enough to ache.

His legs kicked weakly, the fight draining out of him. His body convulsed, but I held on, my arms shaking, hands slick with sweat and blood. I gritted my teeth and wrenched the chain impossibly tighter. Ezekiel shuddered violently, a marionette dancing on strings of vengeance and silver.

With one last desperate gurgle, Ezekiel finally went limp, his body slumping forward like a marionette with its strings cut. The rosary chain suddenly shattered with a delicate tinkling sound, sending tiny beads scattering across the blood-slicked concrete like macabre confetti.

Ezekiel’s head lolled to the side, eyes blank and fixed on nothing.

I stood there panting, still clutching the chain in a white-knuckled grip. Holy fuck. I'd done it. I'd actually done it. The monster was dead.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, nearly drowning out the ringing silence in the room. I stared at Ezekiel's lifeless body, at the garish slashes marring his chest, the unnatural angle of his neck in the noose of his own broken rosary chain. His pale eyes were open but unseeing, glassy like a fucking doll's.

It didn't feel real. After so many years haunted by this sadistic fuck, by the scars he'd carved into my psyche, seeing him reduced to a broken sack of meat and bone... I couldn't process it.

I stumbled back a step, then another, until I collided with a solid warmth. Shepherd. His strong hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring me as the room swayed.

“Breathe, Eli,” came Shepherd’s voice.

I sucked in a shuddering breath, the thick copper reek of blood coating my tongue. I barely heard Shepherd, my gaze still locked on Ezekiel's corpse. It was over. It was finally fucking over.

“Eli.” Shepherd's voice cut through the static in my head. His grip on my shoulders tightened. “Look at me.”

I dragged my gaze away from Ezekiel to meet Shepherd's dark eyes.

Concern furrowed his brow as he studied my face. “Come with me,” he demanded and took my hand.

My legs felt like jelly as Shepherd guided me out of that room, away from the gruesome display of Ezekiel's lifeless body. I couldn't tear my eyes away until the door clanged shut behind us, the sound echoing through the cavernous factory space.

It was like a fucking dream, surreal and disjointed. I kept expecting to blink and find myself back in that room, Ezekiel's eyes boring into me, his voice dripping with disdain as he told me how worthless I was, how I deserved every ounce of pain. But it didn't happen. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, Shepherd's solid presence at my back pulling me forward.

We emerged into the cool night air, and I gulped it down, desperate to clear the cloying stench of blood from my lungs. The gravel crunched under my boots, the scrape of it too loud in my ears. Everything felt too bright, too sharp, like someone had cranked the dial on reality to eleven.

I stumbled to a stop next to Shepherd's SUV, bracing my hands on the hood, the metal cooler under my overheated skin. A tremor started in my fingers and spread up my arms until my whole body was shaking like I was coming down from a week-long bender.

“Fuck,” I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears pricked at the corners.

My stomach heaved, and I barely managed to make it to the scraggly bushes before I was puking my guts out, spewing bile until there was nothing left but dry heaves that felt like they were tearing my insides apart. The sour stench of vomit mixed with the lingering copper of blood, making my head spin.

I'd always known I had a well of darkness inside me, a yawning pit of rage and pain that Ezekiel had carved out long ago. But I never thought I'd be capable of... that. Of taking pleasure in making someone suffer, in watching the life drain from their eyes.

What did that make me? No better than him?

I spat into the dirt, trying to get the acrid taste out of my mouth. My head was pounding, thoughts whirling like a fucking hurricane. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until spots danced in the darkness, trying to force back the hot sting of tears.

The crunch of footsteps made me tense, but then Shepherd's low, soothing rumble washed over me. “It's just me, Eli.”

A warm, heavy hand settled between my shoulder blades, the touch grounding me even as I felt like I might vibrate out of my own skin.

“I killed him,” I croaked, my voice wrecked. “I fucking killed him, Shepherd.”

“I know,” he said simply, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on my back. “And he deserved it. Every second of it.”

I shook my head, nausea still churning in my gut. “I fucking enjoyed it. I wanted to make him hurt. I wanted him to suffer like he made me suffer. Like he made all of us suffer.” The words came faster, tumbling out of me like a dam had burst. “I'm no better than him. He turned me into a fucking monster, just like him.”

“No.” He gripped my shoulder and turned me around to face him. He grasped my chin, forcing me to meet his intent gaze. “He destroyed countless lives. He deserved far worse than what you gave him. You're not a monster for giving him a taste of his own poison.”

“Then what am I?” I searched his face, hoping he had the answer. He was so smart, so strong. He’d never break down like this.

Shepherd’s gaze softened, and he cupped my cheek. “Human,” he answered quietly. “It makes you human.”

I stared at Shepherd, his words slowly sinking into my scrambled brain. Human. The idea was almost laughable. I sure as shit didn't feel human right now. I felt... hollowed out. Raw and exposed, like someone had flayed me open and left me bleeding.

But as I looked into Shepherd's eyes, those dark, steady eyes that had always seen me, even at my worst, I felt something loosen in my chest. A painful knot that I'd been carrying for so damn long, I didn't know how to breathe without it.

“It's over,” I whispered, half to myself.

Shepherd's thumb brushed over my cheekbone, his touch achingly gentle. “Yeah, Eli. It's over. You did it. You faced that bastard and you won.”

A choked, ugly sound that might have been a laugh or a sob tore out of my throat. I fisted my hands in Shepherd's shirt, needing something solid to hold on to as the reality came crashing in.

Ezekiel was dead. I'd killed him with my own two hands. I'd watched the life drain out of his eyes, felt his pulse stutter and fail beneath my fingers. It was a heady, terrifying rush, knowing I had that kind of power, that I was capable of that kind of brutal violence.

But even as part of me recoiled from it, another part, the part that had been forged in blood and suffering, understood that it was necessary. Just another part of me, just as Keres was a part of him.

I let out a shuddering breath, leaning into Shepherd's solid warmth. His arms came around me, pulling me in close and tight. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. It was the smell of safety, of home.

We stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the dark. The night was quiet now, the screams and sobs that had been echoing in my head finally fading into silence. I focused on the steady thump of Shepherd's heart against my cheek, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Slowly, the shaking in my limbs eased, the roaring in my ears quieted. Exhaustion settled over me like a heavy blanket, weighing down my bones. I felt wrung out, scraped raw... but also strangely light. Like I'd finally set down a burden I'd been carrying for far too long.

I pulled back just enough to look up at Shepherd. In the pale moonlight, his face was all sharp angles and deep shadows, but his eyes... his eyes were soft as they met mine.

“Thank you,” I rasped, my voice still raw. “For being here.”

Shepherd's hand came up, his thumb brushing feather-light over the puffy, tender skin beneath my eyes. “I'll always be here, Eli. Always. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said and buried my face against his chest again. “All of you in there.”

Shepherd chuckled,, and it was the best sound I’d heard all night. “Let’s get out of here.”