21. Dominic

CHAPTER 21

Dominic

I used to read Carly’s medical textbooks when we were in college. I learned a lot about the human anatomy in the process. I know how to kill a person in under a minute. I also know how to draw out a person’s death. And I’m currently taking great pleasure in using all that knowledge at my disposal.

The Don’s mansion has a building at the back of the main house that’s suited me perfectly the past two days. We’re currently in the torture chamber that reeks of coppery blood and mildew. The dim light of a single bulb swings above, casting warped shadows on the cracked concrete walls. It’s cold, biting even, but I don’t feel it.

All I feel is a heat of rage simmering in my chest, a volcanic fury that has boiled over and spilled onto the man shackled to the chair in front of me. The Scepter, S, doesn’t look anything like I expected him to. He’s a relic of the man I’m guessing he once was. His face is sunken with age, his gray beard is thick and stringy, but what really intrigues me are the scars on his face.

He might not have died from the fire that everyone believes killed him. But he certainly suffered in the process. It brings me satisfaction to imagine all the pain he must have gone through to survive.

His eyes are two black pits of endless chaos. Right now, they’re gleaming with a twisted sort of glee. For two days, I’ve made him bleed—cut after calculated cut, a predator savoring its prey. He’s covered in shallow wounds, just deep enough to hurt, not enough to kill.

He’s trembling, his breath coming in wet, ragged gasps, but his grin remains. It didn’t take me too long to figure out he was a psychopath without any human feelings. No wonder he was able to commit so many brutal murders. Adrian was able to get me a little more about his history since his capture.

The Specter was born in Manchester, U.K. and subsequently abandoned. Left on the streets to fend for himself. When he was old enough, he came to the U.S., Chicago, and started building an empire. He has a genius IQ and a propensity for computers. Not to mention his unaffected personality. It wasn’t hard for him to establish himself in the crime world. But it all came crashing down when he was betrayed by someone in his inner circle. They tried to kill him with that fire, and they failed.

The Specter was transported back to his hometown in Manchester and he stayed there for a while, recuperating, healing from his injuries. He became a ghost and then returned to the U.S. Which is when the serial killings started. The killings that took everything from me.

I press the blade of my knife against his cheek, the steel biting into his paper-thin skin. He doesn’t even flinch. Apparently, he’s suicidal since he’s going to die soon anyway. It’s why he came out of the shadows in the first place. He concocted an elaborate plan to ruin my life, so I could help him to his death.

I’ll do so gladly, but I won’t make his journey to death easy.

“This is getting boring,” he croaks, his voice hoarse but still carrying that infuriating lilt of amusement. “You’ve been at it for two days and you’ve got nothing. Tsk, tsk. You’re losing your touch, Shadow.”

The name claws at me like barbed wire. My grip tightens on the hilt of the knife, the muscles in my arm flexing as I drag it down his face, splitting his cheek open in a thin, bloody line.

He doesn’t scream. He chuckles.

“Do you really think this will bring them back?” he wheezes, blood pooling in the corners of his mouth. “Your mother, your father, your brother. Oh, and let’s not forget the woman you love. You think this will bring Madelyn back? Heal that aching organ in your chest?”

My fist slams into his jaw before I even realize I’ve move. His head snaps to the side, but when he looks back at me, he’s smiling again, red-stained teeth bared like some deranged predator.

“You can’t fix what’s been broken, Dominic,” he says, his voice softer now, almost kind. “You broke her and you broke yourself. You ruined everything with your own two hands. How does it feel?”

I grab him by the throat, my knife pressed against the hollow of his neck.

“You don’t get to talk about them,” I growl, my voice trembling with the force of my rage. “Don’t mention my parents, my brother, and especially don’t mention Madelyn. Her name shouldn’t even be leaving the lips of scum like you.”

“I could tell you so many things about your family, Dominic. How I watched the life drain from their eyes. How I listened to their screams.” He pauses, his grin widening. “I could tell you how your father tried to protect you, how your mother tried to shield him, or how?—”

I drive the knife into his thigh, twisting it until I feel the muscle tear. His laughter cuts off with a strangled gasp.

“Yo-you think I didn’t plan for this? You think I don’t want this?” he asks, his voice shaky. “Give me all your anger, Dominic. We both know who wins at the end of it all. I caused all your pain, and once I’m dead, you’ll be left with nothing.”

I pull the knife out of his thigh and throw it across the room. Then I lean in close, my hands gripping the arms of his chair, my face inches from his.

“You’re going to die here. And I’m going to make sure it’s slow and painful,” I say, my voice low and cold.

He licks his cracked lips, his eyes gleaming, “Good,” he whispers. “Make it hurt.”

Hours pass, or maybe minutes. Time blurs into a haze of blood and screams. I don’t know how long I’ve been at this, but my body aches with exhaustion, and the air around us is thick with the smell of iron. He’s slumped in the chair now, his head hanging low, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

He’s close to death. Too close.

“You’re not laughing anymore,” I mutter, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

He lifts his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. They’re dull now, the light in them fading.

“You will… never win, Dominic,” he rasps, blood dribbling down his chin.

Before I can respond, the door creaks open behind me, the sound jarring in the oppressive quiet. I don’t immediately turn around, thinking it’s either Nicholas or Camila. They’ve been trying to get me out of the room to no avail since I started this.

“Wow, this place looks like a crime scene.”

My shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice. But there’s no way. There’s no fucking way she’s here.

“Well, I guess it is a crime scene,” she murmurs.

I whirl around to find that she really is here. Fierce ocean-green eyes, long black hair, the love of my life is standing right in front of me. And yet she feels leagues away.

“Dominic,” Madelyn says, her voice sharp and unrelenting. “What the hell are you doing?”

I don’t immediately answer. I’m still a little stunned that she’s standing in front of me. Then I snap out of it and scowl.

“What the fuck? Who the hell let you in here?”

“The people that care about you, asshole,” she immediately replies.

“You shouldn’t be here. Leave, Madelyn.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me what to do. Camila showed up on my doorstep practically begging me to come here and save you because she was worried you were going too far. In my opinion, you haven’t gone far enough,” she says coldly, surprising the hell out of me.

My brows furrow in confusion. Meanwhile, the Specter chuckles weakly, a low, grating sound that scrapes against my nerves.

“I must say I’m a little hurt by that statement, Madelyn. I thought we were friends. I helped you so much by revealing the truth, didn’t I?”

“You ruined my life. You killed my mother. I hope you burn in the deepest parts of hell!” she says angrily.

She tries to lunge at him but I place a hand on her wrist, holding her back.

“You need to leave, Flowers. You can’t be here.”

“I just want to ask him something,” she says softly, though her voice is layered with steel.

I glance at her face, my jaw tightening. I can see clearly that she needs this, so I let her go, stepping away. My body tenses as she walks forward, standing in front of the man who took everything from both of us.

“Why?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Why did you kill my mother?”

I want to tell her that there’s no use asking him that. My heart aches because I understand her need to believe there was a reason her mother had to die.

The Scepter’s lips curl into a grotesque smile. “Why not?” he replies, voice dripping with mockery.

Madelyn flinches. “That’s not an answer. You had to have had a reason! Tell me. Why?”

“I don’t need a reason to kill, sweetheart. I killed her because I felt like it and I wanted to kill you, too. The both of you looked so happy that day. It made me feel angry. I killed her because she was there. Because I could.”

I can’t see her expression but I’m pretty sure Madelyn crumples a little at his words. Her hands twitch and for a moment I think she’s going to do something to him. But then she straightens, her shoulders squaring as she glares at him. The cold, dead look in her eyes hurts.

“You’re pathetic,” she says. “You thrive on chaos because it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive. The truth is you’re nothing but an empty shell. You’ll die alone and unloved, tossed away like garbage because that’s exactly what you are.”

His grin falters. “How dare you, little girl? You think killing me will change anything? You’re broken. Just like him.”

“Shut the hell up,” I growl, stepping forward, unable to stay silent any longer.

Surprisingly, he does, visibly too weak to continue to speak. He’s about to lose consciousness—and if he does, then he’ll die.

That’s not happening yet.

I’m about to move to the corner of the room where a bucket of water sits. But Madelyn stops me.

“Enough.”

“What?” I ask her.

She reaches for my arm, her hand brushing against my bare skin. The touch sets me alight and damns me all in the same breath. Every part of me aches for her.

“I said you’ve done enough.”

“You said he deserved much more.”

“He does,” she says tiredly. “But not from you. This isn’t you, Dominic. You don’t have to stoop to his level to prove anything. Your parents wouldn’t want you to. Ilya wouldn’t want you to. And I especially don’t need you to. The best way to punish him is letting go of all our anger. Kill him and be done with it. Once he dies, he’ll be nothing.”

My chest tightens, the weight of her words crashing down on me like a tidal wave. She pulls out a gun and my eyebrows rise.

“Camila gave it to me. I’m so going to keep it, but first you get to borrow it. Kill him, Dominic,” she says firmly, pressing the gun into my palm.

“He hasn’t suffered enough,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

“He has. You’re just punishing him because you can’t punish yourself,” she says gently. “Kill him now, Dominic, or I’ll do it.”

That more than anything has me snatching the gun from her hands. I’d do anything to keep her away from the darkness that plagues my soul. I turn around to face Scepter. My hand shakes a little as I wrap my finger around the trigger of the gun.

“You’re not a monster like him, Dom,” Madelyn says quietly. “You’re so much better.”

I don’t feel anything as I pull the trigger. The sound of the gunshot is deafening but my aim rings through. Right in the middle of his forehead. I get to see him take his last breath. His body jerks and falls still, and just like that, the monster that plagued both our nightmares is dead.

When I turn around, there are light tears sliding down Madelyn’s face.

“Don’t worry,” she says on a sniff. “These are tears of relief. I’m just glad it’s over. I’m glad he’s gone.”

She’s right. It’s freeing, in a sense. Like a weight finally off my shoulders.

“Thank you, Flowers,” I breathe.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here and into a shower,” she states. “You stink.”

That makes me pause. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Do you want me gone?” she asks on a frown.

“I’d beg you on my knees to never leave me if I thought it would change your mind about us.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “While the sight of that certainly wouldn’t hurt, I don’t need you on your knees, Dominic.”

“Then what do you need?”

She sighs. “We need to talk.”

After she convinces me to leave the torture room, I head to the main house and take a much-needed shower. I surprisingly don’t see my cousin or any of my friends. I guess they cleared out to give us some space. After the shower, I find Madelyn in the kitchen, waiting for me, with a cheeseburger on a plate in front of her.

“This is yours. I never thought the day would come when our roles would switch and I’d be the one feeding you,” she says, visibly amused.

“You made this?” I ask, grabbing the burger off the plate.

“It’s cute that you think I’m capable. The cook made it for you,” she states.

Madelyn watches me eat for a couple of moments. She even pours me some orange juice to wash it all down. It feels strange, because the whole time I’m simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t seem as angry as the day she cut my heart out at her house. But I know there’s no way she’s forgiven me. Hell, I haven’t even forgiven myself.

But I doubt I’ll be able to do so until she does.

“Alright, now that I’ve ascertained that you’re not going to die from hunger, let’s discuss our incredibly fucked-up relationship.”

“Why did you come here?” I ask instead. “I know Camila showed up, but you hate me right now.”

“True,” she murmurs. “But it’s Christmas tomorrow and I’m trying not to end up on Santa’s naughty list.”

My lips curl up in a smile despite the situation. Then I realize what she said and my heart cracks.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow?”

She nods.

“I’m so sorry, Flowers. I’m sorry I ruined it for you.”

My actions are going to leave a bad stain on a holiday she loves so much.

“That’s fine. I know the perfect way for you to fix it.”

“How?” I ask warily.

“By letting me go.”