by Tillie Cole
“Shh…” I soothed, as Flame’s breathing became erratic. Then I offered, “I am here for you. Also, AK and Viking are here with you, because they want to help you. You will face him, and you will conquer the hold he still has over you.”
Flame glanced away. “In my head I’ve killed him a million times. The men I’ve killed for the club, the blood I’ve spilled on these fucking hands has all been his. But I don’t fucking know if I can actually kill the cunt, in the flesh. That fucking house, his face… that fucking cellar hatch.”
“Then do not,” I replied. “Ending his life does not have to be the goal of this trip. We are going so you can claim back control of your life. To confront the evil that caused such hurt you. To then leave it all in the past.” My hands held his face tightly, turning him to see me. Swallowing, I added, “So you can have a future with me. So we can begin new lives. Happy ones… lives filled with love and each other.”
“Happy ones?” Flame queried, his voice threaded with emotion. I nodded, fearing that if I spoke I would break down in tears. Then crushing me to his chest, he admitted, “I don’t ever remember being happy.”
Fighting back tears, I whispered, “Then this is what we will hope for. Happiness... Because Flame?”
“What?” he pushed, voice barely registering a whisper.
“You are my happiness.”
Flame held me even tighter, then just as I began to drift off, draped over his chest, he said, “I gotta kill him, Maddie. I gotta kill him for what he did to us all. That cunt has to fucking die.”
I did not respond, I just shut my eyes and tried to understand that he had to kill to be free.
Understand that this was who he was.
And that would never change.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Flame
It looked exactly the same.
Exactly. The. Fucking. Same.
The old gray wooden house still looked like the piece of shit it was. The grass and weeds surrounding the house were still too high. Old burned out cars littered the dirt driveway, and there were no fucking neighbors for miles and miles.
Yeah. Exactly the fucking same.
I glided the bike to a stop. And I just stared. My hands were tight on the handlebars and I couldn’t fucking move. I was fucking frozen to the spot. My eyes closed, and I remembered being pulled out of the house¸ after he’d abandoned us. Then my eyes snapped open when I pictured the face, in my head, of the person that found us—Pastor Hughes. It was fucking Pastor Hughes who found us. And he’d taken Isaiah. He’d taken my baby brother away, and dumped me at some kid’s home.
Hands around my waist snapped me back to the house sitting before me and I lurched forward. “Flame. Shh, it is me.” I exhaled and relaxed my body on hearing Maddie’s voice behind me. Then her hands moved again and I sucked in a deep breath.
I looked to my left. AK was sitting back on his bike, arms folded across his chest. “It’s on you, brother. We go in when you do.”
I nodded, then looked to my right. Viking was watching me closely. “What ‘K said, man. This is your fucking show. We follow your lead. Whatever goes down, we got your back.”
My head dropped. Maddie shifted behind me, then jumped off the bike. She moved to me and held out her hand. “You are not alone.”
Feeling my chest fucking crack, I got off my bike. I found Maddie’s hand. Pulling her to my chest, I pressed a kiss to her forehead, then letting her go, I let the fucking flames now permanently burning low fucking rise. Fucking take this shit down.
Facing Maddie, I ordered. “You stay out here.”
Maddie nodded her head. Then I turned to AK. “You fucking stay at the door. You watch her, yeah? Don’t let her get hurt.”
AK slid off his bike and walked next to Maddie. “You got it, brother.” AK pulled his 9mm from his cut and held it his hands. “The fucker won’t be going nowhere if he’s in there.” I knew that. AK was an ex-sniper. The brother was fucking unparalleled with a gun.
Instantly, Viking was by my side. I met my brother’s eyes. “You stay up front with me.” Viking winked, holding his favorite Berettas in his hands, and dropped back behind me.
Then I faced that fucking wooden door. The same wooden door I was hauled out of by the scruff of my neck as a fucking kid, and dragged screaming to that fucked up church, day in, day out.
Without thinking, I found my feet moving forward, the blade that belonged in this fucking hellhole gripped tightly in my hand.
And I couldn’t hold it back. The flames that had been quiet for days flared brighter, surging through my fucking veins. My head twitched, my hands clenched. I let loose every bit of fucking rage I had for this shithole and for the cunt who might be inside.
And I fucking embraced it. I let that shit burn.
Reaching the old door, I raised my foot and smashed the hell mouth wide open. Storming inside, I sensed Viking right behind me, guarding my back. I stopped dead.
Nothing had changed. The place was dirtier, more rundown. It was a fucking shithole. But everything looked the same—same stained floor, faded curtains, even the old furniture. My heart lunged into a sprint as I scanned the room. My body shook with rage, so much fucking rage at being back in this place that I could barely fucking think.
Then I heard it: movement from the bedroom.
I smelled the stench of alcohol.
Then he staggered out.
All the air rushed out of my lungs as he entered the living room, a fucking long sharp blade in his hands. His dark eyes landed on me and his teeth gritted together.
“Get the fuck out!” he snarled, clothes dripping with sweat, skin yellow and pale. “Get the fuck out before I call the cops. I got nothing for you here!”
“Fuck,” I heard from beside me, but I was rooted to the fucking spot. “That’s the cunt?”
I watched as my poppa’s eyes darted to each of us. He held up the blade in his old shaking hands. “I said, get the fuck out!”
But we didn’t move, and somehow, his eyes kept returning to me. Then one time, they stayed. They examined my body, flicked to the blade in my hand, then snapped back to lock on my face.
His mouth hooked at the corner, as if in realization. “Well I’ll be fucking damned. Wondered if I’d ever see your expressionless face again one day, Josiah. And here you are. Looking as evil as I always knew you were.”
I stared at my old man, heard that fucking name dripping with venom from his stupid fucking mouth. And I could feel myself shaking. I could feel every fiber of my body fucking shaking. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move.
I was trapped.
“I got nothing for you here, Josiah. So you and your sinner friends can just turn the fuck around. I ain’t got no money, so you can get the fuck out. Don’t want you bringing your demons into this house again.”
Something inside of me snapped, and I bit out, “You got fucking answers, old man. That’s what you fucking got!”
Unable to hold back any longer, I charged forward. Holding my blades out in front, I ran at my poppa. His eyes flared as I plowed forward. He pushed out his blade, but his drunken fucking ass had his hand shaking too much to grip it tight. I easily knocked the blade out of his old fucking hands, the steel clattering to the wooden floor and I shouldered him back against the wall.
Using my forearm, I pushed it against his neck, and looking him dead in the fucking eyes, asked, “What the fuck happened to Isaiah? Why the fuck did you always count to eleven?” I leaned in closer and hissed, “And why the fuck did you rape me? Why the fuck did you fucking rape me and fuck up my head?”
My poppa coughed and his face turned bright red, unable to breathe. But the fucker wouldn’t get such an easy death. I was gonna fucking make him pay. Pay for it all.
Jumping back, I dropped my arm and watched him hit the floor. My head twitched and my neck ached with how tight it was straining. But I turned the blades in my hand, and called, “Viking! Hold the cunt down on the table.”
> Viking moved into action, picking the bastard up by his hair and dragging him to the table in the center of the room. The table my mama would cook at. I paced the floor, fighting the memory of my mama standing in this room, defending me from this sick fuck. My hands fisted on the handles of my blades and I hit the side of my head as too many fucking memories flooded my mind.
“Done, brother.” Viking announced from across the room. When I turned, Viking was holding down my poppa’s arms, his legs kicking to get free.
Viking smiled. “The fucker ain’t going nowhere, brother.”
“AK!” I called. AK stepped into the room, his 9mm held high. He flicked his chin. “Hold down the fucker’s legs,” I instructed.
AK dropped his gun into his cut and did as I said. I paced beside the table, and when I looked down, my poppa’s face was watching mine. Holding the handle of my knife, I charged forward on a scream and smashed the blunt end across his face. Blood poured from my poppa’s mouth. Dropping my blade into my belt, I lifted his head by the collar of his stained stinking shirt, and asked, “What the fuck was done with Isaiah? What the fuck did you do with my brother’s body?”
My poppa coughed and spluttered but gave no answer. I brought his face to mine, and growled, “Where the fuck did you take him? What the fuck was done with his body?”
“I’d answer him if I were you. Answer him or he’ll fucking slice off your tongue. Your son’s a fucking stone cold killer, Daddio. I ain’t thinking you wanna fuck with him anymore,” Viking warned and my poppa’s eyes flared. And I knew… he was scared. I couldn’t read faces, but I knew his face. Knew his every expression. And I knew I’d never seen him like this before. Never seen him scared before.
I fucking loved that it was me who made him feel fear.
“Pastor Hughes,” he coughed out. “Pastor Hughes and Elder Paul came for you both. They came looking for me, and found you two. They knew about the cellar, so they knew where to look. They cremated your brother and tossed his ashes in the river. He was better off gone, than living with you and your tainted soul.”
The flames under my skin burned like fuck, they fucking scorched me from inside. Tipping my head back, I roared and screamed out loud. Isaiah. They fucking burned him. The fucking Pastor and Elder that tied me down, and filled my poppa’s head with all the snake shit, hid my brother’s fucking death.
Holding my knife, I slashed it across Poppa’s chest, the tip cutting the surface of his skin. My poppa cried out, then before he had time to scream again, I demanded, “Why eleven? Why eleven times? Why was everything always eleven?”
His teeth gritted together at the pain, and taking my blade, I placed the tip at the top of the slash I’d just given him and began dragging it down. “I said, why fucking eleven?”
Poppa gasped and cried, “There are ten commandments, eleven is a mockery of all that is pure. It’s for disorder and sinners. You have evil in your veins, darkness in your soul. Eleven was fit for the sinner you are!”
I stopped and, unable to catch my breath through rage, hit my head. “I wasn’t a fucking sinner. I was fucking different. I am fucking different. My head doesn’t work right, like others. But it wasn’t a fucking sin, I wasn’t fucking evil, I was different. But your fucking church told you I was evil. You thought everyone was evil: me, Mama, Isaiah. When it was you. You were the one that was fucked up!”
I blew out a loud breath. That breath turned into a fucking scream, and I slashed my blade across his stomach. The blade didn’t cut deep, but the fucker sure felt it. He felt the fucking sting of my blade.
“You are a sinner, Josiah. Look what you’ve become. What you would’ve always become,” he choked out. “An evil fucking retard with flames in his blood. The retard with evil in his veins.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped. I pointed my blade at his face. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!”
His dark eyes watched me. Then pointing my knife at his face, I growled, “You put me in that fucking cellar.” I pointed to the cellar’s hatch I knew was there. “You cut me with a blade, night after night, for fuck knows how long. You starved me. You left me in the fucking freezing cold.” Then my body tensed as I forced myself to say, “You raped me. You fucking raped me. You sick fucking cunt." I paused to gulp in more air, then continued in a deliberate voice. "Mama, Isaiah… you fucking ruined them. They died because of what you did to us all. You and that fucking church.”
This time he said shit back to me. He just stared. Stared at me with those fucking dead eyes. It incensed me. My body heated and the fucking blades in my hands felt heavy. I looked up to Viking, who had gone as still as a fucking stone, and commanded, "Keep his arms held down.”
Viking forced my poppa’s arms down. Standing above him, I turned the blade in my hands, then sliced down his arm. “One,” I growled, seeing blood pour from his wound as he sucked in a sharp breath. I sliced again, “Two,” and hissed when his teeth gritted together at the pain. I sliced again and again and again, my cock hardening at the sight of every spray of blood that hit my face. “Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten…” I slowly counted. The cunt’s arms were ripped to shreds, blood flowing to the floor. Then, with my pulse slamming in my neck, I slashed the blade over his thigh, and roared, “Eleven!”
My old man sagged on the table, eyes dazed.
Then, fighting sickness, I moved in closer and asked, “Why the fuck did you rape me?”
My poppa froze on the table. I pressed my blade to his cheek, and repeated, “Why the fuck did you rape me?”
My blade pressed further into crepe-thin skin the longer he was silent. Then he suddenly said, “To rid your flesh completely of sin. To punish you for taking your mama away from me.”
I stayed still, my blade pushed into his cheek, then I moved back. He was a sick fuck whose time was up.
I looked to the back of the room. I pointed to the hatch and ordered, “Vike, drag him over there.”
I stormed forward, then came to a complete fucking stop. I stared at that fucking hatch and, as I did, I couldn’t move a damn inch. The wood was scratched and worn through years of use. The lock was rusted, but still tight.
“Fuck, man,” Viking said beside me. “What kinda fucked up shit did you go through down there? I’m already wanting to snap this pedo’s neck. This cellar shit’s gonna tip me over the edge. ”
Not answering, I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Bending down, I forced myself to unbolt the lock and ripped the fucking door open on a snarl, its old rotting wood easily coming off at the hinges.
The cellar’s familiar stagnant smell of blood and cum immediately hit my nose. I had to fight back from puking at the stench. Just as I was about to order Viking to throw my poppa in there, head first, a movement from below caught my eye.
My heart stilled in my chest, then set off like a fucking bat out of hell when I saw a pair of sunken dark eyes looking back up at me. I blinked, I was sure I was fucking seeing things, but then a pale face slowly emerged into the light. I launched back against the wall, chest panting in shock.
AK rushed to my side. “What the fuck’s wrong?” he asked. Viking dropped my old man’s cut, alcoholic body to the floor behind him, and joined us.
I shook my head, then said, “Someone’s in there... Someone’s fucking in there!”
Viking and AK moved to the hatch and looked down. My stomach dropped as Viking shouted, “Fuck! Fuck, man, there’s a fucking kid down here!”
I watched, fucking frozen against the wall as Viking and AK bent down. AK turned round. “Fuck, Flame. Get here now.”
I moved my legs, fighting back the dark memories of being fucked in that hole, when I glanced behind us… and my poppa wasn’t fucking there.
Pushing myself to my feet, I barked, “Where the fuck’s he gone?”
Then a scream came from outside. “Flame!”
Maddie…
NO!
“Fuck!” Viking spat. But I was already running to the door, my b
lood pumping like fucking rapids of fire. I flew out the door, only to see my poppa, with that fucking knife back in his hand, holding Maddie to his chest. And the fucking blade was at her throat.
A red mist came over my eyes, and I screamed, the noise ripping from my chest.
Maddie’s green eyes were wide and filled with water. And she was staring at me, she was fucking staring at me to help her.
“Let me the fuck go or I’ll slit the whore’s throat,” my poppa warned. My blood quickly cooled to ice.
I stood still and calmly said, “Let her go.”
Viking stepped beside me, and my poppa’s eyes darted between us. “Let me the fuck go, and you can have your whore back.”
“Flame,” Maddie whispered, her face paling to white.
I watched that blade pressed against her throat, the edge already touching the skin and I tossed my blades to the ground. “Fucking let her go,” I demanded, my voice like fucking thunder.
Then the cunt started walking to the side, heading down the dirt driveway. As my poppa moved to turn, he moved Maddie, briefly pushing her body to the side, opening himself right up. I was just about to launch forward to tackle the fucker to the ground, when AK stepped beside me, his 9mm held up in line with his eye. “Get ready to cut that sick fuck up real good,” he whispered.
A second later, AK sent a fucking bullet straight into the back of the cunt’s leg, and my old man dropped to the floor, blade slipping loose, femur shattered. Maddie fell to the side, her neck still under his arm. But she scurried free, crawling to safety.
And that was all the fucking green light I needed.
Reaching down, I picked up my blades and sprinted forward. My poppa rolled over, trying to get up, just as I arrived at his side. Then looking him right in the eyes, the flames roaring from within, I dropped to straddle his waist and sent my blades sinking into his flesh, strike after strike. And I fucking watched him. I fucking watched him like a hawk as he tried to cry out. I sank the sharp steel into his chest, his stomach, twisting and hacking at his flesh. I saw my mama’s face in my head as I cut up his chest. I saw him hitting her, her skin bleeding and bruised. I saw him screaming at Isaiah. Saw him putting him down beside me, in the dirt hole, and fucking leaving us there to die, as I ripped and snapped the tendons in his arms.