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“I’m okay.” She takes a ragged breath. “Was Charlie actually sick?”

“No. He’s perfect. Worried about you. I didn’t know if I should let him in here to see you.”

“I suspect I look pretty bad.”

“You’re better than when we brought you here. You’re clean, but your face is bruised up and your arm is in the sling.”

She nibbles on her lower lip. “I’ll go to the house and snuggle him on the couch. I’m going to tell him that I was in a car accident on the way home. I was in an accident. That’s all he needs to know.”

“I’m good with that.”

Rina frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want him to be groomed to take your place for a long, long time, Carson. None of this He’s twelve, so he can kill a man or any of that shit.”

“I agree with that too. We’re on the same page, Sunshine.”

“Okay. Good.”

“I love you.” I brush my nose over hers.

“To the moon.”

Rina’s in the house, tucked in our bed and sleeping soundly with Charlie next to her. He’ll sleep with us tonight, which is fine by me. When he saw the condition his mom is in, he had a little meltdown and hasn’t left her side since.

I get it.

Same page, buddy.

But with them safely tucked away, and the rest of the family in their own homes, I slip out to the building where my cell is located—and the monster in it.

I nod at the guards as I approach.

“We’ll need clean up in about ten minutes.”

“Boss,” they reply in unison.

I make my way down to the cell and flip on the light, and Damien, who’s sitting in a chair over the drain, restrained, looks up at me.

“Are you going to torture me now? What’s it going to be? Pull out my nails? Take off my dick?”

“I want to,” I admit as I lean against the wall facing him and cross my arms over my chest, as if I’m casually talking with an old friend. “You deserve that. Not just for what you did to me and my wife but for what you’ve done to countless other women. The pain and horror you put them all through.”

He smiles.

“So, do I want to fillet you open, take out your spleen, and shove it up your ass? Absolutely. I’d love to carve out your eyes, your tongue. Peel the skin from the palms of your hands and soles of your feet and make you walk over salt. I can think of about a thousand ways to make you hurt so badly, you’ll be begging me for death.”

He smirks, but his eyes are more wary now.

“But you’ve wasted seven years of my life, and you don’t get one minute more.”

I pull the gun from the small of my back and shoot him in the forehead, right between the eyes. Before he even hits the floor, I’m striding out the door.

I need to go hold my family.

Fifty-Five