The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Rook

The Graveyard.

During the weekends, it’s lively and reeks of illicit activities. It’s where the rich kids get their fix, living life as dangerously as they can without reaping any consequences. The chaos amongst the crowd roars nearly as loud as the engines on the track.

It’s a living, breathing beast that feeds off adrenaline.

Fights. Drugs. Sex.

The only place to find trouble when you’re actively searching for it.

“I did not sign up to be the pack mule,” Thatcher heaves as he helps Alistair drags Cain’s unconscious body onto the empty track.

“Stop bitching,” Alistair curses through gritted teeth.

Together, they drop him onto the asphalt, his unsupported head knocking against the hard ground, his eyes twitching as he starts to become more alert. The punch Alistair had delivered to the side of his head had been enough to knock him out, giving us just enough time to get him here with no issues—well, besides the fact he’s dead weight and heavy.

Tonight, The Graveyard is vacant. But it still has that lingering smell of burnt rubber and oil that I love so much. It’s a normal Wednesday, and everyone is out living their orderly lives, itching for when the time comes to escape here in the anarchy, but for us, the mayhem coexists in our everyday lives.

Tonight, The Graveyard is the altar for a monster who will be answering to his crimes. Even if he doesn’t want to confess them willingly. He will pay the price for touching her with his life.

As he wakes up, he is instantly aware of his tethered predicament. The ropes knotting his hands and feet together keep him on the ground. And I doubt he’ll be able to slither away from me fast enough. He’d gotten away with his sick offense for too long already.

Alistair walks towards me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “He’s all yours.”

I bite down on the match in my mouth, my thumb tapping my thigh. I don’t need his approval but appreciate his support.

Thatcher takes a deep breath, then spits onto Cain’s chest before looking over at me. “You better make him bleed for trying to shoot me.”

I scoff, smirking lightly as I shake my head.

Okay, so maybe grabbing Cain from his apartment hadn’t gone that smoothly. He’d pulled a gun on Thatch, just before he’d been knocked out cold. And I have a feeling Thatcher isn’t going to let it go anytime soon.

Cain tries to shout behind the duct tape on his mouth, only succeeding in reminding me that he’s still breathing the same air as her. I’m caught between wanting him to die quickly and prolonging his torture for as long as his human body can take it.

I turn my head, seeing Silas. He stands still for a long time, just watching me before scooping a set of chains off the ground and reaching them towards me.

“Make him beg for it,” he says simply, dropping the hefty links into my hands.

I nod, knowing what he’s telling me without needing a full explanation. With a deep breath, I crack my neck, zeroing in on Cain’s body.

He’s not stupid—I can see him trying to calculate ways to get out of this. It makes this even better for me because it doesn’t matter what solution he comes up with, there is no escaping me. I’m his reckoning.

Every time I look at him, the madness inside of me only stirs more violently. The pressure inside my head increases, and all I can see are images of a small version of Sage. Her tiny body curled into a tight cocoon as she cries silently into her sheets, feeling tainted and hollow.

All her dreams of the future, all the joy that comes from being blissfully unaware of the darkness that awaits you in life, it had all been stolen from her.

She needed a savior.

And when one never came, she became her own, forged from the wickedness that had been done to her. She became what she had to in order to endure.

I—we—of all people know what that’s like.

Better than anyone.

Sage doesn’t need anyone to slay her demons. I know that.

But her inner child did, and even though she probably prayed for an angel instead of an angry man with horns, I’m still going to do what no one else had been able to.

Protect her.

My shoes thud against the track as I make my way to his body. I take my time to look him up and down before speaking.

“Before I take this tape off your mouth, I want to get a few questions out of the way.” I squat down to the left of his head. “Why am I here? Well, Cain McKay, you’re a filthy fucking pedophile.”

His eyes widen, head immediately shaking as he tries to deny my claims against him.

“No, no.” I tilt my head as I click my tongue. “Lying isn’t going to help you. Nothing is going to help you. So when I take this off, don’t waste your last words on trying to convince me otherwise.”

I reach into my back pocket, pulling out two of the items I’d brought specifically for this moment. One of them is my Zippo, and the other is a set of pliers that I jacked from Thatcher’s collection of tools.

He’s not going to be happy that they are about to get very, very dirty.

“Let’s see, what else…Don’t do this, blah, blah. You don’t need to do this, blah—oh!” I tap his chest with the pliers. “What are you going to do to me? Good question, Cain. That’s my favorite.”

I flick my Zippo, the satisfying swoosh filling the air, making my fingers tingle with anticipation.

The flame burns steady, never wavering, patient.

“I’m going kill you.” I look him straight in the eyes as I say it because even though he doesn’t deserve to go out like a man, I want him to see just how dark my soul is. I want him to know that this is going to be painful.

“Now that we’ve answered all those questions—” I tear the tape from his mouth harshly. “—let’s get to work.”

As I excepted, he starts to scream, so high and nasally it makes my ears ring.

“So we’re screaming, huh?” I open my mouth, expanding my lungs and releasing a thundering shout. Mine is full of rage and hunger, while his drips with fear. The mixture together in the air makes me grin.

“You grew up here, Cain—don’t die stupid. You know that it doesn’t matter how loud it gets at The Graveyard. No one is coming for you.”

It takes a moment for him to stop yelling, but I’m in the mood to be patient tonight. I look down at the badge on his chest, the one attached to a silver chain, and I lift it up, tugging the necklace until it snaps from his neck.

“You don’t take a man’s badge, you fucking punk,” he hisses, voice cracked from using it too much.

“You’re not a goddamn man. You’re a disgusting pig who preys on little girls,” I spit. “So I’ll take whatever the fuck I want.”

I pocket it into my hoodie, leaving it there along with an idea of what I’m going to do with it after this is over.

“Is that what she told you?” He laughs shakily. “She has done just about everything to get more attention than Rose. Including lie. That’s what she does, she lies. Puts on a big show so she can have the world eating at her feet. You’re just another pawn in her game.”

I grind my teeth, drawing the line at talking badly about a victim he’d abused. I’m not going to allow him to talk about her like that.

He will never be able to even mutter her name again.

“What did I say about lying, Cain?” I slam my palm into his forehead, banging his head against the asphalt.

“They will come for her. It doesn’t matter if you kill me or not. They know she is involved. They will not let any of you out of this alive.”

I use the pliers to snatch his tongue, pressing down on the grip so it squeezes the wet sponge before I pull it from his mouth.

“Let them. They will meet the same fate,” I hiss. “And I hope they send more than just you next time.”

Flipping my Zippo again, I drag the flame to his tongue. Naturally, he starts to struggle, trying to run away from the heat, but I drop my knee onto his chest, digging my kneecap into his body so hard that I know it’s difficult for him to breathe.

The Zippo burns his saliva quickly, drying up the tissue before the scorching process kicks in. The direct flame to the pink muscle makes it fester up, shifting the color to a flaccid white color. He howls in excruciating misery.

“There are thousands of nerve endings I’m roasting off right now, and that’s not even a fraction of what you caused her,” I add insult to injury, my body staying steady while I sear his flesh.

The smell is rancid, but I love it.

Pus pockets start to boil up, their yellow fluid beginning to leak from too much heat too fast. It leaks down his throat, choking him on his own infection. Tears leak from his eyes as he kicks his legs, still fighting against me.

But there is nothing he can do.

I’m the flame that never goes out, and I will not stop until he is nothing but ash.

Once the muscle starts to turn black, I pull the lighter back, feeling how hot the metal is against my own palm, but I use that short burst of pain to fuel my pursuit for revenge.

Pieces of his tongue drop onto his chin, literal pieces of melted tissue dripping onto his neck.

I stand up, tossing the pliers and placing my lighter back into my jeans. Leaving him to suffer while I take my time walking towards the chains and single padlock, I whistle lowly as I grab them from the ground.

They clink and jangle as I drag them across the track behind me.

Cain whines and tries to roll away, battling against fate, still not grasping how this is going to end. I suppose I can understand; when you’re staring death in the face, it’s only natural to look away.

I just can’t believe this town and the people they put up on thrones. Crowning the crooked and evil.

Meanwhile, they had vilified me as a child.

Hiding away a rapist. Covering up sex traffickers, for fuck’s sake.

And yet, the boy who’d watched his mother burn alive right in front of him, he was the antagonist. He was Lucifer. He was the villain.

Not tonight.

“G-God, pl-ple-ease,” he grumbles, asking for service from a holy spirit while he’d been committing such hellish acts.

It’s hypocritical, and it pisses me off.

“He isn’t listening,” I grunt, taking one end of the irons and starting to wrap a figure eight around his crossed legs. “He has left you to deal with me now.”

Once I’ve looped them around enough times, I slap the padlock over the brackets, locking them into place. I look down at my work like a proud Eagle Scout who had just scored his first knot badge.

I stand over him one more time, my feet on either side of his body. Just watching him as he shakes with tears, rocking his head back and forth, silently pleading with me, my eyebrow cocks, and I scoff as I see a large wet stain spread across his jeans.

“Are you ready?” I ask, tilting my head playfully. “Hell has been waiting.”

Backing away from his body, I turn around as I hold the other end of the chains in my left hand, feeling every single bit of wickedness as I make my way to my bike.

Once I get there, I click the grappling hook that is connected to the end of the links on the frame of my bike, looking back at him just to see what he looks like intact one last time, before I climb on and start my engine.

Adrenaline pounds against my skull like a drum. My legs vibrate with the force of what’s beneath me. I briefly glance to the side, seeing all the guys leaning against the chain-link fence, watching me with unwavering stares.

I look ahead of me, to the four turns in the track, knowing Cain probably won’t survive one lap but silently hoping he does so his suffering is prolonged.

Twisting my wrist backwards shoots fuel straight to the engine, and my bike propels forward. It takes only a few seconds before the slack in the chain gives, and I can feel the weight of Cain’s body being dragged behind me.

His screams last longer than I expected, but I drown them out with thoughts of her.

The other night I’d allowed myself to be soft. In the hushed space of that moment, my guard had fallen completely in front of Sage, and a part of me wished I could stay there for longer. Inside the cracks of the chaos, where there was a sense of peace.

I could still feel her warm skin pressed firmly into my body as we stood in the kitchen. It wasn’t sexual. It didn’t even feel physical.

It was something deep, deep inside of me that was being coaxed out, comforted by the smell of her freshly washed hair. It was the closest I’d ever been to forgiveness. And even though it would take more than one shadowy night in a kitchen to heal my inner wounds, to help me overcome my demons and learn to forgive myself, it was enough at that moment.

However, I couldn’t stay there. Not forever. I don’t live in a world where that was possible.

It didn’t matter what we were. What had happened that night or how soft I’d been. Because right now, I’m every single bit of my reputation. A grotesque, vile soul that’s starved for vengeance. That’s all I care about.

Making sure no one would ever taint her wings ever again.

My breathing is erratic by the time I cross the finish line, slowing to a stop where I’d once started. My pulse jumps inside my throat as I knock the kickstand down, leaving the engine purring.

Cain’s body had rolled as I drove, bounced, and ricocheted off the pavement from the force of the pulling. I’m surprised to see all of his limbs still attached to his torso. As I draw closer, I can see just how much damage the unforgiving payment had done.

A long, thick trail of blood and skin marks the path behind him, winding all the way around the track. Portions of his scalp are peeled away from the bone, sagging from his head. I bend down, examining his trembling and disfigured form.

His clothes had been yanked and shredded from the road rash; uncovered flesh had been singed from the friction. A part of his tibia had splintered through the skin, the fleshy white bone punching out. Extensive patches of torn tissue and muscle are dispersed across his entire frame, but I can still see his chest trying to rise and fall.

It doesn’t feel like enough, but the human body can only handle so much. If I could, I would repair him over and over again, just to find new ways to tear him apart.

“P-Pl-Plea…” He gurgles, suffocating and choking on the crimson liquid that pours from inside his lungs. Drowning.

A surge of victory washes over me.

Silas had asked one thing of me.

Make him beg for it, and I’d done just that.

I’d brought him through so much misery that he’s imploring for death, but as Thatcher likes to say, death must be earned.

“One last lap.”