Irrevocably Mine (Imagine Ink Book 3) (23 page)

Man, I could use Mom Jeans and Bitchy right about now. Hell, even Puppies and Slutty would be helpful.
Stacy needed some way to focus, but she couldn’t seem to do it, no matter how hard she tried. Even her five-second flash assessment was on the fritz. Her training served her well, up to a point. The minute she witnessed the breaking of the man she loved, at her hand no less, her
I am woman hear me roar attitude
, went out the fucking window. Now, she had something to live for, Dax. He had to know, and she was the only one that could tell him.

The will to live was a double-edged sword in this case.
When I had nothing to lose, I was fearless. Now, well, I’m not.
She always knew love made you weak, but it also made you strong. You just had to dig for the strength sometimes.

Hank was railing about something or another but Stacy tuned him out. All he was about now was making threats and giving her a detailed list of what he was going to do, and frankly, she was over it. The laugh bubbled up and out before she could stop it. Knowing it was a mistake to laugh at the psycho with the gun couldn’t hold her back. The laugh rolled on and on, even as Hank’s face turned red with anger. Stacy managed to speak between guffaws. “Be careful, big guy, you’re going to pop an aneurism if you’re not.” The laughter surged, making her words sound like garbled nothing.

Hank brought the gun up and waved it around in her face. No purpose, no control, no clean shot. “What the hell is so funny, bitch?” Stacy tried to answer, but couldn’t. This was a Gus-worthy laugh—whole body and soul engaged.

The gun was against her temple again, digging into the already bruised skin, but she could feel it was different. If he shot now, it would take out a chunk of hair and give her a bad case of road rash, at best.

“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, ANSWER ME! I’m in charge here, you worthless cunt, so when I ask a question, you,” he tapped the gun for emphasis, “better,” tap, “fuckING,” tap, “ANSWER!” The last time brought tears to her eyes, but still, she laughed.

Maybe she really was losing it, because when she answered, it was with Tori’s intonation and mannerisms. Stacy turned her head to the side, away from the gun, as if she were talking to someone—probably herself, the way Tori would. “Do you believe this guy? He’s monologuing, fucking monologuing.” Stacy turned her attention back to Hank’s puzzled face, but slowly brought her knee up until her boot was within reach. He probably thought she’d lost it, too.
Good.
“Rule number one of being a villain, you never monologue. You wanna know why?” Hank didn’t answer her rhetorical question, he just lay there, propped on top of her with the gun in hand, muzzle aimed to take out the coffee table and not her brain, with a look on his face that was priceless.

This motherfucker was so confused because she just out-crazied a crazy, and that’s an accomplishment.
I should add this shit to my resume.
Her sweaty fingers made contact with the cool, carved handle of the skinny blade hidden in her boot. She slid it free and adjusted her grip to take a firm hold. Her muscles bunched, preparing for what she might have to do. Hiding her hand, and its contents, under her hip, she answered her own question, “Because monologuing gives the good guy a chance to rise up and that never spells victory for the bad guy.”

Hank leaned down into her face, but left his hands where they were. He was back to nothing, she was hoping for anger. “Well, that’s not going to happen in this case. I have your gun and your big ape is long gone. No one will ride in on a white horse to save you. Face it, you are mine to do with whatever I want. Whatever. I. Want. So, why don’t you be a good submissive? I know, that’s hard for you, but give it a try, hmm. If you’re cooperative, and make this good for me, I’ll end it for you quick. However, if you fight me every step of the way, I will make sure your agony lasts for so long, you will beg to make me come hard, just so I’ll end it.”

Almost every doubt she had about taking his life fled with that statement. It still shocked her to see this side of Hank, not that he wasn’t capable of violence, she knew first hand he was. But he usually took orders from someone else, which was why he was such an asshole about it in bed, she’d bet. But still, if she was going to end a life, a life of a man she once cared deeply for, she had to be sure. “And there’s no other way this will end? Are you sure this is what you want, Hank?” A tiny piece of her hoped he’d say something to save his life.

“Of course, I’m sure, I’ve thought of nothing else since I went away. You are like a cancer in my body and I must cut you out, the same way you did. And like I said, no knight in shining armor will save you now.” The calmness with which he spoke said so much more than his words. He’d left her no choice, no alternative; she would take his life.

“I’ve told you before, Hank, I don’t need anyone to save me, I can save myself. Always could.” The sadness that threaded her words was audible, even to her. This next snippet of time would haunt her for the rest of her life, justified or not. Bringing her empty hand to his cheek, Stacy looked into his eyes with as much compassion as she could muster. “I’m sorry, Hank. I really am, but you left me no choice. For what it’s worth, I did love you, in the best way I could at the time.”

Before Hank could process her words, she sprang into action. Stacy swiftly brought the thin blade around, and buried it in his neck, piercing the flesh on one side and not stopping until the tip emerged from the other. The amount of blood raining down on her told her she’d hit her mark. The jugular was pierced; there would be no saving him. Even with a full medical team right there in her house, he would bleed out, and she would have to lay here and witness it up close and personal.

The shock, then comprehension, in Hank’s eyes charred a bit of her soul. It would heal, but the scar would remain. It amazed her a little how she didn’t scream or cry, or even blink. She just lay there, staring into his eyes as the life drained from them.

His frantic clawing at the protrusion slowed and stopped.

Finally, Hank’s head and upper body dropped onto her chest and ceased to move. The blood still spurted from the wound, but slower now. It was warm and sticky, but weirdly enough, it didn’t seem to bother her. At least, not to the point where she would do anything about it. Hank’s weight was crushing her, making it hard to breathe, but she made no attempt to shove him off her body. Even as her lungs burned for oxygen and her mind screamed for it not to be true, she lay there.

Shock had taken over. The lights were on but no one was home. Hank’s blood began to pool around her shoulder blades, trailing down the arm seam of her tank and oozing outward as if to get away. The tickle it made against her skin on its journey toward the floor made her vaguely aware of her surroundings.
Smart blood
.
At least it has the sense to run away. Not like me, lying here, just waiting to die under Hank’s crushing weight.

That was the first spark of situational awareness she remembered, but it was enough to know there was something else intruding on her thoughts. Someone was screaming her name and pounding on the dining room slider. From her vantage point on the ground, she could just make out some sort of motion through the two-inch curtain gap.

That was enough stimuli to kick her ass over the line from shock to all-out frantic terror. She started screaming—loud and non-stop—batting at Hank to move his dead body off her, but he wouldn’t budge. All she had now was fucking screaming. Her throat was raw and still, she screamed. The sound of shattering glass exploded in the air, and still, she screamed. She was terrified she might never stop.

D
ax was
at his absolute limit. What he’d just watched unfold was incomprehensible. He was kicking himself for not acting sooner, but when he first arrived, he thought it best not to let his presence be known. Hank had her on the floor, but Stacy was being strong and standing her ground. Then, Dax watched as she devolved into hysterical laughter, but yet, he waited.

In hindsight, he should have acted then, but her behavior seemed to befuddle the asshole. After that, Dax knew it was time to act when Hank got really angry. He had frantically tried to open the door, but no luck. He did a cursory search of the patio for help, but couldn’t keep his attention away from the sliver of view he had for too long. That’s when he realized things were shifting. Hank’s body relaxed, and he spoke in a tone so low, Dax couldn’t hear his words.

He watched helpless as Stacy reached for her boot and pulled a blade free. Not just any blade, either. His blade, or rather, her blade, the one he’d made for her. Dax didn’t know how she’d come to be in possession of it and he didn’t care, either. He was just grateful she had it. Sending up a silent prayer to God, Odin, Mother Earth, any and every deity that came to mind, Dax watched frozen as the rest played out in what felt like painfully slow motion.

Stacy cupped the asshole’s cheek and spoke to him. Even from his limited view, he could see the sadness in her eyes…the turmoil. Dax would’ve given anything to have been able to stop what he knew was about to happen, but he couldn’t seem to spur himself into action. He was frozen—with fear or shock or…whatever. He couldn’t force her name past his lips or his body into motion. Most likely, fear for her safety stayed his hand. He wanted to beat on the glass until it shattered. He wanted her to let him handle Hank. The end result would be the same, but she wouldn’t be marked by what was about to take place. Instead of pounding on the glass, he stood and watched. The last thing he wanted to do was distract her and have Hank seize that opportunity. With the way he was waving that gun around, anything could happen if he didn’t let this play out.

Silently, he watched her raise the blade and bury it in Hank’s neck. He remained mute as the asshole clawed at his neck and fell over onto Stacy. Blood was everywhere, but Stacy just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. It was that look and the end of the physical danger that released him from his paralysis. In no time, he was pounding on the glass and shouting her name, yet, she didn’t react. The glass was cracking under his assault, but it was nothing compared the cracking going on in his chest. He
wanted
to be her hero. Even now, as the proof of her words were a macabre tableau laid out in front of him, he still desired it. Even now, hell, more so now. If he could have taken this action for her, he would have.

Dax thought his heart couldn’t possibly break for her more.

He was wrong.

Stacy began to scream and try to scramble away, but Hank’s body held her in place. She was obviously terrified and she needed him. Right now.
Damn door
. Dax became frantic to reach her as her screams went on and on. Pounding on the door and calling her name wasn’t doing shit to help him get to her.

Sirens cut through the night. They were just a few blocks away and moving closer; even that was too long to wait. He needed to wrap her in his arms, and tell her everything was going to be all right. Dax would never walk away without a fight again. Spinning around, he reached for the wrought iron cafe table behind him and swung. And swung. Dax kept swinging until the door shattered into a million faceted pieces. There were some things he would never forget about this night, the sound of his boots crunching the bits of glass into tile was one of them. That sound meant he was moving toward his love in her hour of need.

Dax lost traction when he stepped in the still-growing pool of blood. He went down hard, but that didn’t stop him from reaching her. As he tossed the body aside like I rag doll, Stacy scrambled into his arms. The momentum almost put him on his back. She clung to him as if her life depended on it and cried. Dax had never witnessed this side of her and, as much as he had wished to see a slightly vulnerable side of her in the past, he never wanted to see this again.

“Shhhh, babe. I’ve got you. No one will ever hurt you again, okay? Trust me, I will never walk away like that. Ever.” It was a vow. One he would keep. “Shhh,” he soothed.

“I…I…killed him,” Stacy cried. “I had to. He made it clear I was not leaving here alive. I didn’t have a choice. I…” Her head turned to where the body lay, but Dax pulled her attention back toward him. It was then he realized he couldn’t see much skin on her face. It was all covered in blood. After his fall, he was too.
How much can a human body bleed?
He shook off his shock at her appearance and the amount of blood to get through her rambling.

He grasped her bloody face with both of his hands and paused at the sight. His hands seemed to eclipse her face, adding a layer to her vulnerability. “You listen to me, Stacy, you didn’t kill him so much as you saved yourself. Just like you always said you could. He made his choice when he entered this house.” As hard as it was to ignore the gore that covered them both, Dax leaned his forehead to hers. “You did good, babe, I just wish you hadn’t had to. But no more tears for that asshole. You did what he forced you to do. No regrets.”

The sirens were deafening as they came to a halt right outside the front door. Boots echoed off the stairs and the police announced their presence. Dax yelled back through the door, telling the police his name and hoping that John’s call included it so they didn’t automatically assume he was the perpetrator. The cops played along, at least, and asked how many people were in the house, their names, any weapons, etcetera. So, John must’ve told them something. Dax replied with all the answers, and that the kidnapper was dead. He finished with, “We’ll go to our stomachs now.” He knew better than to get up and open the door in his state. This wasn’t his first rodeo. Dax wasn’t sure how much of his information they would trust, but he would do his best to keep the situation from escalating out of fear.