Page 127 of Famine

“Tell me, evil man,” the Reaper says, “what did you intend to do to her?”

Heitor’s only response is to whimper as the vines coil tighter around him.

“Did you intend to recite her poetry?” Another snap, another agonized cry. “Or to pledge your loyalty to her?” Another crack, followed by a moan. “Did you come to bring her food or clothing or shower her with praise?”Snap,snap,snap.

Heitor is openly weeping.

“Or to tell her how unworthy of her time you were?”Crack.

The man sobs, and Famine stares down at him.

I’m pinned in place, my breath caught in my throat. I have no idea what the horseman’s doing, or how I feel about it, but I can’t look away.

There’s a pause. Then—

“No. You came toviolateher. And my friend, we’re both discovering thatnothingstokes my rage like trying to harm my flower.”

Crack,crack,crack.

More screams follow, then breathless, agonized cries.

Famine crouches next to Rocha and laughs. “You’re not going to die, Heitor. You haven’t begged enough yet. But you will. And even then I’ll make you linger. Because, believe it or not, you are not the worst thing to walk this earth.

The Reaper leans in close. “I am.”

Chapter 32

I have to force myself to breathe as Famine straightens.

He defended me. I mean, he tortured a man—and killed several others—so I should probably focus on how bad that is.

But I’ve long ago accepted that I’m no saint.

So I’m focusing on the fact that in the last couple hours, Famine has made it very clear that he feels something for me. Something deeper than loyalty. My skin tingles, my entire body electrified by the strange emotions I’m feeling.

Famine rises, walking back towards the cart. His eyes are bright with all sorts of emotions, the most prominent of them menace. But when they lock with mine, they soften, and for a moment I swear I see something both hopeful and vulnerable within them. As quickly as the expression comes, it goes again.

The Reaper moves to the side of the cart and reaches out his good hand to me. Blood is splattered across his armor, and the sight of his bloody attire is so at odds with his current chivalry.

I take his hand and let him help me off the cart. Once I’m down, he releases my hand.

“I have one last thing I need to attend to,” he says softly.

I part my lips to respond, but the horseman is already turning around and stalking back towards the estate, noticing Heitor long enough for the plant that holds the broken man to slide out of the horseman’s way. At the movement, Heitor cries out, the sound dying away to a whimper.

When Famine gets to the front door, the plant blocking the entrance now curls in on itself, withering away so that the horseman can get through. Famine lifts a booted foot and gives the door a solid kick. Wood splinters and the door crashes open, banging against the inside wall.

Distantly, I can hear several frightened shouts coming from the house. Famine pauses at the threshold, taking in whatever sight is waiting for him.

I start moving again, heading for the mansion just as the horseman steps inside. I pass Heitor, my eyes meeting his for a moment.

The once proud drug lord is nothing more than a broken man, his skin grey and withered, his face wan, and his limbs contorted in unnatural angles.

“Please …” he whispers.

This is where I should feel pity. Too bad I’ve used it all up on the people actually deserving of it.

My gaze slides away and I walk past him, stepping inside the mansion.