Page 25 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

Mad shrieks, erratic swings of the heavy mallet, unhinged movements come together in a dance of violence.

I smash joints first, then the big bones.

Before I bring the mallet down on his sternum, I hold his crumpling gaze for enough time that the death skirting his eyes imprints in my mind.

That defeat. The fear. The hope for the end of pain. A heady, addictive mix.

Then I crush him.

Ribs snap and pierce his organs, a soundless scream catches in his throat, and finally, the blood comes. He coughs it out in thick ribbons, and as I watch death clouding his eyes, thicker and thicker, my rage dying with him, my chest lighter, I still think this man hasn’t suffered enough.

There’s a special place in hell for people who abuse animals. And since I need an outlet for my explosive rage, years back, I made it my mission to send them all there.

* * *

“Are you okay, Scar?” my brother cocks his head in that annoying, concerned way. He pushes the wooden box holding Cohen’s body into the cremator, feeding him to the fire.

The asshole wasn’t a big man, so in about three hours at around fourteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit, he will be ash. Whatever remains, goes in the cremulator, and soon we’ll have nothing but dust. I’ll sprinkle it on the fucking highway. He doesn’t deserve to rest anywhere else.

“Marc, you know I’m always good after.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. The whole ex-refusing-to-be-an-ex thing.” He starts inspecting the space carefully, probably looking for evidence we might have accidentally dropped.

This cremation room is used for burning, so it should be clean.

I do my business downstairs, deep in the crematorium’s labyrinth of a storage cellar.

My brother’s business offers privacy since he doesn’t work for funerals, but medical waste, decommissioned science donations, finished body farm experiments, and other strange purposes.

But it’s not the only reason I like it; half of that cellar isn’t in the official plans. That includes the escape tunnel built in my murder room. Hopefully there will never be a need for it, but its existence greatly calms me.

“Please don’t remind me of him. He’s the reason I’m here now,” I say.

“I know you don’t like it, but I need to know. Did he hurt you? You’re my sister, Scar. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“And I appreciate that. I love you for it. But don’t worry, Bernard will pay eventually. I just have to be smart about it. Plan. And no, he did not hurt me,” I reassure him.

Only, his gaze flickers to my exposed wrist that has caught a bit of color since my bitch of an ex grabbed me too hard.

“Oh, that?” I shrug. “He grabbed my wrist, but he’s been taken care of. Carter surely did—”

Shit.

Mentioning that name was a huge fucking mistake.

“Carter?” Marc tilts his head, the scrutiny blatant.

“New friend. Anyway, he was threatened, quite graphically, if I might say so myself. So, I’m sure he’ll leave me alone for a while.

Long enough for me to formulate a plan that will secure my freedom from him and his family’s consequences,” I explain, removing the coveralls I’m wearing and throwing them into the same flames Cohen burns in before Marc shuts the heavy door.

“Scar.”

“Yes?”

“You’re grinning like a teenager in love.”

What?

“No, I’m not! Stop it. I’m just feeling better after murdering this asshole.” I gesture a bit too enthusiastically at the cremator.

“Who’s Carter?”

“Seriously. Just leave it. It’s not important.”

“Does he know what you do? What we all do?” he insists.

“We’re not that close. Like I said, he’s just a new friend.”

Who wants to punish me, potentially fuck me, and murder me.

“Also,” I continue, “why would you assume I would share what either of us does? The only reason Bernard knew of the family business was because of his father’s connection with Dad.

Even then, I never shared this .” I gesture wildly around us.

“Only the family knows. Clearly, I’m not going to share this with one of the lead—”

Fucking hell, Scarlet, shut your damn mouth!

I take a deep breath in before I continue.

“My new friend.”

“One of the what?” Marc raises an eyebrow, the corner of his lip twitching upward.

“I have to get home. I have a job tonight.”

If he keeps pushing, I’m gonna end up accidentally telling him who I’m talking about. He has this knack of getting all the gritty details out of me. If he finds out I have a weird involvement with one of the men at the head of The Sanctum, he’s gonna fucking flip. Then he’ll tell Dad.

I may be an independent woman, despite living on my dad’s land, but I don’t like upsetting him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad there was someone there to threaten that piece of shit. Especially if he dared put his hands on you.” He walks over and pulls me into a tight hug. “Now, go start the cleanup in your little murder den. I’ll join in a minute once all is set up here.”

“Love you, big brother.”

“Love you too.”

The gods blessed me, really. For someone like me to be born into a family who accepts me, understands me, and helps me is quite a lucky thing.

Well, most of the family, anyway, minus the one who calls herself my mother.

My brother was the one trying to fight my battle when I was a kid.

It was he who saw my inner rage first. It was also he who outed my mother to Dad when he realized what she was doing.

I’m lucky.

And Bernard Camora is not fucking taking this away from me.

I’ll crush him before he gets the chance.