Page 37 of Monstrosity

Geirolf assists, obviously working through his own demons, holding Carlos steady when he thrashes.

"You see," I explain as I work, "pain is just communication. And I'm very good at making myself understood."

Carlos screams, begs, pisses himself. Blood pools on the cracked linoleum, spreading like spilled wine.

None of it matters.

He's just meat and message now.

"The thing about monsters," I continue, switching to the blowtorch, "is that we're necessary. Men like you, like Bembe, you count on civilized people following civilized rules. But I'm not civilized. I'm what happens when you threaten the wrong family."

The smell of burning flesh fills the small apartment.

Carlos has stopped screaming—shock setting in.

"Still with me?" I check his pulse. Can't have him dying too soon. "Good. We're almost done."

When it's over, when Carlos is nothing but a cautionary tale, I step back to survey the scene.

Blood on the walls, on the floor, on me.

The kitchen looks like a slaughterhouse, which seems appropriate.

"Holy shit," Bodul breathes. "You really are a monster."

"Yeah," I agree, wiping my hands on a towel. "But I'm a monster who protects his family. Remember that."

"What do we do with..." He gestures at what's left of Carlos.

"Leave him. Let Bembe find him like this." I pick up the laptop. "But we take this. Might be useful."

The ride back is quiet.

odul's processing what he's seen, Geirolf's satisfied with the violence, and I'm thinking about how to tell Dasha we need to leave our home.

My phone buzzes with a text from her:

Girls are at school. Coffee shop is slow. Missing you.

Fuck. She has no idea what's coming.

Missing you too. I'll pick you up early today. We need to talk.

Everything okay?

Will be. Trust me.

Always.

That single word hits harder than it should.

She trusts me, even knowing what I am.

Even after I just spent an hour proving exactly how monstrous I can be.

Back at the clubhouse, I hand the laptop to Vanir and head for the bathroom to clean up.

The blood on my hands washes away easily enough, but there's a splatter on my neck I miss.