Page 12

F or two days, I listen to his screams until they finally cut out.

Liam, his face contorted with a mixture of disappointment and frustration, lets out a deep sigh and pouts, his words dripping with sadistic delight, “Pussy! I wanted to feed him his own bowels first.” His eyes narrow as he gazes down at Doyle’s limbless body.

“Perhaps you should have considered the consequences before you heartlessly ripped out his beating organ.” I point accusingly at Liam’s hand, still clutching Doyle’s lifeless heart. A flicker of realization crosses his face as he glances down at the heart in his hand.

“Oh, yeah, that would have done it,” he says, tossing it over his shoulder.

My skin itches from all the blood caked on it.

The thick, congealed substance clung to me like a grotesque second skin. Thick like gravy.

Surprisingly, he had endured far longer than I had anticipated.

If it weren’t for the blood bags Liam had procured, he would have perished long ago when we mercilessly severed his arms. As if possessed by a demented euphoria, Liam whistles gleefully at the sound of the bell ringing—a signal that someone has arrived.

“Ah, customers!” he exclaims with perverse excitement. “I’ve missed my true calling, I must admit. I reckon my steaks look pretty good. Wonder if they want to try my marinated Doyle steaks or the Doyle sausage,” Liam says, excitedly taking the tray he had been placing his were-steaks on.

He had taken his role as a butcher to an entirely new level. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his twisted dedication as he snatches the tray, rushing eagerly toward the front of the store.

Suddenly, a shrill scream pierces the air, followed by the jingling of bells as a frightened woman flees from the premises.

Liam’s disappointment is palpable as he calls out to her, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation, “But it’s a delicacy!

I marinated him myself for twelve agonizing hours!

” Shaking my head at his deluded persistence, I peel off my blood-soaked rubber apron and hang it on the hook beside the freezer door.

Liam comes in with his tray in hand, looking rather upset that the woman, whoever she was, didn’t want to try his Doyle steaks.

“Wasted all that time marinating those,” he says, tossing the tray on the counter. He washes his knives and places them in his satchel. Grabbing the soap, I scrub my hands clean when Liam growls. I peer over my shoulder to see him glaring down at Doyle’s lifeless form.

“Bloody bastard, look what you did! You owe me a new apron. You better hope I can wash this out,” he snarls, taking off his apron. I raise an eyebrow at him. The man is absolutely bonkers.

“What? He got his filthy blood on it. Look at this,” he says, trying to clean his apron in cold water. “He turned it pink. I’ll just say it is salmon. I can pull off salmon, right?” Liam growls, scrubbing the apron that he has come to love.

“I’d like to see someone tell you that you can’t,” I laugh before staring at my jeans.

Not even the apron could save them. I sigh, walking out through the shop to the car and retrieving the bag from the trunk.

I always bring spare clothes. The town square is pretty quiet as I finally get outside.

There are plenty of stares, but no one dares say anything.

I am kind of waiting for them to break out in a dance, like a flash mob, with the way the noise has stopped abruptly, everyone frozen.

Shaking my head, I pop the trunk, grab a fresh shirt, and pull it on. Hearing the butcher’s shop bell jingle, I glance over my shoulder, and a scream rings out from an elderly lady sitting out the front of the bakery eating a scone under a blue and white umbrella.

Liam struts out naked, drenched from head to toe in blood. He shakes off some congealed blood that has plopped on his foot. His apron is clutched in his hand, and he flicks it out.

“That is not coming in the car. Put it in the trunk,” I tell him.

“But how will it dry?” he whines.

“I gotta grab Logan and Oliver. The kids will freak if they see you like that,” I tell him when a shriek reaches my ears and a crowd forms around the old woman.

“Are you itchy?” Liam asks, scratching his balls. I snort when people rush over to the small bakery. Liam glances over there, and so do I, to see the old woman choking. Another woman pats her back frantically, and Liam sighs before stomping over to her.

He starts performing the Heimlich maneuver on her, which is a sight to see.

Everyone scatters as he grabs her. His arms wrapping around her, his naked ass tensing as he performs the task.

A piece of scone flies from her mouth, and she sucks in a breath before he lets her go.

The woman collapses on the ground, and Liam clicks his tongue, sitting her up, his junk right in her face.

She gasps, her eyes going wide when she realizes his dick is like an inch off her face.

She looks at him as if she’s going to faint.

Liam winks at her. “I’ve got something you can choke on, love,” he says, blowing her a kiss. She stares at him, appalled, his dick slapping her cheek as he turns to walk back to the car. I shake my head as he leans into the trunk to retrieve some clothes.

He pulls on some shorts and a tank top before moving toward the passenger side, and I jump in the driver’s seat, starting the car.

As I tear out of the town square, the engine revs loudly, headed for the orphanage.

Liam lights a smoke, and I click my fingers at him before he growls, pulling the smoke out from between his lips, handing it to me, and lighting another.

I draw back on the smoke while weaving through the streets to get the kids.

“So what do you intend to do with them, anyway? Since when did you become all fatherly?” Liam asks, and I shrug. I never gave much thought to kids until I met Abbie. Maybe I could keep them? I shove the idea away. Abbie might not want kids. I suppose we will see each other when I get her back.

“I’m not keeping them,” I tell him.

“So, why are we taking them?”

“Clarice,” I tell him.

“Ah, I see, a fine woman. Too bad she could never have kids. She would have been an excellent mother,” Liam says.

“Well, she is a mother. She practically raised Kyson and half the servant’s kids. Clarice will look after them, love them,” I tell him, and Liam nods.

“That she will; my favorite childhood memories were always with her,” Liam states and I glance at him but he has that far away expression on his face he gets when he relives his past.

I slap his chest and jolt him back to the present. He clears his throat, and I arch a brow at him wondering where his mind went. He pulls a flask from his boot, flicking off some gunk from Doyle out the window.

“You good?” I ask him as he drinks the entire thing in two long gulps.

“Yep, peachy. Mind wandered a little; not to worry, let’s get these adoptees,” he chuckles. I snort and shake my head as I pull up in front of the orphanage.

I park the car out front of the orphanage, the engine rumbling softly as it idles.

The building is dimly lit, and the sun is almost completely down.

The faint sound of children’s chatter filters through the slightly open windows, a reminder of the chaos and suffering that lingers in this place.

Liam flicks his cigarette out the window, crushing the last bit of it under his boot as he steps out.

“Alright, let’s go get the kids, so I can get home and feed my sausage to Dustin,” he says, clapping his hands together and rubbing them like he’s preparing for a grand event. I raise an eyebrow at vulgar words.

“My sausage not Doyle sausage; I left those for Alpha Dean to chow on,” he says smugly.

I roll my eyes at his antics but follow him up the creaking wooden steps toward the entrance. Before we even knock, the door creaks open, and Katrina stands in the doorway, her face weary but relieved.

“Thank God, I thought you were the Alpha,” she says softly, stepping aside to let us in. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back for them when you were gone for so long.”

Her eyes linger on me for a moment, gratitude shining in them despite her exhaustion.

The bruises on her arms, faint but visible, tell me everything I need to know about what she’s endured here at the hands of Mrs. Daley while trying to protect these kids from the old bitch.

I can see the faint hand prints like she was grabbed.

Katrina, noticing my stare, tugs the sleeve of her top down.

“Those from Daley or you need me to sort the Alpha out for you?”

“No, my father, he isn’t too steady on his feet these days.” I watch her carefully wondering if she is lying.

“Promise, no one is hurting me, I would say so if they did. So the boys, I will grab them for you.” She wanders off, calling up the stairs for the boys. I hear the patter of tiny feet rushing to the stairs. Katrina returns and sighs heavily.

“Are you sure you can take them?” she asks.

“We’ll take care of them,” I tell her firmly. “And we’ll figure something out for the rest of the kids soon. Are you right with them until then?”

Katrina nods, glancing toward the hallway where the boys are waiting. “I’ll keep the others safe until something is sorted; I’ll just have to rearrange my schedule.”

I nod.

“We’ll speak with the king. Just hold on a little longer,” I assure her before she steps aside, allowing us further inside.

We find Logan and Oliver waiting near the bottom of the staircase, their small frames trembling slightly as they clutch each other’s hands.

Oliver, the older of the two, stands protectively in front of his brother, his wary eyes flicking between me and Liam.

Logan peeks out from behind Oliver, his thumb in his mouth, clearly terrified.