Page 74 of Violence and Vice

I’m practically teleporting across the stage, but I can’t stop it as his skin drains of color, going pale, then gray. His veins go dark. His mouth sags open.

He collapses, heavy and final, to the ground.

Still.

Silent.

Dead.

Time and space feel suspended as the word echoes through my brain.

Dead.

Ares.

Dead.

Someone screams. Someone bellows.

It’s like something ancient and bottomless inside me goes cold—then explodes.

I turn on James.

He doesn’t even see me coming.

I crash into him like a freight train, tackling him to the ground. We slam into the slick stone, my knee driving into his ribs with a crunch. His breath whooshes out.

I see his eyes—startled, maybe even scared—and I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

My fists fly. One. Two. Ten.

I don’t count. I don't think.

I feel bone break beneath my knuckles. I feel his teeth give under the hammer of my rage. Blood sprays my face, my hands, the walls. James tries to cover his head, but I grab his wrists, slam them to the floor, straddle his chest, and rain fury down.

“Youfuckingbastard!” I scream, and my voice is not human.

He gurgles something—maybe a plea, maybe a curse.

I bare my teeth.

And it all comes to a crystal clear point as I drive my hand into his chest.

Flesh parts like wet paper.

My fingers curl around his heart—still beating—and I tear it free with a scream that rips my throat raw.

James jerks beneath me. One last breath escapes his lips. His eyes roll back. He twitches once.

Then nothing. His skin turns gray, and he’s absolutely still on the ground.

Sysco kneels beside Ares, obscenities and pleas pouring out of him. I collapse to my knees beside Ares, shaking. Blood coats my arms. My chest is heaving. My entire body is trembling, but not from fear—from fury. From despair.

I look at Ares.

His eyes are still open.

But he’s not there.