Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions)

Chapter 48 (Kylie)

“So what now, you all here to judge me,” I yell at them, my head shaking, hands flailing the air.

“Huh, you want to give Kylie an old fashion tough love speech, well FUCK you all,” I laugh, but it is

dead.

Where were they when I needed them?

Where the fuck were they?!

I point my finger first at Michael, “FUCK YOU.” Then David, “FUCK YOU.” Then Jace, “FUCK YOU.”

Then Vincent, “FUCK YOU.” Then to Kevin, “AND A BIGGEST FUCK YOU.”

They all stare at me, none of them saying anything.

It gives me pause. Minutes tick by, they all just stand, and I hate it.

“Are you done bitching? I wanna eat!” Kevin stares long and hard at me. No judgment, no bullshit.

I look at all my brothers and it is the same with them, no judgment.

Kylie Bray would have felt like shit right now, but she's dead.

Taking a moment to sort my head out, I shrug, because who gives a fuck.

I smack Kevin on the head, “Yeah we can eat.”

He normally smacks me back and it takes me a few seconds until it registers. I give my brother one last

look and his blue eyes tell me all I need to know.

He knows everything. You can't hide things from the ghost. But it also shows me something else,

retribution.

I turn to walk up the stairs when Jace puts his arm around my shoulder turning me back to the stairs I

was about to go down,

“That way, Ky,” pointing lazily with one of his fingers

“You never really thought we were going to go back in there now did you,” David says from behind me.

“Fuck no, I need a proper steak not fucking chew pieces,” Kevin states going down the stairs, as Jace

and I follow.

“Can you take your hand off my shoulder,” I say to Jace because it makes me feel uncomfortable?

I don't want people touching me, I had enough of that.

We find a restaurant not far from the place we left. And though everything sounds normal, it is not.

I don't feel like talking, I don't have any smart comebacks for David, or stories for Jace.

I don't have any close connection with Michael and he senses that because like me he is quiet.

Watching me, waiting for something.

Vincent gets up several times to answer phone calls and by the end of the night, my brothers are all

leaving except Vincent. The two of us stay behind and wait for his men, or soldiers as he calls them to

bring his car.

We are driving somewhere, it isn't back to the hotel and I don't feel like questioning Vincent on our Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

whereabouts.

In fact, since my brothers all left we’ve barely said two words to each other.

We stop off at what looks like an abandoned shed, and I don't think anything of it when I step out of the

car and follow Vincent inside.

I should, I should have stopped, I should have asked.

My eyes widen at the naked man sitting in the chair. A face of many that I would never forget.

I remember him, small dick, big hands, skull tattoo on his neck.

Since I left the dock, since I am back I haven't had any dreams like Beggar. I am not haunted by it. I am

just dead, numb.

Narrowing my eyes in curiosity, I watch Vincent step forward into view.

“What is this?” I ask him.

He smiles and it isn't a nice smile, but one of evil intent.

“A message,” he says as his back blocks my view of the man.

There is two small lights in this place, the one is hanging directly over the naked rapists head. Because

that is what he is.

Vincent removes his jacket and turns to face me,

“So where would you like me to start.”

I am standing not too far from the door we have just entered. One of my rapists are naked with black

tape over his mouth, while Vincent the man I am supposed to love but can't feel anything for, stands in

front of him and Vincent is asking me where would I like him to start and I feel nothing.

“With his dick.”

I shrug my shoulders, my eyes cold as I look at the pitiful excuse of a man who took from me, what

wasn't his to take.

Vincent removes his jacket putting it on a chair not too far from where he is stationed, takes his

cufflinks off, rolling up his sleeves and I stay just here, close to the door.

Watching, waiting. What he is going to do?

He pulls out a silver butterfly knife from his pants pocket and his navy blue handkerchief from his shirt.

Vincent then proceeds to hold the man's small dick with the handkerchief and cuts it off.

The guy bucks, his eyes wide as terror and pain rush tenfold.

He makes mumbling noise and tears run down but with his mouth taped up not much else is seen.

And I think, I didn't have tears left.

He is getting off easy.

I expect Vincent to shoot him now so we can leave. Instead, he wraps the man's dick in the

handkerchief, placing it in a gift box that I only see now, that is on a small table behind the bucking

man.

Vincent walks to the other end of this factory space or whatever it is called and puts on some music.

David Guetta and then it begins.

I came in here, feeling numb, I came in here feeling nothing.

Hours pass and time goes by as I watch Vincent torture the man.

And I feel something, I feel it but I just can't say what it is.

It almost like it is wrong, but how can it be when this man hurt me.

Was it not wrong when he raped me when he shoved a coke bottle up my ass.

Vincent doesn't look at me once as he works, he doesn't acknowledge anything.

Like his mind is lost in his torture session. But I catch glimpses of him, I see the small smile, the

eagerness in his gaze as he takes a scalpel to the man's forehead.

I should stop this I realize.

And I go to do just that.

I put the music off, and walk up to the man in the chair.

He is already dead.