Hunted

Marcus

Chapter 16
Four years ago.

Vaughn's fist connects with the man's face again, the sickening thud of bone meeting flesh echoing in the room. His face is unrecognizable now—a mess of swollen flesh, split skin, and blood oozing from every possible place. His nose looks shattered, bent at a grotesque angle, while mucus and blood mix in a macabre smear across his mouth. Vaughn's grip around his throat is relentless, fingers digging in, as he shakes him like a rag doll, each blow harder than the last.

I can see the fury in Vaughn's eyes, something primal that has only worsened over the past few months. He's like a caged animal, but there's no cage—just a man who thrives on inflicting pain.
Jeremy drags another guy into view, the poor bastard struggling as he's tossed forward like a sacrifice. "Found another one. Fresh sport," he says with an unsettling grin.

Vaughn barely acknowledges him, his focus solely on the man beneath him. His knuckles come down again, with a wet, sickening smack. Blood splatters, mixing with the sweat pouring down Vaughn's face.

"That's enough," I grab his arm mid-swing, but he jerks it away, eyes wild.

"You're going to kill him," I repeat, my voice low but firm.

Vaughn's lips curl into a snarl. "Let him fucking die." He drives his fist down again, hard. The man's head lolls to the side, eyes barely open, blood pooling beneath him.

Jeremy chuckles darkly from the side. "He's done. Beat on the new one. This one's dirty now." He nudges the fresh guy with his boot, who flinches on the floor.

It's how Jeremy and Vaughn thrive in this. Jeremy's the quiet one, but his silence only makes him more unsettling. Vaughn? He doesn't talk, doesn't threaten—he just does. He tears people apart until they're unrecognizable, like he's trying to erase them from existence.

"You think the cops will get involved?" Jeremy lights a cigarette, watching the carnage with a detached interest, like it's just another day.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on Vaughn. "They're not exactly in any state to make reports. They'll be lucky if they remember their own names."

Jeremy exhales a long plume of smoke, then steps toward the new guy, who's trembling, his eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. "You interrupted us," Jeremy says casually, before pressing the burning tip of his cigarette into the guy's neck. He screams, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air. "I don't like interruptions."

I glance back at Vaughn. He's still standing over the bloody mess of a man, but his fists have finally stopped. His chest heaves with exertion, hands still clenched. The guy on the floor is barely conscious, if at all.

"Vaughn," I say, stepping forward. "We're done here. Leave him. He's not worth any more of your energy."

Vaughn's eyes flick to mine, the rage slowly subsiding, though the darkness remains. He wipes the blood from his hands onto his jeans, looking down at the boy with disgust.

"You two clean this up," I say, glancing between them. "Not a trace. No blood, no evidence. I'm not covering for you again."

Jeremy smirks, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Vaughn doesn't respond. He just stares at the body beneath him, as if trying to decide if he's satisfied with the destruction or if he needs just one more punch.

"Don't test me again," I say, locking eyes with Vaughn. There's a flicker of acknowledgment, but no remorse.

I press the heel of my boot against the guy's skull, shifting his head with casual indifference. "Next time you raise a hand to my guys, I'll crack your skull open and scrape out what little you've got up there."