Chapter 5: Vengeance Unleashed

05

I snatched a mug off the coffee table and smashed it over his head.

The mug hit his skull with a crack like a baseball bat at Little League. Coffee splattered across the carpet, mixing with blood. My arm tingled from the impact. Shards flew everywhere, one nicking my forearm, but I barely noticed. Blood dripped down his scalp.

"You sick freak! Still feel like a big man? Let’s see you try that again!"

The words ripped from me before I knew I was screaming. All my rage, fear, and years of frustration poured out in that one shout.

He clutched his head, howling, blood streaming down his arm.

He staggered back, wild-eyed, stunned anyone would fight back. Sweat and cheap aftershave mixed with blood as he stared at me.

It still wasn’t enough. I moved to kick him, but the old woman lunged, grabbing my arms, shrieking, "Ethan, hit him! Hit him!"

Her nails dug in. I shoved her off, but she clung to my sleeves, screeching for her son to defend his father.

Ethan snapped out of it and punched me.

His fist slammed into my jaw, teeth clacking. I stumbled, tasted blood, but the pain only fueled my anger.

I didn’t dodge. I took the punch, then kicked him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling across the living room.

He crashed into the end table, knocking over a lamp. For a moment, the room was dark except for the pale dawn light through the curtains.

I shook off the old woman, raised my fists, and charged, grabbing the old creep by the hair and slamming his head into the floor.

The carpet muffled the thud, but I made sure he felt it. His greasy hair twisted in my grip. Shock flashed across his face—no one had ever fought back before.

He tried to shield himself, but I was relentless. Every punch was justice for my sister, his wife, every woman he’d hurt.

Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded in my back.

It took a moment to register. The pain was blinding—a hot spike that made me gasp.

Ethan had smashed a vase over me. The vase shattered, cold water soaking my shirt, shards biting into my back.

For a second, the world spun, shards crunching under my sneakers. I braced a bloody hand on the wall, refusing to go down.

My sister screamed, pointing at my back. "You’re bleeding! There’s blood everywhere!"

Her voice cut through the haze of adrenaline. I glanced at my shirt, bright crimson spreading, but I didn’t care. Pain was just static—I was running on fury.

The apartment faded away. All that mattered was the pounding in my chest, the need to protect my family at any cost.

One thought echoed in my mind:

"Kill them. Kill them all."

I was shocked by my own calm—the eye of the storm, pure focus and rage.

I met Ethan’s terrified eyes and punched him in the face. As he doubled over, I kneed him in the stomach. His face turned red, eyes bulged, and he collapsed, clutching his gut, gasping.

He wheezed, eyes wide with shock. For the first time, he looked small, pathetic.

I turned back to the old creep. He tried to flee, but my nephew inside refused to open the door, no matter what.

I heard the kid’s voice through the flimsy door, shrill and determined. A chair scraped as he braced himself against it.

The old creep shouted, "Good boy, open the door for Grandpa!"

His voice was wheedling, desperate, trying and failing to sound gentle. You could hear the panic rising as he realized his power was slipping.

"Go away! Mom says you’re not allowed in! You’re a bad guy!" my nephew shouted, his little voice shaking but strong.

The strength in his voice broke my heart with pride and pain. No child should have to say those words.

I grabbed the old man by the neck and dragged him back, grinning.

"Where do you think you’re going, you bastard?"

My grip tightened on the old man’s neck. Sirens wailed closer, echoing up the stairwell. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes—and I wasn’t sure I’d stop.