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He thought of his own violation long ago in that stairwell. Pictured Xhex going through similar humiliation and degradation. Recalled what Z had said he’d been through. Remembered what Tohr had suffered.

And in the midst of the recollections, he felt the echo of something long, long ago, something of another abduction, another female hurt wrongly, another life ruined.

Lash’s horrific face and his decrepit, melting form became the embodiment of all of it: a festering, rotting, tangible representation of all the evil in the world, all the pain caused with deliberation, all the cruelty and debasement and malicious joy.

All the deeds done in a moment that had repercussions which lasted a lifetime.

“I fucked her, John, boy—”

With a slashing arch, John’s dagger arm plunged downward.

At the last second, he twisted his wrist so that the head of the hilt caught Lash right in the face. And the bonded male in him wanted to do what he’d done to that slayer back at the brownstone—nothing but complete evisceration.

Except then he’d be cheating this situation of the kind of divine justice so few people got. His wrong had never been righted—that human piece of shit who’d hurt him had gotten clean away. And Tohr’s wrong could never be righted, because Wellsie was never coming back.

But Z had gotten his closure.

And goddamn it, so would his Xhex . . . even if that was the last thing in this world she did.

John had tears in his eyes as he took one of her bloodied hands from her wound . . . and opened it wide.

Turning his dagger around, he placed the hilt onto her palm. As her eyes flared, he closed her hold on his weapon and moved around to help prop her up and get her within range.

Lash’s chest was going up and down, his skinless throat flexing while he drew his breath and blew it back out. As light dawned on him and he got a picture of what was coming, lidless eyes stretched in their sockets and his lipless mouth pulled off his teeth in a smile that was the stuff of horror movies.

He tried to say something, but he couldn’t quite get it out.

Which was good. He’d already said too much, done too much, hurt too much.

Time had come for his reckoning.

In his arms, John felt Xhex gathering her strength and he watched as she took her other hand from her wound to aid in gripping his weapon. Her stare burned with hatred as she took over from there, a sudden surge of power in her body lifting her arms to form an arch above Lash’s sternum.

The bastard knew what was coming, though, and blocked the blow by covering his chest.

Oh, hell, no. John shot out and grabbed both of the guy’s biceps, forcing the asshole flat onto the ground, exposing the expanse she needed to hit, giving her the clearest and best shot.

As her eyes rose to John’s, there was a telltale sheen of red across them, her tears making her irises glow: All the pain she’d borne in her heart was as exposed as Lash’s ugliness, all the burden on her and in her made manifest in her stare.

When John nodded at her, his dagger in her hands swept down and hit Lash directly in the heart. . . .

The evil’s scream echoed in between the buildings, ricocheting back and forth, gathering in volume until it became the great Pop! that accompanied a vivid flash of light.

Which took Lash back to his unholy sire.

As the sound and illumination faded, all that was left was a faint scorched circle on the asphalt and the stench of burned sugar.

Xhex’s shoulders went limp and the dagger blade squeaked across the pavement as she fell backward, her strength gone. John caught her before she hit the ground, and she stared up at him, her tears mixing with the blood on her face and running down her neck, past the vital beating pulse that was her life force.

John held her tight against him, her head fitting perfectly under his chin.

“He’s dead,” she sobbed. “Oh, God, John . . . he’s dead. . . .”

With his hands occupied, all he could do was nod so that she knew that he was agreeing