Atticus POV
The small cot bends under my weight. I pat myself on the stomach and suck it in. "I probably should lose a few pounds," I mutter to myself.
I lie down on the cot, and my legs hang awkwardly off the end. Placing my hands behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling. It is damp and moldy. This whole place smells like blood and piss. Or maybe the scent of blood is Kyle's that has dried all over my body.
I wonder how close to death Kyle is. It is the only thing that gives me solace about the situation. I just wish I could have made sure he died by my hands. Killing him quickly would have been the logical thing to do, but I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to leave him so disfigured that an open casket at his funeral wouldn't be an option.
'Still time,' Hero growls in my mind.
'I will kill him,' I promise Hero. 'I owe Eryn that much.'