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He waited. Nothing. He looked at the state of him. His face and jaw. Pretty Boy couldn’t have talked if he’d wanted to.
“Okay, have it your way,” Devine said, pinching Pretty Boy’s nose and closing a hand over his mouth.
Devine clucked his tongue and shook his head down at Pretty Boy as he made the smallest groan of protest.
“No, Pretty Boy, it’s time for me to talk,” Devine told him quietly as he squatted there, killing him.
“See, everybody always said how top-notch you were. Mr. True Team Member, grace under pressure and all that jazz, but I never bought it. I never liked you. I always knew you looked down on me, that it was just an act.
“You had it all, bro. But you had to go and screw yourself up and ruin everything. We’re all really disappointed in you, man. Me and Therk and the boss. You had such potential, dude, such amazing potential, but you blew it like the loser that you deep down are and always were. Okay? I just wanted you to know that. Get it off my chest and set the record straight. I feel better now. Thanks a bunch, bro. Good night now.”
