“You know, Grant,” I say, “you’ve taken a lot of things from me over the years. My parents. My freedom. Maybe the last piece of my sanity.”
I stop where he can see me clearly.
“That’s why I don’t feel bad about what I did to your family,” I continue. “I enjoyed every blow.”
Grant’s mouth twitches. His face tightens, and a strained sound slips out of him before he can stop it. He tries to speak, drags in a breath that doesn't come easy, and chokes on it.
I keep going.
“Before I even drove down to their house, I wasn’t completely sure they were bad people,” I admit. “I just assumed they had to be, to raise two sadistic fucks like you and Elliot. Turns out I was right.”
A smile pulls at my mouth.
“Your brother pissed himself before I killed him,” I add. “Your wife cried. Your mother begged. I’m pretty sure your father shit himself.”
I give a small shrug.
“All pathetic, just like you.”
Grant jerks against the restraints, the movement tearing through his body. A broken groan rips out of him as pain floods through whatever nerves are left intact. His breathing turns uneven, shallow, desperate, but he still tries to push through it.
He spits out words between breaths, voice breaking apart as he forces them through the pain, each sentence dragging itself forward like it is fighting to exist.
“Your mother…” he chokes, a wet cough cutting him off before he tries again. “We carved her open… ear to ear. She wouldn’t stop screaming…”
His chest stutters. He swallows hard, like it burns.
“Your father… we gutted him,” he continues, words slurring. “Took his eyes… made sure he saw it coming before we did.”
He lets out something that almost sounds like a laugh, but it collapses into another strained breath.
“They were so fucked up…” he rasps. “You couldn’t even have an open casket…”
His head tilts slightly, eyes trying to lock onto mine, even as his body trembles under thestrain.
“We should’ve found you that night,” he mutters, voice dropping. “Taken turns… forced our way into your tight little cunt while we strangled the life out of you…”
He coughs again, harder this time, blood spilling from his mouth as his body jerks against the restraints.
I laugh.
The sound cuts through everything else in the room.
“Grant,” I sigh, shaking my head, “these weak attempts to intimidate me or piss me off aren’t going to work. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
I step closer until I'm right beside his face.
“You’re dying,” I tell him. “Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
I glance at Seth, then back at Grant.
“But guess who decides.”
I tap my chest once, then gesture toward Seth.
“Me and him,” I smirk. “The two people you tried to destroy.”
Grant’s eyes shift, struggling to focus. The pain is still there, but something else starts to surface under it.
