Page 137 of Pretty Thing

Blood pours out of his mouth while he groans and holds his face. His jaw must be as thick as his head because it didn’t dislocate.

“Hello, Kyle.” I make my tone as threatening as possible when I stare down at the weaselly prick.

His eyes flick up to mine, dazed.

“Fu…ck.”

My hood has blood splatter on it, motherfucker.

“Fucker, so inconsiderate. You got blood on my car.” I sigh. “That’s disappointing. I just washed it. Have some fucking respect already.”

I bring the bat down on his stomach. He yells and rolls onto his side, then tries to crawl under my car.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I snarl.

Grabbing Kyle by his leg—ignoring the struggling and the fact that he leaves fingermarks in the snow—I drag his sorry ass out to the middle of the empty parking lot.

There is nowhere to go and nowhere to hide.

I drop his leg, and he rolls over. He wipes the blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“You know, Kyle, I was willing to give you a chance,” I say, hitting him a third time and catching him in the shoulder. The tip of the bat grazes the side of his neck.

Kyle cries out, lies back on the snow, and grabs his throat.

Eyes wide, he stares up in terror, then tries to scurry away.

I swirl the bat in a circle as I follow him.

“But you just won’t stop trying to come between me and my soulmate. It’s making me really fucking angry,” I growl.

This time, I bring the bat down on his kneecap before treating his ankle like a golf ball.

“Ahhh!”

The bone cracks, but his wild screams only bring me mild satisfaction. I’m not one of those sick fucks that gets hard for this shit. I’m not a fucking psycho. I’m just protecting what’s mine.

This is payback for him violating Eden’s room and forcing me to burn her house to the ground.

“Ahh, fuck! Ah, fucking prick,” he yells dramatically, reaching for his knee.

Using the end of the bat, I smash his face in, and he falls back, arms splayed. Then I break all the fingers on his right hand.

He wails and stares at the twisted, bleeding mess. While he writhes in pain, I search his pockets and find his phone. It’s locked, so I hold it up to his face.

“Wow, you must normally look this ugly. Your phone didn’t even hesitate,” I say, standing and stepping back out of his reach.

“Give…that…back,” he snarls, words strained.

He tries to follow me like a pathetic worm inching across the ground. But he’s dragging his now useless ankle behind him.

I check his apps, pictures, and texts with his nosy sister to make sure that he doesn’t have any of our conversations saved before going through the albums and files. I stop when I find ones of him jerking off. Interesting. I hit play and shake my head when I realize these must be in his room, but he’s using Eden’s underwear for the little home video.

Squatting down, I smirk with victory as I turn the phone around.

“You were right to worry, Kyle. I see you. I see the kind of slime you are.” I point the bat at him. “I wonder what Eden will think when she sees what you’ve been doing with her cute panties, and then wonders how you got them. What will she feel when it dawns on her that her so-called best friend snuck into her room and went through her things?”

“What…what do you want?”