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I just want it to stop.
“So you’re here alone?” Morgan asks, leisurely raking his eyes over my body, making a tsking sound when I nod. “Must be fate that brought us together then.”
He takes a step toward me, not releasing the gun the way I’d hoped. Disarming him will be tricky. He’s not as untrained as Hadley.
I let him grab me by the throat. I fake shock when he shoves me against the wall. And I cry out, feigning pain when he shoves a knee between my legs. But I don’t make my move until I hear the gun hit the floor.
Then a smile curves my lips, and I make the same tsking sound he just made. His brow creases in confusion seconds before my arms shoot up between us, and the heel of my palm catches his nose, sending blood spraying everywhere as he stumbles backwards.
“Been waiting a long time to repay that favor,” I tell him, tossing the ear piece to the side.
He looks at me, and I see it when rage takes hold. Pissed off people are all lunging and no finesse.
As expected, he lunges, and I slam my knee into his torso before bringing my elbow down hard across the back of his neck. He slams into the wall, getting dazed, and staggers a step before falling.
Before he can recover, I grab the wire from my purse, and I wrap it around his throat, choking him from behind. He struggles, standing up with me still behind him, forcing me to ride his back like a monkey as I hang on, choking him harder.
He slams me into the wall, but my grip never loosens, and the pain never comes. My tolerance is so much higher than his.
“You made me this way,” I whisper.
I see it in the mirror across from us—the confusion in his eyes.
/> He has no idea who I am.
I release him when he drops to the ground, not fully unconscious, but not awake enough to fight back.
With quick movements, I cuff his hands and drag the cable connected to the cuffs to tie off at a beam in his living room. I then tie his feet together, and pull out the electric nail gun from my oversized purse.
A bloodcurdling scream erupts from his throat when I use the small—yet powerful—nail gun on his feet, securing them to the ground with rapid succession. Then I pull out the lube while he continues sobbing.
“Who the fuck are you?” he cries out.
An agonized sob rips from his throat when he tries to move his feet. Those nails are too long for him to pull out of the floor without ripping his feet to shreds.
“Don’t worry, Morgan,” I tell him, grinning as I smear the lube on his bare chest. “I brought lube. I want you to enjoy this. It’ll feel good when I’m inside you.”
With one hard thrust, I plant the knife in his side, and another bloodcurdling scream erupts, but I see it the second he realizes who I am.
“Doesn’t that feel good?” I mock.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No way. It’s not you.”
I lean down, getting right against his ear. “You should have saved me all those years ago. Then I could have saved you.”
With that last taunt, I tug his boxers down, and I pull on the gloves before lubing his dick. The sicko is actually hard. That’s a first.
He watches me, probably thinking I’m going somewhere else with this. The side injury isn’t lethal. I know where to stab to inflict pain but spare life.
He’s in a lot of pain, but he’s such a sexual deviant that he doesn’t seem to even care. At least not until I pull out the other knife and slowly slide it down his lubed up torso, nicking the flesh but not slicing into it.
His breathing stops when I reach his most prized possession.
“Don’t,” he whispers, panic paling his features when he sees what I’m going to do. “I had nothing to do with what they did to Marcus. I swear that wasn’t me.”
“You held the mirror. You laughed as Kyle took the slice. You’re the one who encouraged Kyle to redeem himself in your eyes. You’re the reason it happened. Why should you keep this?” I ask, hearing his fearful cry when I nick just the side.
“Don’t! Please! I fucking beg you.”
