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“Boss is going to be big mad, lass.”
I ignore the lump in my throat. The shiver of anticipation down my spine. “Good.”
He runs his hand over his shaved head, smearing the blood into his hairline, and sighs. “Fuck it, I’m not a babysitter,” he says, pushing himself off the wall with a wince. “But boy, I can’t wait until the boss gets home and sees what you did. I’m gunning for a front-row seat. Have fun, lass.”
And with that, he stomps down the hall, disappearing into a room on the far end with a loud slam of the door.
I smash every plate in the kitchen cupboards.
Carve an enormous dick into the glass coffee table with my penknife.
Then I pour out every bottle from the liquor cabinet, bar one, onto the plush rugs, staining them a murky brown. When I’m satisfied with the level of destruction, I take the one remaining bottle of whiskey and sink down on the ruined sofa. Taking a big glug, I enjoy the delicious burning at the back of my throat, then look out at the skyline, feeling a demonic grin stretch across my face.
He wants to break me, so I’ll break everything he owns.
He’ll learn soon enough that you don’t fuck with a pustosh’ kid.
