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She nods and scrambles up, not caring about her clothes, and rushes through the door. Shaking my head, I lean against the door she indicated and knock calmly. “Come out, come out, little boy, and play with us,” I call.
I hear a curse and the fumbling of shells. Rolling my eyes, I wave Garrett on. He pulls back his leg and kicks open the door. It explodes inwards, and then he’s in the room, grabbing the naked guy and slamming him into the tiled bathroom wall. He smashes his fist into his face once, twice more, before dropping him in a bloody mess to the floor and looking at me. “He’s yours, have fun, I’m heading down to see if they need any help.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I grin before stepping into the man’s path as he tries to crawl away, “once I’ve had my fun with this one.” Crouching, I yank his head up by his hair. “Hello, mate, want to play with me?”
Garrett laughs as he leaves, knowing the poor bastard will be dead before long.
His eye is already sealing shut, his lip is split, and his skin is pale and clammy. “Fuck you,” he yells, and spits blood right in my face. I let it drip down me without a care as my lips tug into a smile.
“No thanks, I have a little bird at home for that,” I reply.
He goes to spit again, so I grab his chin and force his mouth open. Gripping his tongue, I slice it off with my knife. He screams, spraying blood as I drop his detached muscle to the floor and watch him roll around in agony.
He passes out for a moment, so I grab a cup on the side and turn on the tap, filling it before throwing the cold water across his face. He wakes up sputtering, and when he sees me, he makes a moaning noise and tries to crawl between my legs. Stomping on one of his hands until I hear his bones crack, I lean down. “You shouldn’t have come for me or mine.”
He whimpers and big, fat tears roll down his face as he looks into my eyes and sees his death. Taking my time, I flip him over and crouch beside him before flicking on my lighter. I press it to his skin, strike it on, and grab his head and burn out his eyes.
Now, fun fact, eyes don’t just melt, they burst.
They pour down his face as I let go, and he grabs his head in a vice, a wail coming from his throat. Whistling, I put away my lighter and grab his legs, dragging him from the room. I throw some of the bedding over my shoulder as I go as an idea comes into my head.
Hoisting him up, I wrap bits of the bedding around each wrist before grabbing my knife—no need for theatrics, he can’t see me, after all. I lean down and press my lips to his ear. “This is going to hurt.”
I slice open his stomach and let the contents come out before kicking him over the railing.
Using the bedding, I tie him in place by his arms so he dangles over the railing. Whoever comes here to investigate will see it and word will spread. They will know it’s us, and they will be scared. His intestines tumble from his stomach and drop downwards, his blood spilling too.
Whistling again, I head down the stairs at the side, stopping to admire my handiwork. Not bad for being in such a rush. Leaping down the last three rungs, I step over the bodies lying across the floor, their guns useless beside them. They never stood a chance.
When I get to the middle of the room, Ryder is sitting in a chair. His shirt is covered in blood, and his guns are on the table next to him as he leans back, sniffing at a bottle of something before tossing it away. Garrett is leaning against a crate, cleaning off his bloodied knuckles.
“I got him,” Kenzo calls, before dragging over a man wearing jeans and a stained top. “Stupid idiot asked if I knew who he was. Apparently he’s the leader.” He tosses him at Ryder’s feet, who leans down with his arms between his legs.
“Is that right? Do you know who I am?” he asks.
Fuck, I love this bit.
I giggle when Ryder slowly rolls his sleeves back, exposing his tats. “Better answer him,” I yell.
“I-I know who you are,” the man snarls, getting to his knees. He tries to get to his feet, but Kenzo presses his head down so he remains seated.
“Good, this makes this easier. Who hired you?” Ryder inquires casually, still rolling back his sleeves. Methodically, slowly.
“Fuck you,” he snaps. Why do they all keep saying that?
Ryder smirks and stands, grabbing a blade from the table. He holds it in the air, letting it gleam in the light. “Then let us begin. I want you to know from the start what will happen to you. I offered you a way out, now there is none. I will cut off your fingers, and while you’re still screaming, I will flay the flesh from your arms. Then I’ll start on your feet. I will, of course, cauterise the wounds so you don’t bleed out. You will talk, obviously, but understand I must make an example of you now. I will cleave your body into pieces and ship them across the city as a warning.”
The man doesn’t seem so brave anymore. He’s sweating, and his body is shaking. “I’ll tell you, God, I’ll tell you everything.”
Ryder sighs. “Yes, you will.” He grabs the man’s hand and starts to cut off his fingers.
“I’ll tell you! Please!” he screams desperately as he struggles, so I step in and hold him still, watching his face as Ryder chops one finger off.
“He’s going to puke,” I observe calmly.
“Nah, faint,” Garrett counters.
“Both,” Kenzo interjects, and we all watch as Ryder starts on the next finger, carefully and coolly.
