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So, naturally, I punch him in the face.
I mean, I’m trying have a conversation here. The shrieking is just plain rude.
“Stay with me, Mr. Mouret,” I say flatly. “We’re just getting started. How manymorefuck-faces with these fuck-face rings are there.”
“W-w-wha?—!”
He hyperventilating, so I punch him again to center him.
“How. Fucking. Many.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re t-talking about!”
I roll my eyes. “I know all about your little club, fucker. Apex. The lion rings. Your penchant for drugging and raping young women.”
Whatever color was left in his face drains as he realizes A, I’m not fucking around, B, I’m not here to rob him, and C, we’re barely scratching the surface of what I’m capable of doing to him.
“Surely you’ve noticed a few of your rapey pals missing from recent nights out?”
His eyes widen. “You—” He chokes and flinches, a scream gurgling in his throat as I bring the point of my knife against his cheek, just beneath his eye.
“I’m going to hunt you all down, Mr. Mouret,” I say in a bored tone. “Every single one of you. I’d just like to know how many more times I’ll be coming down here to cut one of you into pieces. I’m a busy man. I’m sure you understand.”
This time, when he starts to sob and beg and piss himself and lose his shit, there’s no bringing him back. I punch him a few more times just to try, but it’s useless.
I push the tip of the knife against his side, between the costal cartilage of his eighth and ninth ribs. Robert stiffens as he goes white.
“Well?”
He’s crying as he shakes his head. “It’s just a few friends, j-just…having fun.”
I push the tip into him, sinking the blade into his blubbery side. He screams bloody murder, coughing and sputtering like he’s going to puke.
“You were saying?”
“Seven!” He chokes. “There are—were—seven of us! We were in the same fraternity and then business school. It was?—”
He screams when I twist the knife again.
Seven. I’ve taken five. He’s six.
Only one more.
Robert drags in a ragged breath as I slip the knife out of his side. Blood soaks his shirt.
“You like to penetrate people who don’t want to be penetrated, Mr. Mouret.”
This time, I press the lethal, razor-sharp tip of the knife against his belly.
“Allow me to demonstrate what that feels like.”
Two hours later, he’s short five more fingers, two toes, his tongue, andobviously, his dick and his balls.
Eventually, his life.
I know his screams of misery won’t bring Claudia back. But somewhere up there, I hope she enjoys the show.
24
