Page 63 of Devil's Game

A scream pierced through the night air as Spade yanked the blade back out, wagging his finger in disdain. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“I agree. The fingers are the next logical step, especially since I don’t want to see him without his clothes.”

I cringed, bile rising in my throat at the thought of it.

“Don’t take that as an insult, buddy.” Spade clapped him on the shoulder, like he was consoling an old pal. “If she did, I’d only make this that much more painful for you out of principle.”

He smacked his arm just over the wound, coaxing another scream from the man’s lips. “My sugar knows just how to get me worked up. I’ll share, but not with just anyone.”

I couldn’t help the giggle that slipped from my lips before I clamped a hand over my mouth, for some reason not wanting to bruise the man’s ego any more than we already had.

“I like a good scream as much as the next person, but this is overkill at this point.” Spade shook his head in disgust. “Almost ruins the whole thing.”

The henchman’s shoulders slumped when Spade released him and turned to me, relief visible in his expression as he drew in a ragged breath.

Violent delight sparkled in Spade’s eyes, rather than the mercy the man had assumed. Spade was playing with him, like a cat with his freshly caught mouse.

“Almost.” Spade spun on his heel and yanked the man’s injured arm up.

A scream tore from his lips as he desperately tried to pull it back, but it was no use with the blood pouring from his stab wound. Spade twisted his hands up and grappled for control of his fingers, not bothering to subdue him with threats, relishing in the struggle.

I waited with bated breath, my own anticipation humming through my veins just as he gained control of a finger and sliced through it.

It took the henchman a moment to realize what had just happened, his eyes wide with horror as Spade sawed through the rest of the bone and sinew. Spade lifted it up, so the man could see the now severed appendage, blood coating Spade’s shirt as it sprayed from where the man used to have a finger. Panicked screeches followed as he cried his pain to the night sky, but no one would come to investigate.

Just like with the guard at the diner, I knew no one would. They’d desensitized the town from looking too closely. And besides, his own friends knew what they were supposed to be doing tonight. If anything, they’d think it was a job well done as the three men broke poor Mr. Richards’s legs.

He had dug his own grave, and now it was up to us to toss him in there.

“Don’t go passing out on me just yet.” Spade sighed, tossing the finger on the pavement as he gripped the man’s hair and tugged, ripping him from whatever sweet oblivion he was about to tumble into.

Sobs racked the man’s chest as he tried to lift his hand, but judging by the way it flopped back at his side, and the wince curling his lips, the pain was too great.

“I can’t let you off that easy, now, can I?” Spade tsked in admonition.

“Just let me die,” the man moaned, agony lacing his brown eyes.

“Oh, I will, but why let you pass out?” Spade pressed his knife to his throat, the edge slicing in as he struggled to hold himself still this time. A thin trickle of blood spilled onto Spade’s already bloody blade. “You deserve to feel every slice, just like you would’ve done to that man, right? You would’ve done the exact same thing, woken him up so he could feel every blow of your bat.”

The man was silent for once, whether it was because he knew Spade was right, or because he didn’t want to cut himself again, I’d never know. Spade pulled the blade across his throat in one long slice, his grip of the man’s hair loosening as he stepped back, confident enough that he had done the job.

Blood sprayed across the pavement, our clothes, the walls, painting us in the sticky liquid as he fell to the ground. No sound could leave his lips this time, though, other than the gutturalgurgle as blood surged up his throat. He wasn’t able to catch himself this time, his face smashing into the pavement, like one last kick from the devil himself before he claimed the man’s soul.

He twitched on the ground for a moment before he was as lifeless as his friends, his blood mixing with theirs on the pavement. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, half expecting one last attack, one last word to spill from his lips before he was gone. But nothing would come.

The tearing of fabric snapped me back into reality as Spade shredded through some of the suit jacket and plucked the piece from the body.

“Spade.” My gaze narrowed on him as he stooped to pick up the finger, wrapping it in the fabric, just as I’d thought. “You’re not keeping his fucking finger like a trophy, are you?”

“I’m not keeping it.” He sighed, his lips pulling into a frown. “I should, though, but I thought it might make a good gift, since Tommaso thought it was a good idea to dump your dead trainer at the shop. He’s not allowed to out-crazy me.”

“Don’t worry, I doubt the idea was even his.” I giggled and holstered my gun.

“I knew he would never be on my level.” Spade tucked the finger into his pocket.

I couldn’t repress my shudder at the thought of him carrying that thing around. Hopefully, I could convince him to at least leave it at home, since we’d definitely need a change of clothes after this.

I glanced down at my blood-splattered pink tank top and white skirt, red specks coating my arms and legs too. I had no doubt it covered my leather jacket, but the thick black material thankfully disguised most of it. “I should want to scrub my skin clean, shouldn’t I?”

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