Page 217 of Psycho

“I don’t know w-what you’re talking about! Let go. Fuck, just let me go!”

I didn’t answer him. I waited, tightening my grip around his hair. Shakingly, he pointed to the wall nearby. My eyes took it in, and I almost missed the hidden door, blending so well into the concrete wall.

Fuck.

I pulled my blade out from inside my boot and slit the fucker’s throat. I dropped him to the ground, ignoring the gurgling sound he made from choking on his own blood, and walked toward the desk, standing in front of it.

When the fucker didn’t come out, I reached in and helped him.

He screamed, struggling in my arms.

“I haven’t even hurt you yet. Do you really have to scream like this?” I asked, as the fog started to disperse.

I caught Roman’s eyes across the room. He broke the neck of one fucker with his bare hands and started walking toward me.

I turned back to Ozzy. “You made a stupid decision, didn’t you?”

He spat in my face. Anger bubbled up to the surface, and it was taking everything in me not to give into that.

“Go to hell,” he said.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think that will happen. But you will.”

I pressed the tip of the blade against his neck.

“Fuck!” he screamed as it pierced through his skin and blood dripped out.

I pushed the blade further into his neck. His eyes widened as his face turned purple from the lack of oxygen.

My face didn’t change as the blade was pushed all the way inside, his blood coating my hands.

I pulled the blade out and watched as his corpse dropped to the ground at my feet.

“Anyone alive?” I asked when Roman came up to me.

He nodded and pointed to Ted, a new prospect, watching over two men with his gun pointing at ‘em.

I turned without a word to the door the man had pointed to. It took a moment to find the hidden spot in the wall where I could push in before the door popped open.

Roman watched me curiously as I pulled the door, revealing a small, damp, and dimly lit room inside.

There was a desk in the back with a projector sitting in the middle, and behind the desk was a white screen.

Roman and I shared a look.

What the fuck?

Someone moved to the left of the room and came out to the light.

I turned, not reacting to the sight of a slight woman coming out, her phone in hand and a gun in the other.

She wasn’t pointing at either Roman or me. It causally hung from her fingers, pointing at the ground.

Her hair was buzzed-cut, and she wore heavy makeup and a piercing on her left nostril that glinted in the light.

“Who the fuck are you?” Roman asked.

The woman turned her eyes to me.

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