Page 67 of Jezebel's Liberation

“Go ahead, Phantom,” Soul says. “This is your show.”

Shock sends my brows to my hairline, but Malice is first to speak.

“What the fuck, Prez? This was supposed to be for you and me.”

Soul shifts his death glare from Malice to me and back again. “You’re right, itisfor us, so I’m gonna need you to fuckin’ trust me.”

Malice snarls but moves to stand near the wall with Soul. “You heard him,” he says to me. “This is your show.”

“Who the hell are you?” Randy asks when I close the distance between us. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Pretty sure we already are,” I say. “So, this is how this is gonna go down. First, you’re gonna answer my fucking questions. Second, I’m gonna make you suffer the way you made your victims suffer.” A memory of the pictures Malice showed me flash through my mind, and I have to swallow the bile that climbs up the back of my throat. “And third, I’m going to steal your last breath, your last heartbeat, your last goddamn seconds of life so that you never hurt another innocent child again.”

The longer I talk, the more mottled with anger his face becomes. “You have no idea wh?—”

He bellows when I shove the icepick into his thigh, praying I don’t hit the femoral artery. When blood oozes from the wound at a relatively slow trickle, I release a breath.

“Every lie you tell earns a stab wound,” I snap. “I suggest you choose your words wisely.”

“F-f-fine,” he mutters, his tone full of pain. “What d-do y-you want to know?”

I tilt my head. “Seriously? That’s all it’s gonna take to get you to talk? Gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed.”

“W-what do you want from me?”

“How many?” I demand, twisting the bloody pick in my fingers.

“How many what?”

“How many kids have you diddled?” When he doesn’t speak, I throw a punch to his gut. “How many?” I shout.

“I-I…” He coughs. “I don’t know.”

I can feel Malice and Soul watching me, judging me and my performance in this room, and I take a deep breath to let the sensation take hold and fuel my actions.

Lifting the pick to Randy’s eye, I dig the point into the corner. “Answer my goddamn question,” I snarl.

He whines and pleads for mercy, but I show him none.

“T-too many to c-count,” he finally says, choking on the words.

“Motherfucker!” Malice yells.

“Keep it together,” Soul orders him.

Shoving them from my awareness, I focus on Randy and all the ways I want to make him bleed.

I squeeze his cheeks to force his lips open. When there’s enough space, I stick the icepick in his mouth and let the cold metal rest on his tongue.

“Suck,” I demand. He tries to shake his head, but with his mouth occupied, it’s difficult. “Suck it or you’ll fuck it.”

Immediately, his lips close around the weapon, and drool runs out of the corner of his mouth as he follows orders.

“I’m gonna let go, and if it falls from your mouth, I’ll make this so much worse for you,” I say casually. “Understand?”

He nods, and when I remove my hold on the icepick, it remains in his mouth. While he sucks, I get a knife from the wall and return to cut his clothes from his body. He tries to swing away from me, but his efforts are futile.

“Do you still have those pictures on you, VP?” I ask Malice without breaking my gaze away from Randy.

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