Page 76 of Toxic B!tch
I lean in, my lips just a whisper from Elias’ ear. “You see, the thing about mistakes is… you made one first. A big one.”
His whole body goes rigid. He knows. He fucking knows.
I grip his chin, forcing him to look at me. “Tell me, Elias. Do you regret it? Do you regret every single girl you hurt?”
Silence.
I sigh, reaching into the bag beside me and pulling out the first tool of the night. A small, wickedly sharp blade that glints under the weak light. His eyes go wide.
“You might want to start talking,” I murmur, pressing the tip against his collarbone. “Because we’ve got all night.”
The blade grazes his skin, and he shudders, the shock rolling through him.
“Please,” Elias stammers, his bravado shattering like brittle glass. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do,” I reply, my voice dripping with honeyed malice. “You see, every girl you’ve ever harmed deserves justice. And I’m here to serve it.” With a flick of my wrist, the blade pierces his skin just enough to draw a thin line of crimson thatspills forth like a confession. A single droplet rolls down his collarbone and pools in the hollow of his throat.
He gasps, eyes wide with panic, and I relish the sight. This is power—my power—a heady rush coursing through my veins as I press deeper into his psyche. “Tell me where you find them,” I demand, leaning closer so that he can feel my breath against his cheek.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stutters.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper. “That’s the sound of your life hanging by a thread.” I lean back slightly, studying his face. The way his eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist, is intoxicating. “You’re not in control anymore. You never were.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything!” he snaps, but there’s a tremor in his voice that betrays him. The bravado is fading fast; he knows it too.
“Maybe not,” I say lightly, pulling back only to let the blade hover just above his skin. “But what if I showed you how much pain your little games can bring? What if I made you feel just a fraction of what they felt?” With that, I slice deeper, watching his face contort in agony as he gasps for air.
“Stop! Please!” he pleads, eyes wide with terror now. “I’ll tell you! Just stop!”
“Tell me everything,” I command softly, my tone deceptively sweet.
“There’s a warehouse… on the outskirts… near the old depot.”
“Go on,” I urge.
“They… they bring them in under false pretenses—modeling jobs or internships or some other bullshit.” His words tumble out.
“Who?” Malik interjects from behind me, stepping closer to loom over Elias like an avenging angel ready to deliver judgment.
Elias shakes his head. “No,” he mutters, voice shaking. “I—I can’t?—”
I reach for another tool: a pair of shears that glint under the dim light. I hold them up for him to see.
“Do you see these?” I ask, my voice low and steady, almost soothing. “They’re not just for pruning roses. They’re for cutting away the rot.”
I kneel beside him, bringing the shears up to his trembling hand, the one that has inflicted so much pain. “This finger,” I say softly, tracing the metal along his knuckles. “It’s responsible for so many lies and betrayals. It needs to be severed from your body—just like those innocent lives you’ve ruined.”
“No! Please!” His voice rises in pitch as I position them over his finger. He squirms against the restraints binding him to the chair, but it only serves to make my resolve stronger.
I look into his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes that once held power over so many—and I feel a surge of satisfaction at the thought of reclaiming some control for all those who had none. “Tell me who else is involved,” I demand again, my voice unwavering.
“I can’t… they’ll kill me!” he gasps, sweat beading on his forehead.
I press down with the shears just enough for him to feel the bite of metal against flesh—a warning more than anything else. “Then let’s make sure you don’t have to worry about them.” With that final word hanging in the air like an executioner’s gavel, I squeeze harder.
Elias screams as I slice through skin and bone—a sickening crunch followed by an explosion of crimson that splatters across my shirt and face. The warmth envelops my senses; itfeels almost euphoric—the rawness of it grounding me in this moment where justice finally takes form.
“Who?” I demand again through gritted teeth as Elias writhes in agony.
