Page 127 of Crossed
“It’s all right, mon petit. I promise.”
Slowly, Quinten nods, looking back and forth between us, his body slightly rocking in place like he can’t control the motion and needs to let his energy escape.
Parker’s palm flies up and slams into the skin of my wrist, and with my free hand, I take my fingers and dig the tips down into the hollow of his throat, just above his collarbone, until he stops moving entirely, screaming out in pain instead.
“Oui, I know it hurts.”
I look back to Quinten, keeping Parker incapacitated by my fingers on his pressure point. He tries to fight, but my body is much larger than his, and he’s unsuccessful. Besides, I enjoy it when they squirm.
“Mon petit, I know you’re scared,” I say to Quinten. “But I’m going to take you to your sister. Would you like that?”
His eyes flash between us again, and now he’s fully rocking, his body swaying violently until I’m worried he’ll make himself fly into the wall. He bobs his head.
“Good. Can you do me a favor then?”
Parker jerks his hand, swiping out and punching into my gut, making me lose my breath. I grit my teeth and tighten my grip around his throat until his airway is completely cut off, lifting my knee and digging it into his torso to pin him better in place.
“I need you to walk down the hall, and at the end of it is my bedroom. I have a nice set of nativity scene figurines in the top drawer. Can you go find them and line them up for me?”
Quinten’s eyes grow larger, but he doesn’t make a move.
“Come on, mon petit,” I urge with a grin. “After we’re done, I’ll take you to the store and buy you a new dinosaur. Maybe we can finger paint again.”
This gets his attention, his eyes lighting up at my bribe, and he nods, walking slowly, his hands splayed on the wall behind him like he’s creeping up on someone until he hits the hallway, and then he darts off, his little footsteps rushing away. I don’t make a move until I hear the latch of my bedroom door.
Relief floods my chest, and I look back down at Parker with a smile. “Now, where were we?” I release the pressure point, reaching out to grab a butter knife from the place mat at my side, the weight of us both on the table making it creak. He flails again, his eyes bulging and lips turning blue from how long he’s been without oxygen, and I flip the knife around in my hand, adrenaline pumping through my system like kerosene. “I cannot tell you how long I’ve dreamed of this moment.”
I slam the butter knife right into his inner thigh. His mouth opens on a silent gasp, but no sound comes out because the pressure of my hand around his throat restricts his vocal cords as much as it restricts his air. I twist the knife so it rotates ninety degrees in his leg.
“Sorry about that,” I wince. “I know it must beincrediblypainful. I’m certain I’ve nicked a major artery.”
His body shakes, his eyes fluttering like he’s about to lose consciousness.
I release his throat and bring my hand up, smacking him across the face. “Oh no, no. You’re not allowed to disappear. Stay a while. I want you to reallyexperiencewhat I have planned.”
His eyes are hazy as he stares up at me and wheezes out. “Fuck. You.”
My knee presses farther into his sternum, my hand rotating the dull knife more. “You know, if you play nice, I can take this out, and you’ll bleed to death in minutes.” I lean down, making sure his eyes lock on mine so I can see the demons that plague his soul and make sure they hear me. “But since you can’t findrespect, I think I’ll make it hurt.”
I release the handle of the knife and reach out to grab his gun. His movements are still jerky but have much less strength behind them, the blood seeping out from around his open leg wound surely making him light- headed on top of him having been choked within an inch of his life.
Taking my knee from his stomach, I stand up straight, gripping him by the neck again and dragging him up until I toss him on the floor.
He falls like a limp rag doll, rolling onto his hands and knees, that knife still poking from his thigh.
“Surely, you knew it would come to this.” I hover over him and kick him in the side, the same way Amaya told me he did to her. He falls and I move, stepping onto his hand, pressing the entirety of my weight against him until I feel the crunch of his bones as they shatter beneath my feet. “After all, you hurt the woman I love. The woman I would doanythingfor.”
“She ismy…my wife, you piece of shit,” he yells out, pain and rage infecting every syllable. “She signed the papers, and they’re filed with the state. She was mine to do with as I pleased.”
Chuckling, I twist my heel and revel in the high-pitched cry that escapes his mouth. I release his hand from under my foot and use the toe of my shoe to flip him over until he’s prone on his back, a small puddle of blood forming beneath him from what’s bleeding out around the knife.
“And did you also have her sign a prenup?” I ask, staring down at him, clicking off the gun’s safety and crouching down beside him, resting the cool metal against his neck. His eyes widen, and I tsk, shaking my head. “Of course you didn’t. You’re Catholic. Marriage is for life.” I lean in, hovering over his broken and bleeding body as realization blazes through his eyes. “Now, what was it you told her?” I move the gun down his frame, resting it on top of his groin. “That you would cut off my cock and make me choke on it?”
He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his body frozen in place, most likely from fear.
This is always my favorite part of the kill: when they realize their life is in my hands and there’s no way out.
“She may be your wife, but she is mysoul,” I whisper against his ear. “And I will cut you up piece by piece and burn your empire until it’s soot, just so I can watch her be queen of the ashes.”
