Page 16 of No Way Back
“Last chance.” I hit his mouth with the wooden end, his pained cry ricocheting off the iron bars.
Smitty manages a wet glob, but I’m pretty sure I pull the handle away too soon, so it lands on the floor. Can’t tell.Too fucking dark.And I’m too eager to shove this thing into his colon.
“Deep breaths now. This one’s gonna burn a little,” I coach him, positioning the end of my ax below his crack.
He’s mumbling incoherently, shaking and pissing all over the place and kinda killing my vibe. I push that handle in anyway.
Okay, not as easy as it looks to just rape somebody’s ass. Go figure. I push a little harder, but it may not be physically possible to cram something so big inside something so little for the first time. I mean, that thing is about as thick as my wrist.
“You good?” Demetri asks, shining a light my way.
Maybe I don’t know anatomy as well as I thought. “I just can’t get it.”
“Want my help?” He just stands there, waiting to see.
I try again, but I really can’t, and I’m kind of disappointed in myself. “Yeah,” I sigh.
Demetri comes behind me, wrapping his grip over mine, hands large enough to hold mine and the handle. I lean back into his touch, but the moment is fleeting. In one, powerful thrust, he sends my arm forward.
My biceps burn from the blunt force but it’s the shrill screech Smitty releases when the butt of my handle buries itself an inch inside of him that makes it all worth it. I pull only a little. It does nothing but make him scream louder, and with no say on my part, Harkins sends the handle deeper.
Blood sprays over my hand, the sounds from Smitty’s mouth nothing short of symphonic in the cell block. I can hear Demetri’s breathing just over my shoulder, my arms burning with the back and forth pull of the ax, even though I’m not the one doing the brunt of the work.
“God!” Smith pleads, sucking a loud gust of air with his sobs.
But I am not a merciful God. I’m a butt-raping God who’s starting to wonder if maybe Pilates is a good idea. I really don’t have the stamina for this shit. But Harkins moves our arms in sync, and together, we fuck his ass with the ax handle.
It’s not so much fucking as it is tearing his rectum apart, shreds of tissue sticking to the wood as I move it in and out. My hand is slippery on the handle from the blood, but it makes no difference. We keep going, moving without fail until I feel a barrier creating some sort of resistance.
It only enrages me, giving me a second burst of energy to keep my arms moving through the burn. Smith’s bitching has turned into a gargled mess of donkey braying; there’s no words anymore, but it somehow fuels me further.
His body seizes, but I don’t pause, I don't break, I just keep moving. It’s harder now than before, Smitty’s arms shaking violently behind him. He convulses but doesn’t die, so I work even faster.
I hear a noise that sounds like ripping, and that’s when his head drops down, hanging beneath his shoulders, limp and lifeless. My arm is still moving, until finally, I feel a squeeze on my forearm.
Looking down, I see Demetris’ hand wrapped around my wrist now, slowing me. How long had it been just me? I wheeze, struggling to breathe, sweaty and my arm almost numb from exhaustion.
I’m too embarrassed to ask, though. Instead, I just pull my ax out, Smitty’s inner tubings trying to hold onto my weapon at the last minute and sucking it back in. I give one more firm tug, and with it comes out his asshole’s goodies, bits of the pedo splashing loudly on the ground.
“What do you need?” Demetri asks before my ax has even dropped from my hand.
“I just need a second,” I breathe loudly, trying to get a hold of myself.
“We need to move fast if we want to get your boy before it’s too late,” he reminds me.
I’m grateful that one of us is focused on the logistics. I’m not here for the serious stuff.
I drop to the floor and lean against the bars, taking in a full view of Smitty’s ruptured ass crater.
It’s really innovative.
Gallery worthy.
But Harkins is right—we need to move. The inmates surrounding us are getting rowdy, making far too much noise in their terror from the scene they could do nothing but listen to. I wipe the handle of my ax on Smith’s jumpsuit and then we’re on our way.
Ending back up in the dungeon isn’t part of the plan, but I’m thrilled when we get a clue that Kyle might be hiding in the more touristy part of the prison attraction. I’m forced to promise some woman who Lucy Letby-ied her way in here that I wouldn’t kill her. There’s a lot of shit I can look past; my moral compass has no needle.
So when she says she saw the douchebag white kid in the Puka shell necklace take the exit stairs to the dungeon, Ialmostconsider letting her go. But when I ask her crime and she pisses down the legs of her jumpsuit, I know I have a winner.
